When Bad Meets Worse

Chapter 5

School after break wasn't particularly eventful. I didn't pay much attention to anything else, as I was preoccupied thinking of Jorgen. I'll have to thread carefully. Who knows what that guy is up to?

It was still unclear whether Jorgen was really a Player in the Games, or whether it was a devious plan of another to set him as bait. However, the odds are that he was really a contender. He has the built for it, that's for sure. Chances are, if Jorgen ever walks into a wall, the wall would be the one in need of repair. Moreover, I've seen him in class. He's not dumb. He was one of those all-rounder: best grades, excel in sports, sociable, and easily the best looking guy in our cohort. Not to mention, first day in school and he's already one of the "it" guys.

And he was definitely keeping secrets. Dark secrets. The kind where its your obligation to keep, whether you like it or not. But there was something beneath all that act. Jorgen has yet to show his true colors. For the good or worse, we can only leave to chance.

One thing was for sure. He wasn't carrying any weapons on his person on the first day of school. I checked him out and he was clean. Of course, I didn't bring any weapons as well, for the simple reason of getting caught. There was a chance that GreenValley High would decide to do a sportcheck. Besides, it was highly unlikely that anyone would start killing on the first day.

I was startled, however, when I was joined by none other than Jorgen Grene during art lesson. I was absent-mindedly guiding my pencil in random circles across the blank canvas of my sketchbook, when the sound of the chair screeching on the floor cause my head to jerk up, only to see a very bored Jorgen dropping onto the chair beside me.

"Are you stalking me?" I queried, looking sideways at him suspiciously.

"Nah. Don't flatter yourself, doll." He started pulling out pencils varying different tones and a sketchbook, much like my own. "How do I know that it's not you stalking me?"

I scoffed. Ignoring him, I went back to my mindless doodle, only to feel his eyes on me. After a few moments, I could no longer stand his gaze and I looked up after slamming my poor abused pencil on the table.

"What is your problem?" I hissed at an amused looking Jorgen. In reply, he just started sketching, without a single word. I stopped a growl that originated from the back of my throat as I my eyes roamed around the slightly dusty room for inspiration.

There were four others in the room besides me and Jorgen - two petite mousy girls, probably twins, a quiet dark haired boy in glasses, and a girl with light golden hair, resembling Luna Lovegood, with a dreamy expression on her face as her pencil flew gracefully across the page. We were all sat around a large oval table, which was covered with a white plastic cover, vandalized with splatters and lines of paint.

Our teacher, Ms Weatherby was a dreamy woman in casual clothes. Her pale brown hair, pulled up in a messy ponytail had faint streaks of grey in them. Despite her appearance, she was a young teenager at heart. Ms Weatherby came in thirty minutes after our lesson start. She gave a short introduction about art and it's history, all the while seeming in her own world.

She was not boring, however. She was the kind of person that for some reason, captivated you and you feel like you can just sit there and listen to whatever words that comes out of her mouth without once losing interest. They way she talked about art was so passionate. It was evident that art was her whole world. She instructed us to go freestyle, and draw whatever we feel like. We happily complied, feeling inspired by her speech, eager to delve into the realm of art.

I caught sight of a cracked cup holder and started creating an abstract picture from it. When I was done, I looked over to my right. I gasped in awe. I was staring at a perfect portrait of myself, head bent, in the act of drawing. I looked at Jorgen with wide eyes. He was good. Very good. It was the standard of a professional. I looked at my amateur work and bit my lip. He made my artwork seem childlike in comparison.