The Forgotten One

Chapter 4 - Artistic Sketches

I sigh wearily, resting my head in my upraised palm as my Trigonometry teacher discusses the importance of a trigonometry ratio.

It was third period, and I was practically dying to get to fourth. Fourth period was Art.

With Willow.

I only had Art once a week, so I had been waiting in physical pain for Friday. Art was a small class, so it would give me a good opportunity to talk to Willow.

Throughout the week, we hadn't made as much contact as I would have liked, but we would pass each other in the hallway and smile. Say hello if we were feeling especially confident.

It wasn't enough for me.

I wanted to see her and talk to her more. So I was going to make sure that this first class we had together was worth it.

As if taking pity on me, the bell finally decides to ring and I jump up from my seat, hastily gathering my books and making my way out of the classroom.

I speed-walk to the Art block and am the first one to class. Unusual for me.

The other students gradually arrive after me, and Willow arrives last.

My heart picks up a notch.

She's wearing a form-fitting black long-sleeve with a floral design, and red skinny jeans that hug her legs. To top it off, she walks in cream-coloured ballet flats.

Her beautiful black hair cascades down her back and her green eyes are wide and alert as she pauses at the entrance of the classroom.

Every head turns towards her.

She blushes prettily before walking away from the door and into the class. She stops as she searches for something.

A stupid part of me hopes she's searching for me.

Her gaze locks with mine before dropping to the empty seat on my right. She glances at me again before making her way over and I sit up a little straighter as she takes the seat.

I'd growled at anyone else who had dared to take it, and they'd backed off to find another seat.

She turns to me after placing down her books and smiles.

I smile back so widely, I feel like my face is going to crack in half.

She opens her mouth to say something, before a hand appears behind her and taps her on the shoulder. She looks startled and turns around, facing the person responsible.

I lean over to see who it is and almost snarl.

Richard Grayson.

Everybody calls him Dick, but I have my own reasons as to why.

He's the perfect model-type student with amazing blue eyes and black hair; add a killer, straight smile to top it all off. The one he's currently using on Willow.

I glare at him.

He doesn't pay me any attention, and his smile never fades in wattage.

"Hey, you're Willow, right?" He asks her, gently removing his hand from her shoulder.

I can see red rise in her neck and she coughs awkwardly, glancing down at a pencil on her desk.

"Um, yes. That's me." She replies, her voice trembling.

A sharp, unwelcomed pang of jealousy slices through me and I turn back to the head of the class, scowling and trying to focus, considering the fact that I won't be able to talk to Willow this lesson thanks to Dick.