Waiting For Us [COMPLETED]

chapter 12 - art lessons

Talia:

Grayson and I stare at each other. He remains standing by the door; I stay seated at the table with my pencil case hovering above the surface in my hand. Neither of us move. It seems as if the universe is forcing all of our interactions into two weeks, and it's too shocking for the both of us. 

"Hello there new student," greets Miss Bradstone with a wisp of her hand.

Grayson shakes his head to escape from his trance and faces the teacher. Miss Bradstone's bright smile momentarily blinds him, which I can tell by the way Grayson's eyes narrow slightly. Her smile pairs nicely with his cold, empty stare. That's sarcasm.

When Miss B realizes Grayson won't say hello back to her, she just nods her head once.

"Okay, then. Find your seat, find your seat,"
she says, shooing him away from the front door to a table. Grayson gives her one final look that reads, "don't push me," and finally steps away.

I tilt my head back down and continue taking out my pencils, neatly arranging them in front of me. I think it's a stress induced habit. I'm about to straighten my final one before a voice interrupts.

"Can I sit here?"

Grayson points at the stool directly across from me. I nod once and swallow, a sound that echos through my ears. "Yeah, go ahead."

Why am I so nervous all of the sudden? He's just asking me if he can sit there. Art class is meant to keep my mind clear of worries, but now I have to think about him. At my table. Near me. For the whole semester. After all of the embarrassing moments with him.

He cautiously sits on the stool and leans his elbows on the table. Grayson looks off to his right at the poster-filled wall. I watch his eyes trace over the words and images carelessly, as if trying to avoid interaction with me. His shoulders are tense, something that I notice happens often with his body. Is he stressed all of the time? Or is there something else that is going on with him?

Grayson suddenly turns his head and looks at me. I immediately—like the awkward person I am—avert my eyes from him, pretending that I wasn't just staring at him. Smooth. Real smooth, Lia.

"Alright, welcome students!" Beams Miss Bradstone, casually leaning against her desk, which is located next to the whiteboard. "For those of you who do not know me, I'm Miss Bradstone. Feel free to call me Miss B if that's easier. This class will take you on a fabulous journey through understanding the basics of art composition and what it takes to create a masterpiece."

My classmates nod their heads and one of them mutters lowly, "I can't even draw a stick figure correctly."

Bits of laughter echo from their table and I turn to look at the source. Blake Anderson, also known as the senior class clown, sits at his table surrounded by his equally unserious friends. They're definitely here because they forgot to take an art class. Just when I thought this class couldn't get anymore distracting.