Peter sputtered violently as he found himself plunged fully into the bowl of water intended to dampen the paint, held in place by the crushing weight of his classmate’s closed hand.  The ice cold liquid rushed through the fabric of his clothes and all over his body, getting in easily between the cushy crevices of Mandy’s firm fingers.  Shivering, he shook his arms, attempting to break through the bonds of the girl’s cool digits, but this was obviously a no-go, as he soon found he couldn’t shift them in the slightest.  Peter inhaled hard in panic for oxygen, and instantly took in a throatful of the water.  Metallic tasting on his tongue, like the sink hadn’t been cleaned in a while.  The boy gagged weakly in the water, shaking.

                The moment dragged on for what seemed like forever to Peter until he came out of the water with a quick snap of Mandy’s wrist, the water splashing everywhere on the desk.  As his waterlogged vision re-adjusted to the room, he noticed his aquatic re-emergence was due to a different hand gripping onto Mandy’s forearm tightly, ripping her hand (and Peter) from the bowl with great force.  As he blinked again, he also realized with a start that the entire class, or what seemed like it, had crowded around Mandy’s desk for a better look at the ongoing event.

                “Hey!  Look, you got water all over my-” accused Mandy with haughty annoyance, looking upward at whoever at halted her preparation to exercise Peter as an artistic utensil.

                “Shut up!  You… you…” hissed a female voice, almost in a rage, a light Spanish accent prevalent in the words.  As Mandy was still gripping onto Peter’s body at a sideways angle, he strained his neck to look backward and upside down, following the arm of whoever had saved him from his five-second underwater misadventure.

                Although his vision was still blurry, Peter had a decent view of his rescuer.  He squinted, still somewhat disoriented, realizing from his mental stores that it was a girl who had been sitting on the far side of the room.  Her soft Hispanic features were twisted into a look of anger and frustration as she continued gripping at Mandy’s arm with her tanned fist, her upper lip quivering, her freshly-brushed brunette hair hanging like willow tree leaves over her face.  Clearly, she had made haste in reaching Mandy’s desk to pull Peter out.

                “Let go of me, Alita, he said it was okay!” whined Mandy.

                “You picked him up and put him in your bowl of water, Mandy.  Put… him… down,” growled Alita.  Peter could feel the vibration of her hand shaking all the way through Mandy’s wrist and into her icy palm.  Her grip was clenched like a metal claw onto rusted steel.

                There was silence between them for a moment as the group continued buzzing to one another.

                “Yeah, Mandy, seriously.  Let him go,” came a male voice from somewhere in the huddle of students.

                “She didn’t hurt him or anything…” mused another female voice.

                “I heard her ask him.  He said he’d help her paint her thing,” pointed out a boy’s voice from the other side of the circle of people.

                “But she… she…” moaned a girl’s voice with a near-shriek, clearly unable to handle the situation.

                “Hey, man, you okay?” piped yet another new voice out to Peter as he remained clenched in Mandy’s quivering fist.

                “Of COURSE he’s okay!” interjected Mandy through gritted teeth.  “It’s watercolor paints!  I have to get him wet before he can…”

                “You did not have to put his whole body into the water, and you did not have to pick him up like that.  He could do it himself,” responded Alita with a more measured drawl, stumbling slightly over the pronunciation of a few of the words that were evidently only part of her second learned language.  Peter felt another thick vibration as his momentary savior shook Mandy’s arm harder.  “Put him down now.”

                “HEY!” came the craggy bark of Mr. Jameson as he re-entered the room from his office, hearing the commotion through the wall.  “WHAT is going on in my classroom?” As he pushed his way through the wall of teenagers, Mandy instantly lowered her hand toward the desk, releasing her peer prey from her cold, wet fingers, allowing Peter to roll uncomfortably back to the desktop on his stomach.

                “Mr. Clark, you feeling all right?” he asked, sounding a just few degrees more concerned above abject boredom, as he leaned over the table, eyeing Peter.

                “He’s okay, Mr. Jameson!” said Mandy with a little too much enthusiasm before the small boy could even get ahold of himself.

                “I didn’t ask you, young lady,” snapped Mr. Jameson, giving the evil eye to Mandy, who quickly piped down and took a nervous step away from the desk.

                “Yes!  Yes, I’m f-fine…” sputtered Peter as he pulled himself speedily to his feet, coughing up a tiny swallow of freezing copper water.  “Fine, really.”

                “She put him in her water bowl,” said Alita quietly, the fire still burning her voice, her dislike for Mandy practically dripping from her words.  “She picked him up and put him in her water bowl and held him there.”

                “What?” hissed Jameson, his eyes bugging slightly.  “Everyone?  Is this true?”

                The class instantly starting shouting out their partial version of the scene, fighting for the teacher’s attention: some were backing Mandy, saying Peter had given his full consent to aid her with her art project, and some were trying to point out that Peter hadn’t asked her to pick him up and dunk him fully underwater.

