The Eye Of The Ankh #Wattys2016

Chapter Four

Jude came over after school. As I walked her upstairs to my room, she talked nonstop about some guy named Mitch. As if I honestly cared.

I just nodded, pretending that whatever my dear friend was speaking about interested me. Any other day, I'd pay attention, but I had too much running through my brain to absorb much more information. Especially information as pointless as... Mike? I've already forgotten his name.

Jude walked into my room. It was mostly empty, a few boxes sitting around. My hair brush sat alone on my vanity, a gift from my aunt, along with many other things in my bedroom. In the corner of my room, across from my bed, sat a slick black couch, brand new. The dresser was new too, and the stereo.

Hardly anything was from my old house. I suppose that should make me feel undesirable, or whatever the opposite of nostalgia is.

"Wow, your walls are so... bare..." Jude trailed off, looking at the walls, empty of posters, or even pictures. There wasn't any décor of any kind on them.

I nodded, looking at how the pastel yellow was empty from any of my artwork. It was drastically different than how the old me would have decorated.

"It's weird to see someone's room without any posters or anything. I guess I'm just not used to it."

"Most my artwork got lost in the move."

Jude nodded. "Right. I was going to help you unpack." She moved over to a box and cut it open. She pulled out a big blue ribbon, then a gold one, and a red one. "What are all these?" She sat them down on one of the other boxes, then pulled out a framed certificate. "Best in Show? Regionals? State?"

I gulped. "I used to paint. My art teacher would put all of my paintings in contests. I was never that pleased with it all." A lie, all except for the first part. I wanted my paintings in contests.

"If they're so good, where are they now? I mean, I wouldn't let something like that get lost."

I just shrugged. I didn't have a lie to cover for this. Jude raised an eyebrow, then sighed. "Fine. If you won't tell me the truth I supposed I shouldn't care. I just thought you were my friend." She said, trying to guilt trip me. It wouldn't work.

I smiled. "Jude, I haven't really told anyone. Don't be offended."

She smiled and sat down on my bed. "I'll just let you take your time explaining. I'm not going anywhere."

I smiled.

We got new seats in art class. And I was now positioned right in front of Hugo. While the rest of the class all got to work on the assigned project, I drew abstract lines in my new sketchbook given to me by the teacher.

Hugo glanced up. "I looked you up." He said, and went back to his project.

I looked up from my line that looked something like a dog and something like a trumpet. "That's not how people tend to start conversations." Hugo shrugged in response. "Why did you look me up?"

"I had to. For Eota. Point is, you're a wonderful artist. But clearly you're not exerting yourself. My question is, why? Why not paint your heart out and become Mrs. Ashlock's favorite student?"

"I used to paint."

"That's my only explanation? If you were so good at painting, what made you stop?"

I stood up and went to the teacher's desk, quickly asking to use the bathroom. She nodded and looked at her computer. As I walked out the classroom, I glanced at Hugo, smirking. He shook his head slightly, going back to his drawing.

"Okay," Hugo slid a manila folder across the table to me. "Your first assignment is to kill this guy."

I opened up the folder as Hugo continued to talk. "Name: Ethan Rues. Height: 6'3". Weight: 170 pounds. Age: 18. Eye color: Blue. Hair color: blonde. Plays soccer and basketball. Has a younger brother, parents are divorced, father completely out of the picture."

"Goes to our school?"

"That he does."

"What did he do? Or, I guess, what will he do?"

"I'm so glad you asked that question. Brings up another rule: you will not know what the person does until they're dead."

"Why?"

"It's how Boss likes it."

Sounds like Playing God to me.

In the folder was a picture of the guy. He had wavy dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. He was smiling, and I'm not going to lie, he was cute. "How am I supposed to kill this guy? Is there some set way?" My mind flashed to the news coverage of all the murders. They all varied. My question was invalid.

"Simple really: you get to choose. Most use guns, quick and easy. But if you want to stab him we don't care. He just has to be dead by..." Hugo looked at the file. "Hm. Boss didn't put it down. Just do it as soon as possible."

"What if I can't do it? Can't get close enough to kill him?"

"You're a smart girl. You'll figure it all out."

I bit my lip. "I'm not sure if I can, Hugo,"

"What's making you back out now? I know it's not the reality of it all."

"I can't get caught, Hugo,"

"You won't. I promise. I won't let you get in any trouble." Hugo smiled and I couldn't believe it. He smiled. He didn't smirk. He smiled.

Nice and easy.

And I felt okay.

For a while, at least.