RE: Trailer Trash, 62 pt 4

    Table six remained quiet today once everyone realized that their first assignment here was almost due. Everyone busied themselves with their drawings of the wine bottles and champagne flutes, occasionally taking silent glances upwards to double-check the pieces in the center of the table. A few rather discreet looks around the others’ work revealed quite a bit of disparity—Vanessa somehow didn’t even have the full silhouette outlines drawn even after several days of this, because she had been talking a lot. Eric, on the other hand not only had everything drawn, all of his depicted glassware was shaded in with the side of his pencil, something Tabitha hadn’t even considered. Stacy’s work looked almost identical to Tabitha’s, as they seemed to be at the same skill level, and if not for the difference in perspective placement she might have confused one of their papers for the other.

    With her outlines drawn in and corrected and then her tracing in a faint set of lines to depict the parts of glassware that were obscured behind other glassware, Tabitha was at a bit of a loss as to what details she might attempt to tackle next. She suspected trying to shade everything in like Eric had would turn her okayish looking drawing here into a complete mess. With a frown of concentration, Tabitha spent a bit of extra time detailing the screwcap grooves on one of the antique bottles, and then went through and carefully adjusted the topmost lip of the wine bottle to better match its appearance. 

    I guess the next visual thing that pops out to me, that I should maybe have a go at is the highlights? Tabitha stared at the stuff in the middle of the table. Like, the reflection of the overhead lights. Those are what really made Eric’s sort of pop and look more three-dimensional, I think. Just… well, I do NOT have confidence to try to sketch in like a complete map of everything the different glass shapes are reflecting…

    As it turned out, penciling in just little blobby shapes on the glass to indicate the overhead lights made her drawing look cartoonish. She made a face at the result she’d spent ten minutes trying to recreate, wondering if she should erase them or not. Tabitha thought they appeared a bit over-stylized, somehow, but maybe not in a bad way? Surely Mr. Peterson would look at it and at least appreciate that an attempt had been made. The remainder of class time before the final bell was spent with Tabitha touching up places here and there, altogether reluctant to make bigger changes to the project and perhaps ruin what she already had.

    When that bell did finally sound, Tabitha forced herself to remain in place at her seat as everyone else in the class gathered up their things and started to head out. Vanessa had been trying to play catch-up and was drawing until the last second. Then the girl had to grab up everyone’s big art papers in a hurry to return to the table six folder, which she ran back to the store room, while Stacy and Eric left without a word. Clarissa for some reason noticed that Tabitha was making no move to leave and hesitated, as if wondering what was up.

    “Art Club’s after school, today,” Tabitha explained. “I’m going to try to join.”

    “Oh, um,” Clarissa glanced around. “Is anybody allowed to sign up?”

    “I think so?” Tabitha said. “Are you interested in art stuff? Oh, but uh—I think the big thing is, you’d need to be able to find a ride home, then. Since the buses all leave.”

    “Ah, right,” Clarissa nodded. “Then, I’d better go. I, well, I just wanted to say thanks for this morning. For letting us sit with you guys. And uh, sorry for Ashlee. She was kinda on edge, so…”

    “Don’t worry about it,” Tabitha assured her. “Come sit with us whenever, alright? Oh—but don’t make me miss your bus.”

    “Yeah,” Clarissa gave her a weak smile as she turned and trudged for the door. “Catch you later?”

    “Later!”

    “Everything okay over there, Tabitha?” Mr. Peterson called, noticing that she hadn’t budged from her seat.

    “Art Club?” Tabitha said. “I was uh. I was told to be here!”

    “Ooh, right right, right on,” Mr. Peterson said, giving her an appreciative nod. “Cool beans. They’ll all be in in a minute.”

    With that, he settled back in behind his desk and took up the mouse, clicking through work on his computer. For what felt like several excruciatingly long minutes Tabitha sat in silence waiting for others to arrive—they had mentioned that Art Club was hard up for members, but surely someone would show up! Looking for something to occupy herself, Tabitha grabbed her bookbag from the floor in front of her stool and settled it on the scarred and pitted art table in front of her. Opening up the flap and looking for something to focus on revealed her Gameboy, but she wasn’t sure if Mr. Peterson would allow them to just play videogames, or if the little handheld device was considered contraband or not.

    “They say anything to you ‘bout an Art Club t-shirt?” Mr. Peterson called over, not looking up from his monitor.

    “Fifty dollars,” Tabitha reported back with an exasperated smile.

