Chapter Text
- JFK -
"Nah, that's it! Now, can we er, uh draw stuff already? I gotta tell ya' though, I can draw a damn good stick figure." I thought Vinnie might be impressed but instead, he kinda just frowned... but why? He always seems pretty gloomy too, since I haven't really seen a smile on his face yet either. Before I could ask him, Joan slides in, sitting down in the booth across. She huffs loudly, probably in one of her moods again as always, before taking a couple of fries. "Hey uh, ya' selfish broad! I paid for those, give them back."
"Fuck off JFK, I really don't- shit, sorry Van Gogh. I didn't see you there..." Joan apologizes immediately. Huh, I didn't think the two actually knew each other.
"It's alright, I wasn't planning on eating much anyway. I'm guessing you're a little frustrated because of you-know-who again?"
"Yeah... I don't know how you deal with it and still not get all pissed off about it."
"What are the two of ya' talking about?" I butt into the conversation, wanting to know more but Joan shoves me out.
"None of your business, JFK. Shut it and eat your stupid fries." She pauses, her brows furrowing as she looks at both Vinnie and I. "Actually, this is a bit of a surprise though... seeing you two together like this. I mean, I heard JFK ranting about coming after school but I assume he invited you?
Vinnie hides behind his large sketchbook, sinking in his seat. His face turns a slight red as he nods in response.
I smile and hook an arm around his shoulder. "Yeah, so what? I'm planning on getting an uh, A in art class and Vinnie is gonna help me, ain't that right?"
"Good choice, Van Gogh here is a natural. You should see some of the work Principal Scudworth has hanging around the school. He's just as skilled as his original." She smirks, sending a knowing glance towards the small artist.
"Well then, let me show ya' two that I'm practically on the uh, same level. That stupid teacher is just blind." I snatch Vinnie's sketchbook from his hands and start flipping to a blank page. Most of the pages are filled, bright colors splashing here and there. Some were sketched out with rough scribbles but every single one stuck out to me. "Jesus, the broad wasn't kidding. What are ya' so shy for?"
"W-Wait, JFK!"
"Dude, give it back to him."
I ignore the two pleadings as I pick up a pencil. I'm about to draw one of my well-praised stick figures when I stop on one page in particular. Nearly filling up the whole page, the drawings... they look like me, a very striking resemblance in fact. Damn, this Vinnie guy is impressive as fuck, really getting my good side in these. When did he get the time to draw this?
I hold it up, pointing at the page. "Hey, mind explaining all this? It er, looks amazing. Uh... Vinnie?"
As I look back, the short artist looks fuming with rage. I flinch away as he pries the sketchbook out of my hands.
"Uh pal, what's wrong?"
He lashes out quickly, snapping at my words. "I'm not your pal, alright? Don't call me that, now let me through! I can't be h-here right now." I stand up to get out of the booth, letting him shove me aside. I don't do anything to stop him. Before leaving, Vinnie tears the page I saw and crumbles it up to throw it in the trash. He leaves the diner with a slam of a door.
Joan smacks me upside the head. "JFK, you fucking idiot. Why the hell did you look through his sketchbook?"
"I didn't know-"
"of course you don't and I bet you don't understand what you did wrong. I know you always have to prove yourself but that kind of thing is sacred."
Screw the tutoring shit... I think I fucked up a bit, definitely wasted his time if I was just gonna end up being dumb fuck.
Joan continues to scold me but I walk past her, heading towards the trash can. I will myself to stick my hand inside, grabbing for the crumbled page. Thankfully, nothing else was thrown inside after Vinnie stormed out.
It's relatively clean but still, it's ruined already. I should have stopped him or something. Shit... even I wouldn't like it if some dude decided to snatch one of my recordings, especially if it wasn't ready to be listened to. The poor guy practically had that sketchbook by his side at all times, and I just yanked it from him. We hardly even know each other and I was butting into his privacy.
Yeah, I know I gotta make it up to him.
"Can ya' help me out 'ere?"
Joan huffs, obviously annoyed but understands. She sets the page on the table and begins to flatten it as best as she could, being gentle so the markings don't smudge along with it.
Even so, it hardly made much of a difference as she tries...
"Hm... Hey, Joan. You gotta uh, pen in hand?"
~~
- Van Gogh -
My eyes sting as I use my sleeve, rubbing them dry. At the moment, I'm sitting in the parking lot of the diner, unsure if I should even leave yet. It's getting chilly as I pull the collar of my jacket to cover my face.
What was I thinking, causing another scene like that? I should have tried harder, yet of course, I was distracted by how genuine JFK's enthusiasm was. He does seem to want to be able to learn how to draw but taking my sketchbook? Looking through and seeing the only drawings that were of him? God, it's like gifting me something amazing and messing it all up just because of some dumb bad luck. It was exactly that because I had to bring the one sketchbook that would become an embarrassment to me.
My face heats up, tearing up as I choke out a sob. What's wrong with me? JFK must have thought that it was so weird. Nobody just casually dedicates a whole page like that without having some assumptions as to why. Either way, I felt terrible, ripping it out, but I only acted in the spur of the moment.
