The Art of Balancing » work in progress

CH. 8 : "Draw me like one of your French girls."

Graham ended up losing the game.

I found this out approximately an hour after I finished dinner. I had collapsed on my window seat after cleaning my room full of unpacked clothes, only to find Graham screaming my name directly across from me in his own bedroom.

I opened my window and the kid nearly fell out just trying to tell me his arguably awful news.

I have to say I was incredibly surprised. I mean, he's Graham Bryant. I thought that the day he loses something and actually suffers is the day hell freezes over, then melts, then refreezes.

However, Emma really just wanted his social life to suffer; she couldn't care less if he got grounded. So she agreed that she wouldn't tell their parents on the condition that Graham followed through with the whole Darcy thing, which he had yet to do. I had a feeling he'd hold off as long as Emma would allow.

Anyways, all of this meant that Graham had been in an exceptional mood these past few days. His ass was saved, and that seemed to be the most important objective.

And me? Well, for me, I guess I had been doing better than normal. But.. maybe not today.

"Smile for the camera!" Landon squeals as we walk the halls of Radley. I quickly shove my hand in front of the Powershot as Graham poses for what he thinks is a GQ photo shoot. The two groan as if I've just told them there's dog poo on their new Converse.

Oh, the joys of our photographic studies project. Shout out to Mr. Swinley for clearly wanting to drive me to the bridge of insanity when I was already halfway there. What a gem. 

I kid, I kid. While I am by no means best friends with Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, I can still tolerate them when I have to. Landon has some funny jokes and Graham's basically my chauffeur; it's almost impossible to hate them at this point, especially when you count all the time we have to spend together. And let's be honest. They're pretty easy on the eyes.

"Half of my pictures are of Violet hiding her face!" Landon complains, walking backwards as we turn a corner.

Mr. Swinley has generously given all of us our class period to take pictures for our project, and of course it's the one day I didn't plan on having any photographic evidence of the catastrophe that is my hair. I don't want to remember this day. Is that a crime?

"Here, hang on." Graham sighs understandably. I cross my arms and wait for what he's going to do, and just like that, I've fallen into his trap. He wraps his arms around me so he can secure my own, and I don't even try to fight it. I have the muscle mass of Lindsay Lohan post rehab. "Take the picture!"

Landon holds the camera a stupid amount away from his face and makes sure to take his time as he presses the button. As soon as the flash blinds me, I free myself and stomp off with the two smirking imbeciles following behind me.

"What's wrong with you, Dempsey?" Graham calls out as I walk down the steps to the main floor. "It seems like the stick that's always up your ass is stuck just a liiiittle bit farther today."

I turn around. "Are you blind?" I ask. Landon and Graham exchange looks. "Um, MY HAIR! On the worse possible day, you all suddenly decide to be my paparazzi and I'm like.. Marilyn Monroe, back from the dead, and heading to have lunch with Obama." I breathe. This is when they start giggling.

"You're seriously acting like a bitch because you think your hair looks bad?" Landon asks with a dumb smile. I gasp. "Hey! I said acting like a bitch! You can't get mad at that!"

I guess he has a point.

"And your hair isn't even that bad." Graham reassures me. "It's just in.. a.. What are they called?" He snaps his fingers, like that will help him. "I'm blanking."