                “HEY!” cried out Peter at last with every ounce of volume he could summon, nearly shattering his vocal chords.  It was loud enough to get everyone’s attention, as everyone so close together, and the class quickly shushed, all staring down with wonder at the boy, more out of amazement that he was capable of being so loud than for wanting to hear his own opinion of the actual story.  “I told her I’d help her with her project.  I…”

                “No.  No, she, she…” stuttered Alita, clearly saddened by Peter’s defense.

                “I did, Mr. Jameson,” said Peter confidently, wiping his damp bangs out of his face and smoothing one of his hands down his cold cheek to slosh away some excess moisture.  “I… guess, maybe I didn’t need to go all the way under, but…”

                “I see…” grumbled Mr. Jameson, rubbing at his stubble-pocked chin.  The gears were turning.  Peter couldn’t tell whether it was in his favor or not.  “You,” he said at last, pointing with a knobby finger to the author of Peter’s unexpected dunk.  “Missy.  What’s your name?”

                “Mandy… Delaney…” she answered uneasily, trying to smile cutely to the teacher, as her finger slowly fished its way back through her split ponytail end.

                “Ms. Delaney… see me after class.  And Mr…”

                “Peter Clark,” said Peter quickly, avoiding Mandy’s gaze, although even without looking, he could practically feel her irises trying to rain laser death through his spine.  He swallowed hard, attempting to push the feeling out of his mind.  “…sir.”

                “We’ll… get you a… towel or something, or…”

                “A tissue would be fine, if you’ve got any in here,” said Peter quickly, his eyes darting around to his classmates, nearly all of whom were staring down at him with shock, simply enjoying the show of watching the teacher carry on a conversation with a person small enough to fit into each of their hands.

                “Here… P-Peter…” came Alita’s voice from behind Peter.  He turned to find a tissue big enough to be a blanket for himself dangling in midair just in front of his face, pinched tightly between Alita’s slender pointer finger and thumb.  Peter could hear the unsteady anger in her voice; she clearly was still distraught with what she had just seen.

                “Thanks,” he said with a grateful smile to Alita, who returned the gesture.  Peter grasped his arms around the comparatively fuzzy edge of the tissue and took the bulky thing from her hand.  Wrapping himself in it, he instantly began to warm up, shimmying it against his damp back and rubbing it into his icy hair, soaking in the starchy scent of the dusty tissue.  He sneezed softly, causing most of the people surrounding him to flinch.  It took a shrill whistle from between two of Mr. Jameson’s fingers to get everyone back to reality.

                “Let’s get back to work, everyone.  If I don’t see something on everyone’s paper by the end of class, at least, I’ll be whipping out the detention log sooner than normal.  Come on!” he called out, clapping his hands together for effect.

                This threat got everyone moving again back to their seats to complete their work, bustling around and trading paints and pencils for ones they needed for their own projects.

                “Delaney?  Go ahead and pick a different seat in the room,” said Mr. Jameson with a slow wave of dismissal to Mandy, who quickly grabbed up her supplies and began backing away.  As she did, she caught Peter’s eye, her pupils narrowed and dilated.  Peter couldn’t be sure, as he was still very nervous and cold, but he would have sworn the black in her eyes was swirling like an ink well.  Like jet smoke from a wildfire.  It made his stomach churn itself.  With a final twist of her upper lip that could only have been read as utter disgust, Mandy sauntered away, her ponytails bouncing robotically against her shoulders as she walked.

                “You are… really okay?” asked Alita, who Peter noticed by this point had slowly slid into the chair of the desk he was now occupying.  Gently, she picked up the ruffled tissue in her fingers and offered it to Peter again.  “You need another one?”

                “No, no, it’s fine,” he said, waving his arms.  “I… um… thank you.”

                “It was nothing.  I am very sorry about her.  She’s always been this way, even in middle school.  I had hoped she might have improved over the summer,” said Alita, looking genuinely remorseful.  To Peter’s delight, there wasn’t the slightest sign of discomfort as she spoke to him.

                “You seem pretty relaxed,” said Peter.  “I appreciate it.”

                “I have had much practice.  My own little brother is quite a handful.  You are nothing compared to him.  Besides, it must be scary to be at a new school after you were homeschooled for so long.”

                “How did you…”

                “The newspapers.  You were there a few days back now.  I recognized you when I walked into the classroom.  I had hoped to meet you, but… unfortunately, it had to be when you were being shown a lack of kindness by Mandy.”

                “Thanks again for that,” said Peter with a grin, going to pick up his shoes, but then he stopped himself.  “You know what?”

                “What?” asked Alita with a grin, resting an elbow on the desk, placing her chin on her hand and gazing down at Peter, not with inanimate curiosity as he had seen all morning, but with simple wonderment.

                “Mandy may be a little off her rocker,” whispered Peter, making sure his tormentor was out of earshot.  “But she at least knows art.”  With a cheerful gait, Peter made a break for the still-open watercolors paint, and, leaping into the air, planted both feet hard into the squishy, wet compartment for red paint.  With Alita watching with a questioningly raised eyebrow, Peter began to march across Mandy’s piece of paper, leaving a trail of his tiny painted footprints across it.      

“Now that is art,” giggled Alita approvingly, golf-clapping her long fingers together, smiling down at her little classmate as he made intricate, swirling patterns across the page with each tiny step.