Dots and Zeros [Completed]

10. Sam

I thought the fair would be held in the main hall. That way you have plenty of space for the large amount of people visiting the stalls to buy things. But the organizers had a different idea.

One corridor with about ten adjacent classrooms was the lucky one. In small groups, led by a teacher, you're visiting every single classroom. Every classroom has two or three stalls. It's starting to feel like a mandatory thing.

I'm not in the same group as Isa. I don't talk to anyone in the one I belong to, however. They seem to have their own friends. And there's no way I'm striking up a conversation with the teacher. I don't even know who it is, he doesn't teach me any subjects.

As a unit we move through the first two classrooms. The first was all about stationary. One booth for pens, the other two had all kinds of notebooks. Large, small. Ruled, blank. Every single color they could possibly be.

The second one wasn't much more exciting. The two booths in there presented extra practice material for most subjects. It wouldn't be all study-related, would it?

Our group walks back into the hallway. Right when I'm about to lose complete hope about this whole thing, we walk into the third classroom. When I step through the door frame I can see where I'll be spending all my time this stop.

In the corner furthest away stands a stall with paint. And brushes. And sketchbooks. I'm the only one of the group to walk over to it. The rest walks to a booth with posters and mugs, of all things.

I approach the stall and make eye contact with the boy standing behind it. Well, more like a man I guess. He looks older than me, but not by much.

'Good afternoon,' he says. 'What can I help you with on this fine day?'

His hair is shoulder length, but swept to the back of his head on the sides. A few hairs escape and frame his face. It's black, but the sweeping-thing reveals a bleached layer underneath. It looks good on him.

'Hi,' I say. 'Is any of this high quality? Or is it the same paint we use in class? Do you know that?'

'This is not high quality.'

So much for promoting his stuff. He rolls up the sleeves of his plain, gray sweater to reveal thin wrists. It's a dark gray, almost black sweater. Reminiscent of asphalt. There's a black ring around his bony right middle finger.

'Oh.'

'It's the exact same stuff I used for my final exam at this very school,' he says. 'My teacher recommended me these.'

He walks over to the left and point to an area of about twenty tubes of paint.

'But they're shit,' he continues. 'It dries really fast, and only two are truly opaque. So if you're looking for something like that you're at the right address.'

'I'm not looking for that. It's going to be difficult for you to sell these if you don't lie about your products.'

'Luckily they're not my products. Not even the ones I used last year. My mom bought them for me. And the rest is her old stuff. She hasn't painted in years.'

'What a shame.'

'Yeah, a little. After I picked out the stuff I wanted to keep, the rest could be sold.'

'And your mom couldn't do that herself?'

He smiles.

'That was the plan. But then she found some magical reason to not be able to do it.'

'I see.'

'And who coincidentally doesn't have classes on Tuesdays? This guy.'

He points to himself and shakes his head. He looks down at the stuff displayed.