(Unedited)

The argument continues. This time I had lost track of what we had been fighting about. Last night it was over, I was the one who had supposedly bailed on her. This time I couldn't remember if it was over the lunch meeting that had never happened, or it was over how I was being rude to Art.

"I always have to be the one to apologise for your behaviour," Sarah points out as she snaps me back to reality of what we were and still continues to argue about. I continue to nibble on my bottom lip, which already had a crack in it. More than likely from all the times I pick at it.

"Why would you think that? I was talking to you, Art had nothing to do with it, so why would you have to apologise for me when I don't need to apologize?" I ask Sarah, adding, once again, more damage than I should have.

"Because you have zero social skills and I have to suffer for it." Sarah starts to tell me as our eyes meet for a few seconds as I mentally argue with myself. She smacked my hand away when I went to pick at my lip, which in turn made me sigh.

"I never asked you to have social skills for me." I huffed as I adjusted the strap to my backpack; trying to get rid of the nervous energy that was building up inside me by playing with the straps which only further annoyed Sarah. Knowing that the sweet release from another pointless argument would come when the second bell of the day rang for what would be art class. The only class I actually enjoyed.

"It's always like this? I say something, and somehow you turn around so it's about you," Sarah tells me in a venomous voice as she glared at me, letting me know that she had just said something she knew I wouldn't be able to defend myself with.

"Well now you're just not true," I tell Sarah knowing that I can't defend myself but doing it anyway. Which would just turn into her taking it up like me 'not taking responsibility for my actions' and anything I say other than the dreaded 'sorry' only adding fuel to the fire that was already burning. I bet Superman did not have to deal with this humbug. "Never mind. I don't want to fight about this," I add trying to avoid anything else that would make her go off.

"Why do you think we're always fighting, when we're talking?" Sarah asks.

I mentally argue with myself as to what to say next, "I did not know talking required a lot of screaming and hand gestures." I whispered to myself under my voice as the bell sounded announcing for everybody to get back to class.

"What did you just say?" Sarah put her hands on her hips as she did the little sassy headache she always did when she was getting riled up.

"Nothing, I have to get to class," Pointing in the direction of nowhere as my fingers threaded through my backpack loops. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Whatever," Sarah said as she turned on her heels and walked away, it  was slightly awkward when I had to follow after because my next class was in the direction she was walking.

On my way to class I couldn't help but think about what she had said about me always making everything about myself and if it is the case then how did I manage to have a successful conversation with Art? I mean, I thought it went well in the car on the ride to school this morning? Why couldn't my conversations with Sarah go like that?

Then again that required her to actually listen to a single word I said.

Art had listened to what I had said.

How come some random stranger listened to me more than my girlfriend did? Was I missing something? For as many questions as I asked myself I couldn't come up with any answers; just more questions.

At the thought of Art, I could not help but take his reaction early towards me as rude which lead me to ponder whether our conversation this morning had gone down as well as I thought it had.

Stepping inside the art room, that's where I see the familiar tattooed alien boy a large book in hand. He was conveniently seated in the chair right next to my assigned one.

"Art sitting in Art?" I step closer; peeling off my backpack and taking the seat beside him. But he did not acknowledge my presence and just kept reading. Of course, he'd ignore me. Why would he want to talk to me? Then again why would he not want to talk to me, had our conversation not gone well? That seemed to be the case, as he sits there remaining silent. "Okay, that was a bad pun," I add as he remains silent.

"Whatcha reading?" I asked as he merely moved the book higher upon his face and then turned it towards me. At first, I thought he was trying to block me out before realising he was showing me the title. "The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life by Erving Goffmen. Sounds self- helpie." I scrunched up my nose.

It taking Art a long enough and a slap of the book cover closing before he turned to me, "It's not 'self helpie'" He used quotations to mock my statement, "It is about social interaction and how we're all actors on a stage and the audience is everybody around us who are observing and reacting to our theatrical performance. The only time we can relax and be ourselves is in the metaphorical backstage which is when we're alone. We're all performing this play in which we are meant to act a certain way that is expected of us. Play the caring mother, the brave soldier or the provider. But it is all an act."

