Courage to Fly (EDITING IN PROCESS)

Chapter One

Cheyenne's POV

I stood still, cocking my head to look at the colors swirling on the tall canvas. A medley of Mozart, Beethoven and Bach played behind me in the half-lit room. The air smelled of turpentine and oil, but seeing as they were the basis of the mediums I was using tonight, I didn't care. They were the scents of my trade, and I welcomed them.

The light was fading quickly outside, and I knew that I needed to get done. I may have had a few extra hours at the studio, but I needed to get to work. There was just one more thing that needed to be done...

I dipped my long handled brush in the red and smoothed it over the tip, so it wouldn't spill or glop all over the place. I gently touched the red to the canvas, and began smoothing the paint in spirals to create the affect I did seek. Fifteen minutes later, three blood red roses stood as the center focal point of my black and white piece. I stood for a moment admiring the pedals that fell in smooth arcs in the center of the sad scene. My skill had improved greatly in the past few months, and I was quite glad.

I was taken out of my mind and placed back into reality with the ringing of my cell phone. Where I currently resided, it would be technically be called a mobile, but I was from the States, and that's what we called it. I put down my colors and placed my brush in the water to my right, and searched in my jacket pockets for my phone.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Cheyenne, where are you?" I heard Kayla say on the other end. "You're gonna be late."

"Where are you?" I asked picking up my colors and placing the pallet in the sink. I turned the water on and went to pick up my brushes and the dirty water.

"On the corner where we usually meet, where do you think?" She said irritation in her voice.

"Sorry," I said turning off the water and drying up my pallet. "I had some extra time at the studio, I took advantage of it." I gazed at my piece again, knowing that I'll get bad marks for it, but I have given up on making sure my work was perfect for professor Carlisle.

"Yeah, I know, I did get your text, child."

"Stop sounding so judgmental." I said, "I'll be there in..." I tugged my coat on checking the time on the phone face, "five, alright?" I picked up my bag and grabbed my iPod from the general iHome in the studio.

"Well, hurry up."

I closed the door to the studio and jingled the keys next to the phone speaker. "Hear that?" I jingled again, "That is the sound..." I slipped the keys into the lock and turned them, "of me locking up. Like I said," I said turning around and hurrying down the walkway, "I'll be there in five."

"Well, hurry."

"Whatever."

"Don't tell me–"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't tell you whatever, I know, kid."

"You know, you've gotten lax since we came here." She said as I ran around the corner and saw her at the end of the street.

"And did you expect anything less?" I asked hurrying down the road.

"No," she mumbled as she turned towards me, and I hung up. I ran past her and punched her on the arm. "Hey!" She yelled, and ran after me.

We laughed at our race to the metro station, we showed our passes, and got yelled at for running in the underground. She finally caught up to me, jumping on my back and hugging my neck. We laughed as I threw her off, and she grabbed my arm, roughly tugging me back, to walk with her.

"Dammit," she said breathless, "how the hell can you run in those freaking heals?" She asked me for the billion and first time.

I kicked up my foot, looking at my little school girl shoes, that had about an inch and a half heel on them. I laughed and continued walking to our train.