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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ
The high school was already alive and brimming with teens when TJ arrived, her headphones in and hands fiddling with her backpack straps as she made her way up the two flights of concrete stairs and towards the arts room. All she really wanted to do was curl up in the library, read a book and try and forget that she was a living, breathing target but unfortunately, she had missed her first arts class and needed to catch up. Her Aunt had phoned the school, thankfully, and explained that TJ was 'ill', and her arts teacher was kind enough to let her come in before school and during her free period to catch up. Despite enjoying art and being pretty alright at it, her stomach was beginning to tighten at the prospect of her first project: a self portrait.
If there was a way for TJ to get through life without ever having to look at her reflection, she would. The idea of having to stare at photos of herself that resembled mugshots and then attempt to recreate them in her style whilst being honest but not cruel was almost crippling. What even was her style? She enjoyed using oil pastels and charcoal, but that was when she was absolutely confident no one would ever see her work. This piece was worth half of her grade and would go on show at the end of the year, and, whilst she had the semester to do it, she didn't even know where to start.
The arts room was empty, thank god, and the chairs and easels were arranged in a circle all facing inwards. TJ liked it more than her previous school, where the easels were arranged in rows and everyone could see your work. She chose a random easel, dumped her bag at her feet and grabbed a fresh canvas from against the wall. Setting herself up, she pulled out her oil pastels from home and rested them on the bottom tray and then took a deep breath, staring hard at the canvas.
Her mind blanked, and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Picking up the black between her fingers, she held it out so it was just not touching the canvas. How did she see herself? The question was uncomfortable and provoked too many snarky side comments. It was easy to get lost in the bad: orphan, lonely, angry, sad. TJ was aware that if she handed in a piece that reflected those feelings, she might as well check herself into the local mental house.
Tugging out her headphones so she could focus on the quiet, she closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe evenly. Maybe black had been the wrong color. She swapped it for a deep red and felt slightly more comfortable. Closing her eyes again, she was just going for the first swipe against the canvas when the double doors swung open and two girls entered.
"I'm not sure this will work, Malia."
"It has to. We need the next part of the list."
TJ scowled as she dropped her oil pastel into the tin and the voices stopped. Great. It was Lydia and Malia, the girl who just so happened to growl at her in math's class.