    “Fifty dollars! Holy cow,” Mr. Peterson’s cheshire grin widened. “That’s one for the record books. We make sales like that, we’ll be set for a good long while. Start splurging on poster prints, maybe. Damn.”

    Janaye was the first to arrive, and Tabitha felt surprised that her appearance sparked recollection of the name after a long week struggling to remember everyone she’d met. The girl was dressed in a long dark skirt, and that same small golden cross hung over a gray turtleneck, this time. Upon entering the girl glanced across the art room and noticed Tabitha, but her gaze didn’t linger, and instead the girl stood up at Mr. Peterson’s desk and chatted with him at a volume Tabitha could almost but not quite make out.

    Okay, not any kind of big deal, Tabitha took the dismissive attitude in stride. She definitely seems like one of the older upperclassman girls. Can imagine why she wouldn’t be thrilled with someone like me who has all sorts of drama and nonsense attached, potentially dragging all of THAT into her safe space, here.

    When the door opened next, it was a guy she’d never seen before, thin and reedy, with mussed brown curls and glasses. This one gave Mr. Peterson a wave and then dropped off his bag at one of the tables before spotting Tabitha—he gave her a smile and immediately approached.

    “Hey!” The guy offered her a hand. “William, but everyone calls me Bill.”

    “Tabitha,” Tabitha said, clasping hands with him and putting on a polite smile.

    “I figured!” Bill jerked his chin in the direction of the large blown-up photo of Tabitha running towards the fallen police officer. “Alicia kept sayin’ she was gonna get you in here to model for us.”

    “Oh, did she?” Tabitha’s smile became a wry one. “I don’t think she mentioned that bit to me.”

    “Ha, whoops!” Bill laughed. “Well hey, hope you stick around? They get you a shirt yet?”

    “I um, well I don’t have fifty dollars,” Tabitha joked. “So…”

    “Fifty dollars…?” Bill almost doubled over as he wheezed out a laugh. “Whoa, man. Yo, Mister Pete! This girl here just said fifty—”

    “I know, I know, I already heard,” Mr. Peterson chuckled. “Well, heck. She can just pay in installments.”

    “Installments!” Bill clutched his chest and bent backwards this time as he laughed. “Oh, man. Installments. That is choice.”

    Sticking near the teacher’s desk, Janaye cast a bemused smile in their direction and made a point to roll her eyes at Bill’s antics.

    Next to arrive were Casey and Matthew, and they came into the room holding hands. Casey was wearing track pants and an oversized WildCats hoodie, while Matthew was wearing jeans and hunting camouflage not too dissimilar from the big coat hunting jacket Tabitha had borrowed for school earlier in the week. To her surprise, watching them come in as a couple brought out a flash of pure envy from Tabitha. She knew Matthew was objectively cute, but it wasn’t really attraction she felt—she envied that they were together, that they had someone to be with.

    They’re not even showing off, really, Tabitha suppressed a sigh. The way they go around together it’s like they’re just an old married couple. It’s SO FUCKING ADORABLE. Like, I’m kind of interested in Bobby, but I’m not sure I can even picture going around like that with him. Bobby seems like a different vibe? Higher energy? I do feel much more comfortable around Bobby, but… well, just LOOK AT THESE TWO. It’s like they have this deep inner peace or serenity. I’m super jealous.

    Casey cocked her head upon spotting Tabitha and flashed a grin and a wave, but whatever she was about to say was cut off as Alicia bounded into the room at a jog, her padded parka folded and wadded up beneath one arm.

    “Tabs!” Alicia squealed in delight.

    The parka was tossed upon one of the tables in passing as Alicia hurried across the room to envelop Tabitha in an enthusiastic hug.

    “You made it!” Alicia exclaimed, squeezing tight. “Guys! She made it! Here, get this nasty gross putrescent thing off. Off! Off!”

    “Oh! Um—” Tabitha let out a nervous laugh.

    It was hard not to be self-conscious when insistent hands unzipped the offending Springton Spirit cheerleader jacket and then tug and wrestle it back off of Tabitha’s arms—Tabitha felt herself flush as the rest of the art room looked on in amusement. It felt strange to see her friend Alicia this outgoing and forward, but she didn’t dislike it.

    “Burn it!” William jeered. “Buuurn it!”

    “Hey, whoa whoa whoa,” Mr. Peterson thumped a fist upon his teacher’s desk. “Guys. What’d I tell you guys about burning stuff, and class warfare?”

    “‘Don’t get caught,’” Casey chirped out with a decisive nod. “Got it. Matthew—get the matches.”