"Damn," Was all I said as I grabbed my notebook with all my sketches out, "I don't know it sounds self helpie to me." Literally hearing Art roll his eyes as I opened my drawing book. Covered back to front with superheroes fighting crime as bad guys destroyed the planet. Already had a little storyline in my head. It had been a comic Sarah and I had come up with before she one day up and decided aliens were stupid and suddenly wanted nothing to do with it.

"Ever paint anything besides aliens?" Art asked looking over my shoulders at the drawing. "You seem obsessed with them, or something?" he adds.

"Sometimes," I tell him as I start adding purple to the picture, as I bite the inside of my lip, debating if I should bring up the topic of drawing a comic; that I had hoped would be as awesome as Stan Lee or Frank Miller's work. I doubted he would care about any of that, as I knew from this morning he didn't follow any comics.

"Ever try anything else besides aliens? Maybe something cool like a skull or some shit?" Art asks in his classic sarcastic tone, as his eyes met mine for a few seconds and then my eyes drifted to his lip ring which was wrapped around a plump pink bottom lip. We were back to where we were this morning when he had called comic books children's books.

"Firstly no, secondly aliens are cool and thirdly aliens are cool," I tell him the same line that I had this morning. He kept this up, I would seriously consider not being nice to him, then again my mother did not raise a rude person so then I would be nice to him again.

"There is a reason why they're always the bad guys, nobody likes aliens." Art keeping that same tone he grabs one of the assigned sketchbooks on the table and attempts to draw something.

"You would say that," I tell him. The only thing I could muster up as I adjusted my glasses from sliding down my nose; avoiding to get any paint on myself. Something that I usually ended up doing anyway. The conversation lulling into more awkward silence; not that I minded it.

The teacher shortly thereafter walked into class as she told us our project for the day and an hour after that class ended. Which was only a painful reminder that there was one more class until we were finally free to go home? We depart, as I watch another sarcastic smirk playing on Art's face before he drifts in the sea of students roaming the hallways.

What was it about Art De Luca that had me wanting to keep talking to him? His short answers and shrugs certainly weren't it. He was rude, sarcastic, and seemed different from any other student in this school, scratch that, in this whole town. Which reminded me of all the comic book characters and their villains I had compared myself and him with this morning.

The final class of the day begins; rather than pay attention, I doodle some more of my comic book. Doodling the alien as he fights crime and saves the world. He should be flying solo, but after rescuing Dino Spider, Dino Spider wants to become his partner. Agent Alien was just about to give his answer; reality hitting when Mr. Matheson plopping last classes test on my desk.

"Art is meant for art class Mr. Hilligon. History class is meant for history; unless it's considered homework," Mr. Matheson announces letting the entire class know what I had been doing, as my heart jumps and my face heats up.

"It was homework, sir. It's a part of the Constitution assignment," I tell him as I knew it would be the only way that my artwork would be safe and not confiscated, as I made a mental note for this to be included in my homework tonight. Mr. Matheson merely nodded before he carried on teaching class until the last bell

I quickly grabbed my backpack, placing my notebook in its place, realizing I had never looked at my test results, though I knew that I'd look at it eventually.

Without any further hesitation, I head for my car as I wanted to get home to get caught up on the latest Doctor Strange comic and finish my Agent Alien comic before doing homework. While still having a conversation with my father about college. Despite, still not wanting to go.

Upon arrival at my beloved car, I saw the alien leaning on the car, cigarette in mouth, which annoyed me even more. He's even holding a copy of The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life as I wondered if he had to read the book for class or his own personal interest. He never classified if he liked the book or not. I stand there at the car a moment wondering if I should get in or not. Having to remind myself that it was still my car, but at the moment that was beside the point.

As I get in, I find myself doing exactly what I didn't want to do. I open the door from the inside for Art to slip inside.

"You could have at least ask for a ride," I tell him as he sits in the seat beside me, tossing his bag in the back along with his book,

"Can I have a ride?" He asked in that same sarcastic tone as though to say 'what are you gonna do, kick me out?'. Inhaling another lung full of cancer smoke as he switched on the radio.

"Yes you may," I could not help but smile triumphantly before batting away a cloud of smoke, "But no smoking." He merely nodded before savouring one last puff and throwing it out the window.