Chromatic

9

I brace myself for the school week, for the things to come. But it all rushes past in a blur, anyways. 

It turns out that that boy is in two of my classes: British Literature and AP Calculus. I deliberately avoid looking at him in class, as I get sucked in and lose reality. But sometimes I can't resist resting my eyes upon his dark flowing hair, the definition of muscle that I can see through his shirt, the way he confidently walks. Sometimes I let myself lose reality, just for a bit. As long as nobody else knows.

About three weeks in, I complete my first major painting. Ms. West is so excited about it, she requests to have it hung up in the main entrance to the school.

It depicts a girl with long flowing hair, sitting atop a cliff. She's looking down into the beyond, wondering what lays beneath. I strategically left a part of the canvas unpainted, to represent the unknown. One morning when I get to school, there is a crowd of unknown people surrounding my painting in the main hall. Upon further inspection, I see that they all have clipboards and are intently examining the work. Ms. West drifts in from nowhere, laying her hand upon my shoulder. 

"Aidan, dear, these are members from the Scholastic board of art. They're judging your piece for entry into the state competition!" She always enters me in these competitions, but I never win. They say my work is too "out there", too "alternative". That bothers me. Art should be expressive.

The scholastic judges turn to face me when Ms. West calls their attention. "You must be Aidan," one of them says. I don't look into their faces to remain focused. They throw loads of questions at me about my work, and I do my best to answer all of them with meaning. In the midst of it all, as if with supernatural senses, I spot someone passing by. I look in their direction. it's him. of course. i dare to look up at his face, and a bright flash blinds me for a split second. he's looking back at me. well, not at me, but at what's going on. i see his eyes examining the scene, and when they fall on me, our worlds collide. the universe splits open for a moment as we lock eyes–and just like that, he's gone. whisked away by the folds of reality. I realize that I had stopped mid-sentence, so I try my best to recover. But I answer the rest of the questions half-heartedly, only wondering who that boy was.