Watercolor |'woter,keler,| (Brit. watercolour) noun; artists' paint made with a water-soluble binder such as gum arabic, and thinned with water rather than oil, giving a transparent color.  – or – a picture painted with watercolors. – or – the art of painting with watercolors, especially using a technique of producing paler colors by diluting rather than by adding white. – The Oxford American Dictionary.

Chapter four;  watercolor

"And just where do you think you're going?" My mother's voice stops me just as my hand reaches the doorknob.  I forgot about her two o'clock lunch break.

            "Um..." I try to think of something to say, and fast, considering I'm already running ten minutes late. Not that I really care about Arthur sitting and waiting. I am, however, eager to start this process so I can get my journal back. "I'm going to see that guys from the park. I've decided to help him after all." I decide on the truth...well, the almost truth.

            She raises an eyebrow. "So, what, you suddenly have a respect for fine art? Come on tell me what's really going on. Where are you going? Are you going on a date? Because you know you don't have to hide-"

            "What? No, of course I'm not going on a date. I'm seriously going to meet Arthur." I tell her.

            She looks surprised and, if I'm not mistaken, maybe a little...proud. "Oh well...that's great. Have fun."

            "I'm mean, don't get any ideas, I still hate art and paintings and I still find it completely boring." I rush, not wanting to deceive her more than I already have.

            Her expression deflates but she covers it up by clearing her throat and pasting a motherly smile on her face. "Oh...okay. Well, promise me you'll pay attention to whatever he's doing. Maybe you'll learn art isn't quite as boring as you think."

            I give her a tight lipped smile and rush out the door. I'm soon flying down the road on my bicycle, the humid wind doing its best to cool me down but doing little to help.

I make it to the park fifteen minutes late to find a surprisingly serene looking Arthur by the lake, an easel, a large watercolor pad, a cup of brushes in water, and a stool set up next to him. He legs are crossed Indian style as he sits on the grass.

            With a sigh, I make my way over to him and watch as he picks certain colors out of an expensive looking wooden art case. He takes off the cap and squeezes it out onto a round wooden plate with a single whole in the frame.

            He finally looks up and notices me, not even acknowledging my presence, before looking back down to what he was doing.

            I wring my hands together, not knowing what to do with myself. I feel awkward and out of place but there's no way I'm letting him know that.

            I sit on the grass slowly, doing everything in my power not to let my legs touch the grass. My shorts don't cover up my legs and something about grass makes my skin crawl. I sit like this for about ten minutes and silently curse myself for forgetting my book at home.

            "You're late." He finishes what he was doing and gives me a sideways glance.

            I clear my throat and look around, clenching my teeth down onto my spearmint gum in annoyance. "What of it?" I speak shortly, ticked at him for ignoring me for the past ten minutes.

            He rolls his eyes and stands up. I begin standing but he quickly snaps, "Don't bother getting up."

            Out of pure defiance I stand and straighten my shoulders, crossing my arms over my chest.

            Sadly, he looks like he could care less about whether I'm standing or not and runs a hand through his thick dirty blonde hair. I can't help but notice the small splotch of blue watercolor paint that has already found its way onto his right cheek.

            "Look, seriously, we might be here for a while and I doubt you want to stand there the whole time." He tells me, his brown eyes boring into mine. I stare back stubbornly and he chuckles, glancing away. "Suit yourself." He mutters under his breath before sitting on the stool and picking up a paint brush.

            He wouldn't let me stand behind him and watch and I couldn't stand in front of him because apparently I ruin the image of the "essence of nature" he's trying to portray. So, here I am standing next to him far enough away where I can't see his painting and I'm not in the way.

            I've been standing here for an hour and a half watching Arthur move his hands speedily across the canvas, looking a lot like me when I'm in a hurry to get my thoughts down on paper but it doesn't look like he's done quite yet. And my feet are killing me. But I know he expects me to give up and wuss out so that's exactly why I remain standing.

            "This sucks." I kick the long grass with my flip flop clad foot but my hand flies up to my face when dirt flings up right into my eye. "Ow!" I exclaim when the burning starts.

            Arthur is either choosing to ignore me or can't hear me through all the artistic vision that's going on over there so I'm left to fend for myself.

            I hold my hand to my eye, feeling the hunk of dirt rolling around in my eye, scratching my iris ( I could be blind in one eye by the time I get this thing out) and make my way to the water, ducking under a gangly tree and reaching my hand down into the water.

            I rinse out my eye as well as possible and do my best to ignore the lake water smell. "Ah." I sigh in relief as soon as I'm sure my eye is dirt free.