    “Uh—” Tabitha blanched, for a moment afraid they might actually try to torch it. “I’m not a cheerleader, yet! And, hah. Coach Baylor has been very nice to me?”

    “Fine, fine,” Casey flourished her hand dismissively. “But. You can’t wear enemy colors in here! Matthew. The box!”

    “The box!” Matthew called, heading for the store room.

    “Not the box!” William faux-protested in a tinny voice.

    “Oh yes!” Casey harumphed. “It’s time. This’ll be our first fifty dollar sale.”

    “Ahem,” Alicia giggled. “Well. On account of Tabitha being my very close friend, I think she is eligible for our close friends discount. So—fifty five dollars.”

    “Fifty-five?!” Tabitha played along with mock outrage, pulling out a ten dollar bill. “Aw, man.”

    “With friends like that, who needs enemies?” Mr. Peterson ribbed, earning an eye roll of exasperation from Janaye. “Right? Right?! C’mon, now.”

    “Yoink,” Casey grabbed the ten dollars from Tabitha. “Easy money. Heh heh heh heh.”

    Matthew returned with a cardboard box from the store room, dropping it down on the table across from her and then flipping the flaps open to reveal neatly folded blue shirts with white lettering. To her surprise the whole little club—even Janaye—gathered in close around the tables to see her don one of their shirts. Which of course made Tabitha realize—only William and Alicia seemed to be visible wearing the blue Art Club shirts right now.

    “What size we goin’ with?” Matthew asked, awkwardly sizing her up. “Uhh. Medium?”

    “Small,” Alicia insisted. “Tabby’s like, ninety pounds soaking wet.”

    “Large!” Casey guessed. “You want one that’s big an’ comfy, right? Like this.”

    With a moment of silent struggle, they watched as Casey shucked the big WildCats hoodie off to reveal an equally oversized Art Club shirt on beneath. It was tucked into her track pants, which seemed like a very bizarre fashion statement to make this late into the nineties. Wearing a huge shirt and then tucking it in seemed more from the early Saved by the Bell times, whereas in high school today Tabitha observed the kids mimicking more unkempt indie sleaze, post-grunge, or ‘street’ sportswear looks. This was a semi-rural Kentucky town but it still couldn’t escape contemporary American culture, and here in 1999 most everyone was already right on the cusp of plunging headlong into the pop era. Well, Casey does seem more the type to just do things her own way, have her own unique sort of style?

    “Um,” Tabitha faltered as she considered the sizes. “Mediu—”

    “Small!” Alicia giggled, pushing past Matthew to rifle through the box. “I wear a medium, and it’s like already baggy on me. Here, look.”

    “Okay, okay!” Tabitha found it hard to stifle Alicia’s persistence. “I can… try it? Just, I uh. I’ve never worn a small in my life.”

    “You what?!” Alicia stared at her in disbelief as she held up a shirt and shook it to unfold it. “Ohhh, right. ‘Cause you used to be, uh. Heavier and all that. But like—you can totally wear a small!”

    “Can I?” Tabitha wasn’t sure whose permission she was asking, but the Art Club tee was pushed into her hands all the same.

    “Try it on,” Alicia demanded. “Just like, put it on over your one you’ve got on now.”

    Upon close examination, the blue t-shirt had the simple words Springton High Art Club at the top in blocky white print, while beneath was a detailed transfer of the iconic M. C. Escher hands drawing themselves into existence lithograph. It looked pretty neat, and she found herself much more excited to wear one of them and be part of this group than she had in putting on the Springton Cheer jacket. Even if, honestly, I’m not really much of an artist at all. Hah.

    “Okay?” Tabitha gave her a wincing smile. “But uh. I’ll look ridiculuous, this one I’ve already got on now is bigger, so—”

    “Run on down to the restrooms,” William suggested. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

    “We’ve got a changing room, dork,” Casey rebutted. “Jay? Could you show Tabs to the changing room real quick?”

    “I can do it!” Alicia pouted. “Let me—”

    “No way, josé!” Casey shot her down. “Janaye’s the theatre kid.”

    Holding up the small shirt and comparing it against her body it seemed like it should probably fit, but Tabitha didn’t have too much time to consider as Janaye gestured for her to follow. The taciturn upperclassman girl then led her through the store room that bridged the two classrooms—Tabitha barely had time to take in the visual cacophony of racks, shelves and cluttered heaps of costumes, painted props, stage sections, and equipment—and then through to the theatre room proper.

