Dullness dripped from the old trees, oozed from the cracks in the sidewalk, and shadowed my dragging steps. It was an October day and the light surrounded me as if it were coming from multiple suns in the sky.  Leaves tugged on to branches, ready to fall. I was tugging on life, wanting something more. Oh god, how much I wanted life to give me, Jason Tam, some fresh excitement. It wasn’t like my life was bad in any way. Sure, I experienced my fair share of bad grades, arguments with parents and siblings, and other teenage woes, but life was good. Mom and Dad were professors- Dad at Drexel, Mom at University of Penn.
I felt like I lived in a quiet, remote, town, rather than the bustling city of Philadelphia. People were always talking about how there was so much to do. So much to do? I watched the days on my calendar slip through my fingers. A boring day would turn into an uneventful week, an uneventful week would turn into an drab month, and before I realized it, many unremarkable years had passed by. Middle school was supposed to be some great transition from childhood to adolescence. I thought I was supposed to turn into a butterfly or something. In the summer, I  grew used to parents, grandparents and other adults telling me, “Everything changes in high school!”
It’s the time of your life! “
  “The four years go by so fast, and before you know it you’ll be in college.”
  “Wowie, high school...I remember those days.”
Well, I drank that false hope alongside my lemon iced tea. A few weeks into school and it already felt like routine. Here I was, taking the same footsteps that I took coming home from middle school.
A few paces ahead the same girl sat on the corner of 47th and Locust St. I thought she was a bit of an idiot. Who sits in the middle of the sidewalk and just draws with chalk? She wasn’t a little girl anyway, but rather some 14 or 15 year-old, a freshman at some other school, where she hangs out with the art crowd or the nerds. I was not criticizing her- I was just a little too smart, and a little too good at art to be normal, but I didn’t sit outside my apartment doodling with a toddler’s toy. The girl was the type of girl you walk around, trying to keep a few feet away, with your eyes plastered forward just in case she infects you with her stare.
  I slid a few inches away from her as I approached her, furiously working, but she looked up abruptly. As suddenly as her eyes darted up, they drifted back down to her sketches on the pavement. For a split second however, she had looked me in the eye..
She didn’t have twinkling blue eyes, if that is what you're thinking, she didn’t lure and intrigue me with one lengthy gaze. Her eyes were a common dark brown, and they flicked back and forth, working mathematically, studying her piece. Her brows were furrowed simultaneously in deep concentration and confusion. A look that suggested she was suffering from artist’s block spread across her face. Realizing that I was staring, I quickly picked up the pace until I was finally a good distance away from her.
  “Hey, you!”
Oh no, it was fruit cake. I managed a shaken “Me?”. It was obvious it was me, as strangely I was the only one on the street- a street that was usually crowded with students and workers.
  “Yeah you. Get over here”
“Um, why?”
  I tightened my grip on my backpack strap. A thought flashed through my head. Fruitcake might actually be nuts.
  “I won’t bite.”
Why does everyone always say that? I didn’t expect her to be a flesh-eating piranha, but what did she expect from me? To come running to her side and talk like we’re pals?
  She was still looking down at the pavement with her shoulder length chocolate brown hair falling in her face. She let out a sigh , “Just come over here, I need some feedback. I’ve been working on this thing.”
I slowly spun on my heel and shuffled towards her. It was not like I was going anywhere and maybe I can see what fruit cake was up to. I was kind of curious as to what she was sketching all the time. As I approached she slowly stood up and wiped her tri-colored hands on her skinny jeans. She stretched out a thin arm clouded with freckles and grabbed my hand. I flinched. I was not used to such forced contact, especially with strangers.
  “Shar.”
  “What?”
  “I’m Shar.” She said it slowly, as if I was stupid.
“Char, as in Charlotte?”
  “No, Shar as in Shark.”
“Shark. What.  You’re named Shark?” I must have heard her wrong.
  “Yeah.”
  Wow, she must have thought she was mysterious with a name like Shark. She probably was filled with some silly teenage angst, I’m surprised she didn’t call herself Moon, or Shadow, or Light bulb. Besides, her actual name was probably conventional like Sarah or Jill.
  “Hey, earth to Spacey.”
  “Wha-huh?” I must of zoned out. Oh God, I was staring at her pants. I wasn’t trying to be a creepy, but a name like Shark makes you to ponder.
  She gave me a look. You know that look a person older than you will give you when you’re acting stupid. Gosh, I was letting a girl named Shark who still played with chalk intimidate me. Shark waved her hand towards the pavement, “So, I need some advice on a little project.”
  I didn’t know what I was expecting, but I was definitely not expect that. It was towering mountains casting sinister shadows on ribbon-like streams. Fish flashed their iridescent scales as their bodies rocked with the tide. The tide seemed to open out to the dark, forceful sea crashing upon tiny sailboats and bouncing buoys. Within the blackness of the sea surrounded by rough coral was a powerful force, a creature of fear, it was a Shark. It trailed the flashing fish with a hungry grin, bones already sticking poking out of its teeth. Its shiny grin was illuminated with satisfaction as if the act of killing was lovely.
It didn’t seem possible how beautiful her masterpiece was. Shark stood silent and stable with her arms crossed, looking down on what she had spent countless hours on. Her expression showed disappointment rather than the countenance of admiration. My own arms were dotted with goosebumps, and my jaw felt locked. I didn’t know how to respond to her work of art. What she could do with chalk was absolutely amazing, sharp lines blended into smooth arcs, obsidian black transformed into the pale pinkness of sunsets. I stood dumb and small, her art had shrunk me to the size of a pea.
A chilly breeze swept through the streets, silencing us, and rustled the shriveled leaves and litter.
  “What do you think?” Shark interrupted my thoughts.
I stammered, “It’s perfect.”
A long stretch of quietness hung in the air. Shark bit her lip and looked down at her black converse, hiding her blushing cheeks.
“What is it? I know it’s chalk, but what is the scene?”
  What followed was purely profound, “It’s a shark. You know how it’s hunter of the sea? It eats up all the little fish without a sign of care, as if its easy to hurt. I mean, how can Sharks swim with their teeth flashing. I know they're not actually smiling, but it’s like they’re happy after they are done. I wish I could be something like that.”
“A murderer?”
  “No! I mean wish I could forgive myself. Can you ever find happiness after hurting somebody? They may have forgiven you years ago, but when is it possible to acquit yourself of your sins? When do you look in the mirror and not see yourself as a monster? When do you start to feel human again when you’ve wronged another person?”
Her words spewed out, and her voice growing wobbly and brittle. Shaking, she bent down to put away her pieces of chalk.
  “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
I didn’t know how to react to her vigor and I was afraid she might start crying. She may have been eccentric, but I felt a deep ache within me.
I managed an, “It’s okay.” It was weak, but it was true. Shark was just a girl. A girl who wanted to be something other than human. And I was a boy who just wanted to be human.