Chasing Blue

Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT
INDIGO

Art Theory is by far by favorite class I'm taking this semester. It's fascinating, and most of all, I love how, technically, is students can never be wrong on our assignments, after all, we're all working with theories over here. This is our second class of the year so far — though I had met the professor through a seminar I had attended in October about the Language of Art.

      Today, we're giving our theories on the evolution of historic art, aka, the more famous pieces — think Mona Lisa, the Starry Night — versus more modernized art types. It's a simple little task, and the fourteen off of hurriedly go about beginning, the sound of laptops opening and starting up paired with the rustle of paper and quiet chatter of a few people behind me discussing their thoughts and ideas.

        I begin working too. I think modern art is cool, I'm especially a big fan of the sculptures made by trash, giving a new light to otherwise useless, wasted things. Maybe something undesirable into something beautiful.

      "Ms Brown."

         I look up from my laptop to see Professor Hampton. He's dressed in his usual peculiar way — flowing pants that almost look like a skirt, with a paisley pattern, and a matching turquoise tee. He has half moon glasses perched on top of his head, disrupting his jet black hair.

      "Professor," I say, nodding to him with a smile.

        "May I?" He asks, gesturing to a seat beside me. I don't know many of the students in this class, and even the ones I do know, know someone better, and typically sit with them, so I nod.

         He sinks down into the seat, and then turns to me, his face growing serious, "Have you given anymore thought to the internship? I truly think you would love it."

           Before I can really think, images flood my mind in choppy bits and pieces. A bathroom. Me in my red dress. Kolby, pinning my hands above my head. Him, asking me about my internship. Me, coming so fast and so hard I had nearly bit off his poor finger.

             I shift in my seat, a familiar flutter erupting in my core. Just thinking about our encounter makes me all hot and bothered. I hope I'm not flushed.

              I swallow down any and all inappropriate thoughts and flash a grin to Professor Hampton, "I have, actually. When's the first day, again?"

            "February 4th," He answers, looking elated at my interest, "So I should close the spot, then?"

             "Yes," I answer.

• • •

When I get home, Sadie is making lunch. She has her hair up in her signature bun, headband and all, dressed in a sports bra and a pair of Nike shorts I'm sure belong to one of her brothers, and a blue apron with her name embroidered on it in pink. Sadie always cooks. Lucky for me, considering I can't cook. At all. Last I tried I had burnt a perfectly good piece of garlic bread.

"Babe! Is that you?" She calls out, looking around the corner to the hallway.

"Am I babe?" I yell back, hanging my coat on the hanger.

"Of course you are!" She says as I enter the kitchen. She's a mess, food splattered all over the front of her apron, a greasy spatula in one hand, and a carrot in her other.

"Smells good," I tell her, kicking off my boots.

           She say something else to me, but I get a pang in my chest as I look at her. Smiling broadly at me, her dimples showing through her pretty freckles. And here I am, fucking her brother behind her back. What kind of best friend am I?