Portrait of a Bad Boy ✓

Chapter 5: Charcoal

Fairy lights decorated the gym while certain spotlights beamed down on various artworks. Just like an art gallery, students were dressed up in their best, discussing the artwork with their family and anyone else who were interested in the artwork. Other than the occasional rowdy kids, the atmosphere was one of a high end gallery where only the best shined through.

Blake flinched as a child slammed into him, before racing away with a loud sorry. A few minutes later he assumed the boy's mother was running after him, telling the boy to slow down. Chuckling, his gaze snapped to a suited Mr. Johnson. By his side were two men and a woman, each dressed in tuxedos and dresses that reminded him of the fancy cocktail parents he was forced to attend. "And this is Mr. Hill, the boy I was telling you about."

"Well, I can definitely see what you were talking about Mr. Johnson." The first's attention drifted from his work. "He certainly has an eye for perspectives."

He held out a hand. "I am Alavis Loasta." Blake shook his hand. "I've hosted art in galleries all over the world." He wrapped an arm around the woman. "And this is my beautiful wife and the first artist I have ever featured."

Blake smiled at the woman. "What's your medium?"

"Oh, I love good pottery." Her smile softened. "Nothing like getting your hands dirty to really create a masterpiece." Blake nodded. He had tried to make a pot once in middle school. After creating the flat thing he called a pot, he never tried again. "I tried to make a pot once but it didn't quite work out." Blake shrugged his shoulders. "It is not as easy as people make it seem."

"No, it's not."

Suddenly, the other man stepped forward. "There's still something raw about it." His gaze regarded the picture with indifference. "Like you haven't decided on what you want." He pointed to realism painting. "Here you act like you wanted to make the shadows have a larger effect but then you make it seem like the shadows aren't the main focus. Your focus is over the place and there are some rough spots around the edges."

"Well, he is still a beginner," Mr. Johnson cuts in.

"I've seen work better than this, Greg." The man's voice cut through the air. "If you want to show us a prodigy, make sure they're actually worth it." Blake grimaced as Mr. Johnson glared daggers at the man.

"Alright." Alavis spoke up. "How about we go see what the other kids have to offer?"

"We should." The rude man lead the way, leaving Blake with Mr. Johnson.

Shaking his head, he met Blake's gaze. "Don't worry about him. He wouldn't know good art if it smacked him in the face." With that, he followed them.

Watching them away, doubt prickled over Blake's skin like ants. Your focus is over the place and there are some rough spots around the edges. His hands clenched into fists. I've seen work better than this. He clenched his jaw.

I'll show you I'm a prodigy.

"Blake." He turned and froze.

Layla was dressed in a black gown that hugged her curves before flowing out. Gold pins held her hair back. "I'm sorry I'm late." Her eyes softened. "My mother had to stay late so I pretty much walked here."

Walked here? His gaze snapped to her heels. "You walked in those?" His gaze snapped to the darkening sky. "This late? Are you crazy? Why didn't you just call me?"

She grimaced at the bite in his words "I didn't want to take you from your spotlight tonight. Besides, I had my phone so I was safe." She glanced around the makeshift gallery. "So, what did I miss?"

"Not much." Except being told I'm not good enough. "Call me next time."

"Alright," She waved his worries away. "Alright."