The next minutes are quiet, except for the occasional car driving by. The cool air helps as I try my best to calm down, keeping my breathing steady. The moment is interrupted though as I jump in surprise. My phone rings loudly, buzzing in my pocket as I take it out. Someone is calling me. I muster the courage to answer and I speak, fumbling on my words. "H-Hello?"
"Are you coming home soon? It's getting pretty late right now and I needed to call to tell you I'm not going to be at the house tonight." Oh, my foster parent.
"Yeah, it'll be alright. I was planning on walking right now anyway. I was just hanging out with Joan and-" I sigh heavily. "I'm coming, so no worries." I hang up before I would be questioned on anything more, at least I'll have the house to myself for the night. Fun.
The door of the diner opens as JFK comes out. I stand up, stiffening as I watch him, dreading whatever he's going to do next. He approaches with caution, almost looking nervous, in fact? "Hey uh, Vinnie. You forgot your backpack in the diner. Joan offered but I wanted to hand it to you myself." He holds it up and I hesitantly grab it back, slinging it over my shoulder. I mumble a small thank you in return, still unsure.
He rubs the back of his neck, glancing off to the side as he continues on. "Look, I don't usually say this often but I was being a real jerk in there. I just wanna say that uh, I'm sorry for taking what wasn't mine."
I nod, ready to leave, but he stops me, grabbing the strap of my bag. "Ah, wait! Also that sketchbook of yours? Don't ruin- er, keep it safe, okay? You really got a heck of a talent with those drawings and I rather not be the uh, jackass who fucks it up for ya'. So, are we cool?"
"I might need some time to think about it..."
"Good... See ya' Monday then?"
"I guess so."
I shoot a small reassuring smile his way before heading on my way home. In truth, maybe this has probably been the most eventful moment my week has been. Not how I would have pictured it but he didn't really mention the contents of my sketchbook so perhaps, he didn't mind it? Well, judging from his behavior, he seemed more awkward than I usually am... I really wanted to ask but I think it's best not to know what he actually thought about the drawings, that they were drawn quite recently during the shared classes we have together along with cross country. Yeah, not sure if that would be a great way to continue on a conversation.
I'm at least feeling a little better, despite the small confrontation.
~~
Once home, I check the kitchen. My foster parent won't be here, which isn't anything new. It's rather been a regular thing since elementary, saying they needed the break of being a "parent". So what if it just happens that they need a break the majority of the time? It's not something I mind all that much, less noise around the house is quite a benefit for when I get into the mood for painting.
On the kitchen counter is a note, to which it reads: 'No dinner tonight, sorry', and accompanying the scraggly handwriting is a small heart... As if it makes me feel any better. Making sure, I check the fridge. Empty.
Sighing, I close it and head straight upstairs to my room. I leave the lights off, seeing how the room is already dimly lit by the bright street lights from the outside. Standing in front of the large mirror to the side of my bed, I slip off my head bandage. I lightly touch the left side of my ear, still swollen but on it's way to healing. It's... not something I'm particularly proud of, nearly severing it off completely during a fearful panicking moment. I didn't understand what lead me to do it and I still don't. It almost seemed instinctual at the time when I held the blade, but unlike the original Van Gogh, I didn't cut all the way through. I'd rather not look at it for too long though and I continue to change the bandaging. After I finish up, I sit down on the edge of my bed.
I would usually stay up for hours into the night since it's the weekend but unfortunately, I'm not in the greatest of moods to draw right now, especially after today. Sleep isn't much of an option either as my stomach growls loudly, making me wince in pain. R-Right, no dinner and not even a bite at the Grassy Knoll. I was too busy in thought.
Well, there has to be something. Glancing around my room, my eyes begin to focus on the desk from across. Sitting unopen is a packet of paint tube containers. I bought them a couple of days ago but I haven't had the chance to use them at all because of the usual school work. A sudden dull itch burns my throat, resisting the urge... Yellow has always been a favorite of mine.
As I head over to the desk, my backpack slips off of my shoulder. As it hits the floor, my books and journals tumble out, knocking me out of focus.
I kneel to pick up the items. "Goddamn it, I really need a new bag-"
Oh? I don't remember putting this in here...
Picking up the crinkled takeout bag, I notice the logo of the diner. I open it to see one of the burgers that JFK ordered... Inside is a pink sticky note. I know that Joan's the one who would own some in hand but I'm surprised to see JFK's more neat handwriting instead, stating: Again, sorry for being a big jackass. Told ya' I'd pay for you. Hope ya' enjoy my best attempt at apologizing! and right next to it is a poorly drawn scribble of himself, smiling happily. Holding the burger in my hands, I don't think I ever felt this amazed over seeing some measly junk food before... The urge from before fades away as I shove the paint containers off of the desk, a few busting open from the impact but I could care less. I could always clean up later.
I set the sticky note on my wall, rereading it over and over again as I take a bite of the delicious burger, while also taking a sec to wipe away my tears. I can't wait until Monday.