A Red Leaf

A muddy hand latched onto the grass before going limp. A man was crouched low, his breathing shaky and his fingers going white as he clutched his rifle like gravity keeping the earth together. There was a mix of mud, dirt, and sand spread out and forming small piles in random areas. Every so often, the man would step into a grainy pile and his boot would make an audible crunch that made me cringe. Visually, everything was blurry; the atmosphere consisted of a blue and gray wash that made it infinitely harder to identify figures from trees. As if the grainy screen didn't make it hard enough. A splash of blood splattered against the screen and a girl next to me jumped. Most of the class was occupied on anything but the film playing on the board. The boys in the back were all stuck to their phones, a group in the front were doing work for other classes, and some were reading, sleeping, or staring off into space. I watched the clock on the wall and wondered if the clock manufacturer had deliberately made the hands stuck in their spot or if time just decided to move impossibly slowly. I suppose Mr. Brown didn't put on the World War II film for entertainment purposes, but he sure didn't try very hard to keep the class engaged. Another splash of noticeably more pink-than-red blood sprayed across the screen. The same girl squealed. "Do you have to scream like that?" A boy two rows over said under his breath. "It's not even scary." The girl, Janet, someone who I would describe as the attention-seeking type, giggled to her friends. "I swear I seriously can't stand the sight of blood," She said loudly. "I'm literally about to faint,". I rolled my eyes and glanced to my left where my friend, Mel, was sketching in her notebook. I nudged her leg with my knee and her eyes looked up at me. Mel Kreely, as much as she'd like to deny it, was an artist. In my own professional opinion, she was quite a fine artist. She won several contests, whenever someone convinced her to enter one, and had an impressive gallery of which I've only seen the pieces she chose to post on Pinterest. She mainly worked with gouache and oils and had a strong distaste for acrylic paint. She hated the smell and described the application as 'dead' and 'empty' despite having a recent fixation on spray paints. But I think that's more about a certain boy than the material. I had first met Mel in eighth grade when we were in a group project together and I discovered her secret talent. I showed her my rock collection and we quickly became friends. "Do you wanna skip?" I whispered. She closed her sketchbook, placed her pencil perfectly behind her ear, and nodded. "Always," She grinned. Two years ago, when I was fifteen, a couple of seniors were messing around and one accidentally broke one of the school security cameras. I don't know exactly how it happened, but I just know that it's now lopsided and the light doesn't turn on. Either the school hasn't noticed or they just don't care because the camera has been like that ever since and, luckily, if you know about it, it makes for an easy escape plan. After you turn down the hallway, there are three ways you can go: the bathroom, the stairwell, or outside and the camera isn't there to know where you went, so no one knows if you left the building. I pushed open the double doors and we made our way outside and around the building. I stopped at a bush-looking tree, or rather, a tree-looking bush, that had little paper cards stuck between the branches. It was a wonky-looking thing that I knew used to have a name, but those who named it have since graduated and no one cares to keep up traditions. If I asked someone who knew about it, "you know that weird tree?", they'd know exactly what I was referring to, but I'd be genuinely surprised if anyone at this school knew about it. The tiny cards were little notes that past students put there. There were wishes, quotes, nice sentiments, and a lot of names with graduation years. I looked at one that was eye-level that read, 'Halley Robertson 2017'. Most of the cards were crinkled, the graphite or ink less visible than when it was first written. Several had fallen off and were now stuck to the ground. I saw another one that read, 'Brand Kreely 2019', Mel's older brother. I hadn't known him all that well but Mel tells me funny stories about him sometimes. She walked a couple of steps passed the tree and pulled down a ladder hanging above. It took a more forced tug before reluctantly releasing itself and falling to the ground, the metal scraping against the brick as it fell. After ascending the ladder, we were met with a small open space riddled with crushed cans and empty cigarette packs. This was just a small portion of the roof, you'd have to climb another ladder to make it to the very top but there was a decent amount of space. I claimed a cardboard box against a wall while Mel walked over to some wooden planks. She lifted just enough to retrieve a small box of chalk. "What'll it be today," She turned to me with a chalk stick in her hand. I thought for a second before responding. "New York City landscape," I said. She looked up in thought and I was ready for her to tell me to pick another one before she knelt on the ground and began drawing. The rest of the roof had washed away remnants of past masterpieces on the floor and some along the walls too. I could still make out some things though like the large orange SpongeBob on the wall that she drew last time. She had run out of yellow chalk. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I fished it out. 'MEET ON ROOF' was texted in all caps and I looked to Mel who just shrugged. I typed out a quick response, 'already here'. Not long after, we heard rustling below us and a head popped up over the edge. "Guys," A boy hauled himself onto the roof. "I had to flush'em." Mel paused for a second, "All of them?" "All I had on me, yeah," He sat on a plastic crate. "They brought the dogs back." "I thought you were stopping?" I asked. He gave me a sheepish smile. "Well, I'm done now." Devone Sanders was six feet tall, an athlete, Mel's cousin, and an amateur drug dealer. In middle school, he played football and basketball but he quit both and joined track in high school. Not that he was bad at either sport, he was actually very good but he told us he didn't like the people and that there was less talking in track. His dad wasn't too happy about the switch though. I remember his speech about how Devone would get a scholarship for basketball and that was what he was gonna do in college but that dream quickly went down the drain. He was fired from two jobs and quit the third which kick-started his other 'job', a business I had tried to convince him of quitting since he told me about it. Mel's advice was simpler: 'If you're gonna do it, just don't get caught'. That didn't mean he did drugs though. Devone smoked weed occasionally, as we all do, but he never touched the stuff he sold. "You're done for good?" I questioned. He nodded. "Most definitely. . . But I need a loan," He said. I scoffed and Mel kept drawing. "Do I look like I'm made of money?" I started and he quickly put his hands up defensively. "I know, I know. But this is the last time I swear!" His eyes were pleading. "Just cover me this once and I'll pay you back fully in no time." I sighed, "How much do you need." "Like 350 give or take. I've got the rest," He said. "I'm done," Mel called. I turned to see the array of colors and the skyscrapers with a pink-orange sunset fading in the back. She said she was done but she was still chalking some details, her hand never stopping. Chalk wasn't the greatest material but it still looked amazing and I knew I had to convince her to pursue art after school. "Awesome," I said and stood up. "Let's get out of here," Mel stood up and dusted her knees. Devone went down the ladder first and I steadied the ladder for Mel. "Shoot. We have like a minute and I have a test in bio," Devone grumbled. Mel flicked him on the back of his neck. "Don't fail. If your grade goes down from a C your dad will kill you." "Yeah I know, you don't have to tell me," He swatted her away. "If you know then why are you failing history?" As I descended the ladder, my eye caught a pink sticky-note at the top of the weird tree. There was just a name on it and nothing else. It read, 'Kyra'. My mind went back to the woods and that hill. "I'm Kyra. What's your name?" "C'mon slowpoke, we can't skip calculus too," Mel spoke below me. I shook my head and my feet touched the ground. I tore my thoughts away and looked at Mel. "I'd really be down for it though," I pushed the ladder back up. Mel checked her phone. "You wanna go out tonight?" She asked. I smirked and opened the door for her. "You know you can say you want to see him, you don't have to lie," I teased. She shoved past me. "Shut up," She muttered and I didn't have to see to know her face was blazing red.