Alice threw her coat and scarf carelessly on the back of her chair and sat quietly down in her seat. The art room was empty and quiet, the perfect place to sort out one’s problems. Alice tried to shake her frustrations off, wishing she had spoken less harshly, or not at all to her friend.
After all, who wouldn’t be curious? But Alice hated the way people looked at her. She could read their wandering thoughts as they stared or looked quickly away. She could never decide which was worse: open shock or blatant avoidance. Thinking about her face made her writhe with discomfort. Sometimes, the past few weeks, as she had talked and laughed with Connie, Alice had been able to forget. But as she remembered the look in Connie’s eyes as she had lowered her gaze, Alice knew that the spell could never be truly broken. Even Connie would always see her from behind that mask. Feeling the old self-conscious ache well up inside her, heavier than ever, Alice filled her pallet and went to work. She glanced over her shoulder, not admitting even to herself that she was waiting---or hoping.
Disappointed to see the room empty still, she turned back to her painting. It was coming along nicely, but she wasn’t satisfied with it yet.
The door opened behind her, and Alice instinctively tensed, pulling her hood up.
“Alice? Are you there?” The voice which spoke was low, but kind.
She smiled.
“Yes, I’m over here.”
Michael walked slowly over. He edged his way into the chair next to hers and sat. Beginning his pallet, he winked one of those dark, lifeless eyes of his, asking her how she was. Alice secretly thought he had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, in spite of their flatness. The fact that they couldn’t see made them more lovely to her than anything else in the world.
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