            I rinse my eye one more time and look to my right where Arthur looks like he's paused to look at his work. A proud but silent smile glides onto his features and his shoulders relax.

            With an eye roll I stand up quickly and yelp when my head hits the tree branch above me, my hands flap around desperately as I try to regain balance. But it's no use and my body hits the water with a splash.

            I come up sputtering to see Arthur standing above me laughing his butt off, leaned over with his arms holding his waist. I'm too angry to be embarrassed and even the fact that he got watery red paint on his crotch making him look like he's menstruating doesn't make me feel better.

            With an angry growl I push myself up and make my way back up to the grass. I make my way to him and he finally looks up, only to see me on a rampage and ready for revenge. He turns to face me, holding up his arms in surrender. "Now, Lovely, think about what you're about to-"

            He lets out a girlish scream as my hands come into contact with his chest, shoving him away from me and into the water.

            He comes up with a gasp and soon his glare is set on me. "You have got to be kidding me!"

            I laugh and turn, doing my best to sprint away but he's already out of the water and flying towards me. A scream escapes me and I️ run harder but make the mistake of looking back instead of forward. My foot crosses the other and I go flying until I hit the ground, my teeth clanking harshly together sending a jolt through my head.

            A dark laugh behind me makes anger boil up inside me. I push myself up on onto my feet, not letting it show that my ankle is twisted and I can feel it beginning to swell.

            I turn to look at Arthur and his face turn serious when he sees my limp. "Hey are you-"

            "Shut up." I snap before hobbling to my bike and climbing on.

            "Wait! I should tell you that-" He calls after me but his voice is lost to the wind as I peddle my hardest all the way home.

            This is both extremely stupid and embarrassing because I forgot my purse which contains my wallet, phone and other very personal girl items, of which I would die of mortification if he saw.

            I peel my wet butt off of my bike seat as soon as I make it to my garage, wincing when I feel how my shirt has clung to my skin and how my shorts have ridden up my unspeakable areas to the point of no return. Not to mention how badly I reek of dirt and lake water.

            I try to ignore the screams of my ankle, telling me I'm going to regret riding so far when it was already in pain.

            "Well I didn't exactly have a choice, now did I?" I groan. It obviously doesn't answer.

            I try to avoid my mother but even though I snuck through the back door, it's like she just knows when I come and go.

            "Lovely, I'm so glad you're - oh dear. Are you alright? What happened?" She gasps when she sees my swollen ankle and dirty clothes.

            I push my tangled musty smelling hair out of my face before answering, "I'm fine mom. Arthur and I just...uh...we had a little tussle I guess you'd say."

            But when is one short explanation ever good enough for a worried parent?

            "Whatever about? You were painting for heaven's sake." She points out, coming towards me to put and arm around my waist for support. "No matter. We are going to discuss this once you've taken a shower and we wrap that ankle." She smiles over at me, her smile lines in the corners of her eyes making an appearance.

            After getting me a pair of comfy shorts and a baby blue cotton top, along with some underwear, my mom helps me to the bathroom and turns on the water.

            "Okay, while you shower I'll make us some hot tea and when you're done you can tell me all about what happened." She gives me one last concerned look before closing the door.

            I don't bother locking the door seeing as this is my bathroom and literally no one has ever used it but me. I strip out of my dirty clothes and shove them down the laundry shoot with disgust before carefully stepping into the shower.

            I hum to myself and try to forget how angry I was at Arthur. Does this mean we're done with this whole thing and I can get my journal back? Probably not considering, now that I think about it, nothing really happened between us. He didn't really do anything except laugh at me...I'm the one who pushed him in the lake.

            It was my fault I kicked dirt in my eye and hit my head. And it was my fault I fell into the lake...not Arthur's. And he had a right to get angry with me for pushing him. He could have had his phone in his pocket.

            Ugh. Now I feel really bad and I don't want to. I want to be mad at him. Well...I think what I really want is for me to have a reason to be mad at him.

            Actually...he did steal my journal.

            Only because you wouldn't help him when he asked.

            Oh shut up, stupid conscience.

            But I know it's true. If I had just agreed to help a random stranger I met in the park with his art assignments this never would have happened. Any of it, really.

            I get dressed as I think and contemplate.

            Could Arthur not be as bad as I've made him out to be?

            I really don't know but what I do know is that there's a very simple solution to all of this. And I'm going to use it.

            I always know when I'm wrong; but admitting it has never been my forte. Looks like I'm going to have to just get over it for once.

