A Leopard Can't Change Her Spots

[Espi]

Something about Cherry Blossoms
Something Green and Black
Something Dying and Decayed
Something Soft and Supple
Something Abject and Despoiled
Something Under Covers Tucked
Something Really Fu-

“Natalie?”

((Nate Chauncey begins (again)))

The voice startled Nate back into reality. Well, the reality where most other people lived, as opposed to Nate’s reality from a moment ago where her conscious thought faded into the chaotic colors of her mind. The word soup she’d been idly scribbling onto her notebook might seem like gibberish to the average person, but the poem was actually a deep commentary on-

“Natalie!”

Nate’s head snapped from the window next to her desk back to face the teacher, her left hand dropping from supporting her chin to rest on the table. Her right hand, which had been idly scribing words from her mind into paper, froze mid-letter, leaving an odd curved line next to the ‘u’.

“Natalie, focus. I asked you a question.” The teacher folded her arms, and Nate’s dreamy expression drooped into a blank one as her imagination was shattered by the coldness of the ‘real world’.

“Sorry.” She said, simply. Nate wasn’t much for talking. Her most verbose moments typically had her singing. She was honestly not very phased; the teacher’s attention was hardly scathing to her, and she didn’t really mind being called out for daydreaming. It was kind of annoying to be called ‘Natalie’, though. She preferred Nate, though she was usually disinterested in reminding people.

“Okay, Natalie, can you define the difference between a lateral moraine and a terminal moraine?” Nate pondered for a moment. She didn’t remember them going over this, at least, not any more detail than ‘they discussed this during the geology unit’ and ‘they had something to do with rocks’, which was really just an inference from the first detail.

“No.” Nate spoke with a touch of dejection, a vaguely resigned note. It wasn’t defiant or rebellious; she could not tell her what the difference was. It was simply impossible.

Her classmates snickered, but Nate hardly noticed. The teacher looked at her with the sense of disappointment so thick Nate could probably have extracted pigment from it if she tried. Disappointment was probably a blueish, grayish, drab color, now that she thought of it. “Okay, Natalie. Just…take the time to go over this, please. Anyone else?”

One of the other students, a chubby bespectacled boy with curly hair, raised his hand immediately. Nate thought it was kind of endearing, how enthusiastic he was over something like this. She wondered if he got enough recognition for his intelligence at home; clearly, he wanted to validate himself in class, since he was always answering questions like that.

Idly, Nate wondered about the home life of the guy whose name she didn’t even know for the rest of class (instead of reviewing for the test), and then left.

---

A tiny dew drop perched precariously upon the tip of a leaf, glittering with dawnlight. Reaching for it was a tangled web of spindly human limbs, like vines grasping the leaf’s stem, growing closer to the droplet with each dying handful of-

“…Natalie Chauncey, please report to the student counselor’s office. ”

The crackle of the announcement feed broke Nate from her intense doodling during math class. Well, the mention of her name did; a honed instinct to hear her own name, since little else could break her from a daydream. The actual afternoon dismissal was otherwise so totally ignored she hadn’t even noticed class letting out for the day.

Gathering up her stuff, carefully stowing the lined paper with her sketch on it in a bulging art folder, Nate made her way down the halls, silently avoiding collisions, looking straight ahead. She had no clue why she was being called. Well, that was false; she could guess.

“Hi, Natalie.” The student guidance counselor, a surprisingly young brunette with glasses, smiled cheerfully across the wooden desk as she entered. Nate quietly took a seat, holding her backpack protectively in her lap. “How have you been doing lately? Everything going okay?”

“I’m fine.” There was a brief pause, as the woman appeared to anticipate Nate to say more. Nate added nothing, her expression blank. The counselor kept smiling, and Nate wondered if this was an unusual reaction, if people normally struck up pleasant small talk with her as opposed to Nate’s usual terseness.

“Glad to hear it!” Finally, the counselor, whose name Nate could not place (though she was sure the door had been labeled with it) spoke up. “Do you know why I called you down here?”

Nate considered for a moment. Then, she replied, “My grades?” with the same sort of weariness you’d expect from someone who heard an awful lot about their grades. Which of course, Nate had. In response, the teacher nodded with an almost sad smile.

“Natalie, you’re a smart girl; you get good grades in your electives, and you do fairly well in English.” Nate bit her lip a face at this. The woman turned to the computer on her desk, seemingly checking what looked like a graphic table. Then she looked back at Nate. “You need to know that you’re failing in trig and Earth Science, and your US History grade is almost as low.”

“Now, I’ve looked at your past grades, and they’ve gone up and down a lot. You do really well for a semester or unit, and then stop passing tests and handing in homework.” She steepled her fingers and looked at Nate seriously. “Listen Natalie, I know you can do better. Please, is there some way I can help you apply yourself? Are your classes boring because they’re too easy? I-“ She sighed, “We’re all concerned about your future. What can we do to help you?”