    While most actual theatre practices and performances would take place over in the auditorium, the classroom itself for drama courses was very strange. Rather than forward-facing rows of student desks, they circled the edge of the room in two big inward-facing rings, along with several couches in the corners. The ‘front’ of the room where a whiteboard and teacher’s desk would have normally been was blocked off with giant red stage curtains, in front of which was an overly elaborate victorian chaise lounge that seemed to be the centerpiece where Mrs. Hart taught from. Posters for both school plays and famous films decorated the walls along with several elaborate photo collages.

    “Mrs. Hart?” Janaye stopped just inside the doorway to ask the empty room.

    “Yes~?” A frivolous female voice called from somewhere. “Who is it?”

    “Janaye Davis, from the Art Club,” Janaye reported. “We have a new member, would it be alright if she changes into her shirt in—”

    “Well of course! Of course of course of course,” The mysterious voice behind the curtain called. “Come!”

    Janaye brought the curious Tabitha forward and then drew back heavy curtain folds to reveal a long sliver of room hidden behind—on one end, a desk with a computer where Mrs. Hart sat in a swivel chair regarding them, and then on the other end a row of filing cabinets that cordoned off a small private area with a vertically mounted wall mirror and rolling racks with empty hangers for garments that was clearly the changing area. While the decor throughout the classroom proper was bright and whimsical, the behind the curtain area was dark, sparse, and clinical and the teacher’s administrative things being hidden back here gave it that distinct I’m not supposed to be back here feeling.

    “Well hell-o!” Mrs. Hart clasped her hands together. “I know you! Miss Tabitha. Welcome, welcome! Joining the arts, are we?”

    “Um—” Tabitha blushed.

    “The art club? Of course, of course—go on ahead, dearie,” Mrs. Hart assured her. “I’ll be tip-typing away, don’t mind me over here. Or, do you need more privacy?”

    Mrs. Hart used the British pronunciation priv-uh-see rather than the American pry-vuh-see, but her overall speaking accent didn’t seem to skew British—from her teasing tone, it seemed to be a performative nuance that she simply did for her own amusement.

    The theatre teacher was a slender pretty woman in her thirties Tabitha was able to recognize with ease simply because she had always been so eccentric and extra. Despite being relatively young to Tabitha’s seasoned eyes, Mrs. Hart wore her bleached-white hair in a very short pixie-cut, seemingly styled after Dame Judi Dench’s iconic look. Rather outrageous leopard-print slacks were worn beneath a large turquoise shawl, and from the temple-pieces of her large silver eyeglasses dangled a strap chain made of pearl beads. Mrs. Hart also had an obvious love for jewelry of all kinds—wearing a half-dozen rings, bracelets, and bangles, each following a clear silver decorated with pearl motif. 

    “Oh! No, you’re fine,” Tabitha assured her. “I don’t want to impose. I’ll be quick?”

    “Of course, of course,” Mrs. Hart nodded with a smile, turning back to her computer monitor. “Go on ahead!”

    For a very brief moment as Tabitha changed clothes, she recalled thinking back upon the titular Mrs. Hart in her previous life when she was going gray and finally decided to wear her hair short. Despite already being old at that point, she’d nurtured a rather childish hope that cropping things short would capture some of that bold chic essence that Mrs. Hart had embodied… but other than being easier to manage, the drastic change to her look hadn’t raised her confidence or esteem. Her appearance even after the stomach ulcers ushered in incredible weight loss had not been flattering, it simply seemed to give her jowls and extra skin everywhere—Taekwondo exercise had helped, but it could not create miracles or undo a lifetime of unhealthy choices.

    The librarian chic blouse Tabitha chose this morning was slipped off, and then the Art Club tee pulled on—Tabitha’s first immediate impression was that it was way too tight. It felt like it fit wrong, it felt constricting and seemed to hug up against her body beneath her bra line in a way she was not used to at all. To her surprise, the sleeves didn’t seem to pinch at her arms too much, and the bottom hem when smoothed out extended on way past her high-waisted pants. It looked great, actually—by all appearances she looked like a slightly more daring Tabitha, one who was much more confident in showing off her petite figure.

    Question is, Tabitha examined herself in surprise. ...Am I that Tabitha? I think maybe I am!

( Previous, 62 pt 3 | RE: Trailer Trash | Next, 62 pt 5 )

/// Sorry for the long delay, live has been very overwhelming. Not gonna dump sixty paragraphs of trauma on you guys, I just did that to my AnimeCon readers and I want to start putting it behind me. Some new characters here and what feels like a lot of visual description. Hopefully still feels authentic and readers can picture things ok. I've been going through these sections so much that none of it feels like much of anything anymore. Will fix links later