            "Lovely!" My mom calls me just as I brush out the last of my knotted wet hair. I open the door after grabbing an ace bandage from the cabinet.

            "Give me a second, I'll be right there!" I holler back. My mom makes the best tea and I could really use a hot cup.

            I wrap my foot and ankle with the bandage and stand up to test my weight on it. There's still a little pain but not nearly as bad as before.

            I make my way downstairs, careful to mind my step.

            "I hope you added extra sugar in mine, mom, I could really use an extra oomph." I joke as I look down into the living room.

            I see my mom smiling at my comment but she's not the only one there.

            "Arthur? What are you...?" I drift off, finally making it to the bottom of the stairs.

            He clears his throat, looking something besides confidence and nonchalance. Nervousness.

            For the first time, he doesn't look as irritating. Don't get me wrong though. He's still irritating.

            "I um..." He starts, looking over at my mom.

            "He's here to return your things. Isn't that nice of him?" My mom presses me to thank him with her eyes and I force a smile on my face.

            "Yes of course. So very nice of him." I say before clearing my throat and taking my bag out of his hands. "Arthur can we – uh – speak alone for a second? Mom?" I look to my mother for the okay and she nods once with a smile.

            Arthur seems to have recovered and looks as calm, cool and collected as ever.

            "Arthur?" I ask again and he quickly nods.

            "Yeah, um, sure."

            "Great. Mom, we'll be upstairs." I almost pull on Arthur's arm but when he flinches away from me I shrug it off and begin to lead him upstairs to my room.

            He clears his throat as he follows close behind. "You could still be a rapist, you know. And I'm just following you into your room blindly."

            I know he's just trying to break the tension but it only causes me to roll my eyes. "If I were a rapist I wouldn't have needed to ask my mom permission to take you upstairs."

            He only chuckles and I can't help but admit to the fact that we needed that ice breaker.

            I crack the door and turn to face him, the strange and foreign fact that there is a boy in my room finally sinking in.

            I watch him as he looks around the room, his gaze pausing on the bed for a beat too long. At first I'm thinking it's because he's a pervert but then I follow his line of sight to see that it's not the bed he's looking at.

            "I didn't take you for a Nicholas Sparks kind of girl." He smirks and walks over to pick the book off of my bed.

            I don't bother being embarrassed because there are more pressing matters at the moment.

            "Look - um, Arthur, I wanted to-"

            "Woah, whoa. Wait." He stops me, his expression completely serious.

            My eyebrows furrow. "What? What is it?"

            He suddenly smiles, his perfectly straight and equally as white teeth peeking out through his lips. "Are you, The Great Lovely, apologizing?"

            I punch him in the arm and he chuckles.

            "No but seriously, none of this would have happened if I'd just agreed to help you in the first place. So...I'm sorry." I all but whisper, the words practically scratching my throat on the way out with the effort I put into it.  

            He looks a little taken aback. Maybe he didn't realize until just now that I'm serious. Or maybe he doesn't fully understand my apology because his thick eyebrows furrow and his eyes study me for a moment.

            "Did you hear me?" I ask feeling a little embarrassed.

            He doesn't answer for a couple of seconds, looking down at me like he's trying to figure out the concept of enigma. "What? Yeah I heard you. And...you don't need to apologize. I had a choice whether or not to steal your journal and I should have just left it alone. I didn't even have to ask you in the first place. This is my fault, not yours." He says quietly, his hand coming up and placing itself on my shoulder.

            I look over at it in surprise and he quickly jerks it away and brings it back to his side. "Sorry."

            "It's okay." I say awkwardly, "And I guess we're both at fault here."

            He gives me a small smile and I don't have to fake one back.

            "So," I start, "I have a proposal for you."

            He chuckles and steps back once, albeit casually, but I noticed.

            "And what's that?" He asks with a crooked grin, dimples appearing on both sides and I wonder how I've never noticed them before.

            I clear my throat, "If I agree to help you with your art stuff or whatever, will you give me my journal back? I swear I'll meet you at our agreed times and I won't skip out on you. I just really need my journal." My voice comes out more desperate than I would have liked but I could care less.

            Arthur looked appalled for a moment, his brown eyes widening and his mouth slightly agape in shock before closing again. "Of course, Lovely. I would have given it to you from the start if you'd promised not to screw me over and ditch." He chuckles.

            I laugh a little. "To be honest I never would have agreed to help you if you hadn't stolen it so..."

            We both smile a little at each other before he sticks his hands out. "Friends?"

            I sigh and place my hand in his, shaking it firmly. "Friends."