Nate felt uncomfortable. She fidgeted in her seat, and really wished she could just walk away. But though she cared little for social niceties, she was still respectful of authority like this. She was doubtless going cause a problem if she didn’t say anything and just walked away. So... “I’m fine.” Nate said, standing up and slinging her backpack over her shoulder. She forced a smile, poorly no doubt, but she tried.

The teacher frowned. “Natalie, you understand what’s at stake here, I’m sure. I don’t want to hold you too long, but I do want you to come by tomorrow before class. Here, let me get you a pass-“

“No thanks.” Nate said, trying to sound more firm and probably coming across as excessively chipper. “I’ll be okay.”

The counselor forced a slip of paper into Nate’s hand anyway, and looked at her hard. “Natalie, this is your future here. You’re a bright girl, I don’t want to see you wasting that potential.” Nate bit her lip, but nodded and left.

She had no intention to return the next day.

--

The colors were a touch off; the digital sketch was overly saturated in comparison to the reference, namely, the slightly dusty stuffed bear seated rather forlornly on a shelf in her bedroom. The poor old thing had been neglected for about five years; she kept meaning to donate it so someone in need could have a friend.

But the colors were inaccurate; the velvety red looked like clownish crimson on-screen, and she couldn’t get it to be more muted without turning it brown. Nate was beginning to grow frustrated as, with every attempt to apply color in a different fashion, it looked weird. Not just off anymore, but undeniably wrong.

Sighing, Nate leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She hadn’t noticed how hungry she was, or how sore her eyes were from focusing for so long. She glanced over at her alarm clock; it was a bit early to go to bed, but she was fatigued nonetheless.

“Nate honey, can you come down for a sec?” Mom’s voice awoke Nate from her half-sleeping reverie. She stood and stretched, rubbed her eyes, and went from her room to the hallway before she descended the stairs to the living room.

It was a lovely house; in addition to working and raising four kids (three rambunctious and one Nate), Laurie had a knack for interior design, which Nate inherited in an artistic sense. Still, it was well-decorated and neat, as opposed to Nate’s room, which was perpetually untidy and littered with art supplies, dirty clothes, or half-finished plates of food.

“Hey.” Nate gave a tired smile to her mom, who was seated on the couch with unusually rigid posture. Not sure if something was wrong or how bad it might be, Nate sat next to her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m doing good, honey. I got a call from the school, though. The counselor says today you were supposed to talk to her about your grades.” Nate grimaced, and instinctively, Laurie grabbed Nate by the opposite shoulder and pulled her daughter into a hug. Nate wasn’t much for physical contact, but she knew better than to fight against her mother’s embraces.

“It’s okay, Nate, you’re not in trouble. But I’m worried.” After being released, Nate stared at the TV across the room; it was off, since this was a rare occasion where her siblings were all out of the house on various activities Nate knew nothing about. Even her father was away for once.

“I know.” Nate said softly.

Laurie pursed her lips, and replied, “I’m sure they asked you questions already, but…is everything okay?”

There it was. Nate’s parents, for all the love and comfort they gave, they were always needlessly worrying about her. Nate was okay; she liked being alone, she liked her music (even if nobody else did) and she wasn’t anorexic, diabetic, depressed, bipolar or anything. She was just herself, and that self just didn’t like school.

“Mom…” Nate said, trying to gear herself up for this. She hated having to talk someone’s ear off, but she felt like this was an acceptable time. “I’m okay. I’m not stressed or sad or overwhelmed with stuff. I…I don’t like school, is all. It’s hard for me. But I’m going to try harder and do better. So, don’t worry, yeah?” She gave a small chuckle.

To her relief, Laurie smiled in return and hugged Nate again. “Okay, sweetie. I trust you. Just see what you can do about extra credit or something, okay? Do your best, because I’ll be checking up on you!”

Nate nodded and agreed, wordlessly. Then, she hopped up the stairs and went to bed.

-

The sketch was stylized, more abstract than normal. She kind of liked that; it was elegant, with flowing lines from the rose queen’s floral headdress into the long, silky swaths of translucent fabric draping her arms, which itself flowed into the sleek cocktail dress (which, she imagined, was scarlet as blood) that-

Nate’s artistic musings were interrupted by a spectacled, pudgy student dropping a sheet of paper over the sketch. She looked up, startled, but he’d already moved on. Nate looked down; it was her test result from yesterday’s unit exam. She tentatively turned it over.

In bright red, at the top of the paper beside her name, was the result: 83. Nate smiled, and turned the paper back over. This, along with the makeup homework she’d done, was likely enough to bring her earth science grade back into a passing value. Of course, she’d need to stick at this level of productivity and effort to keep her grades up for good.

Still, it was nice to bask in the feeling of success and improvement, however temporary that change might be. As the class began to discuss and work on the new unit (meteorology), Nate returned to the drawing. Perhaps the eyes would have in rose petals for lashes, and thorns would be carefully concealed against her pale green skin, invisible until she pierces you with them in a deceitful, intimate moment…

So preoccupied with this piece she was, Nate took almost a minute to realize the class ended, at which point she merely sighed and began to gather her things to bring home with her now that the day was past.

((Nate Chauncey continued elsewhere))