Confiding in You ϟ a.i.

Chapter 11

I watch Ashton closely as he drops his backpack onto the ground and pulls a stool in front of a table to sit down. He rests his hands on his lap before looking at me, evidently surprised that I'm just standing there staring at him.

"What?"

I mimic his actions beside him, nearly falling off the stool in the process, eliciting laughter from Ashton. This class is going to be even worse than I thought.

"Nothing," I sigh, "It's just...you're meaning to tell me you're in this class with me too?"

"Nooo," he draws out his answer sarcastically, "I just decided to walk you to class and stay in it for today."

"I wish you weren't kidding," I say, glancing around him to see who else is in the class. Of course there isn't anyone kind enough to use as an escape from Ashton. What was I even expecting?

"Alright," the teacher, Mrs. Abbiati walks into the classroom and shuts the door behind her as the bell rings. She's wearing a long, flowing skirt and she looks like she just walked out of a photograph from the 1970s. It sucks that she looks like such a cool teacher, considering the fact that she teaches the worst class. "So the rules here are simple. Respect eachother's art and respect all of the supplies because the school pays for it. You guys have heard the rest dozens of times today, so I say we get right to painting."

"Yeah!" Ashton bellows from beside me, throwing his fist into the air. I look over to him with a small smile and my eyebrows knit together. In addition to being an asshole, he's also really weird.

Mrs. Abbiati grins more approvingly in Ashton's direction before showing the class where everything is in the room. The paints (tempera? or something?) are in the cupboard, we all get our own brushes and they'll be on the desk at the front, along with the paper. Got it. Except I feel the overwhelming urge to run out of the room because I don't want to be doing any of this.

Ashton somehow knew I wasn't going to get up to get anything, because he gets two of everything and smacks it down on the table in front of me. When he sits back down he stares at me with his stupid smile until I look at him.

"What do you want?" I snap.

"You to smile."

"That's probably the nicest thing you've said in all the time I've known you," I laugh a little. I am extremely taken aback and almost impressed by his apparent concern, but I'm not about to show it.

"I'm just trying to get into your pants," he winks before grabbing his paint brush and dipping it in purple paint with a complacent look on his face. And just like that I'm disgusted with him again. Still, I keep my eyes locked on him, watching as he makes gentle strokes with the brush. "You're drooling," he chuckles without looking up.

"Sorry," I mumble, instinctively bringing my hand to my mouth.

"Are you going to paint or just stare at me and think about how hot I would look naked?"

"You're disgusting," I grab my brush and hover it above the tray of paint he brought to the table. On top of not wanting to paint, I also don't know how to paint. Or what to paint. Or anything about painting.

"You can paint me naked," I look over at Ashton and he has a very innocent smile on his face as he paints, despite what he's just said.

"I think I'm going to paint a flower," I say and he glances up from his paper for the first time in this entire conversation, looking horrified.

"That's so lame, Madeline!" He grabs the brush out of my hand and sets it down on the table, forcing me to look at him. "You could paint anything in the entire world, and you want to paint a flower?"

"Well, what are you painting?"

"Your mom," He's back at his art again, just working away with the brush without looking like he's actually thinking anything at all. He does a double-take after a few seconds, noticing me staring at him angrily. "Okay, so what are you thinking about right now?"

"What is this, a therapist session?" I say and it's his turn to stare at me angrily. After a moment of me not budging, he gives me a pleading look and I give in just so he'll stop looking at me. "I'm thinking about killing you."

"Great! Paint yourself killing me."

"I'm not about to do that. I'd rather paint me killing myself."

"Um, no. There'll be none of that here." Ashton had started painting again, but slams his brush down on the table, probably realizing that I'm just going to keep interrupting him. "Paint the L.A. Skyline or something."

"No."

"You're annoying," he sighs, standing from his seat and pointing to my paintbrush, "Don't dip that in anything, the bell's about to ring."

I look up at the clock and groan while he goes to rinse his brush. Great. I spent the entire class frustrated and didn't even end up with a single drop of paint on my paper. Despite my disappointment, though, I'm thankful to clean up and be able to leave this class. At least I have study hall next and I won't have to worry about creativity there.

The bell finally rings and I jump out of my chair, not even bothering to say bye to Ashton. Unfortunately for me, he manages to catch up to me and though I try to pretend I don't notice him, his incessant need to aggrivate me is clear as I see him give me a once-over.