Magnetic Attraction

[Chapter Four]

[Chapter Four]

Elora's Point of View

Fleur shoots me a grumpy glare as I hide under my blanket. She throws a cushion at my head, but it hits my side table and bounces on the floor. An empty plastic cup topples onto the ground, but it doesn't phase me.

Nothing is going to get me out of bed on this cold morning, especially not art homework. Screw that.

"I don't wanna do this!" I shout. "Art sucks."

"You are so lazy Elora!" Fleur shouts. "Now get your behind out of bed."

Fleur silently rests her body against the metal frame of my doorway, then crosses her arms over her chest.

"I'll fail art and it'll be fine." I shrug. "Who needs art anyway?"

"You need art to pass school, that's what!" Fleur charges into the room and grabs the end of the blanket.

She tries to pull it off the bed, but I wrap myself up like a burrito. There's no way she's stealing my warm blankets from me.

Fleur tugs on the blanket but it doesn't move. She quickly gives up and stomps her foot on the ground.

"No chocolate cake for you!" she screams with frustration.

"There's cake?" I yell. "Why didn't you tell me."

Throwing the blankets away from my body, I brush past Fleur and race to the kitchen. She quickly follows behind but I end up in the kitchen first.

Sitting in the middle of the kitchen counter is a white plate with a piece of chocolate cake carefully presented. I sneak in, hands ready for the taking, but a pain explodes on my shoulder which foils my plan.

"What the f-"

With a frown, Fleur says, "You can only eat it when you've drawn a picture of it."

She then points to the sketch pad and pencil resting on the bench. So that's what my sketch pad looks like out of the plastic wrapper.

"Easy," I mutter.

Taking a seat on the stool, I grab the pencil and start sketching a triangle. Fleur peeks over my shoulder and huffs, her warm breath tickling my neck.

"And no, drawing a triangle on the page doesn't count."

"Why?" I bang my head against the table. "Art is supposed to be interpretive, why do I have to give all the answers away?"

"Because we're not studying that in class yet," she replies.

"I hate art," I grumble.

"You hate everything that isn't food," she reminds me.

"Shh. I have to concentrate."

Fleur takes a seat beside me with her own sketch book and begins drawing. Her lines are soft, short, and shapely. They capture the rough texture of the cake opposed to my harsh dark lines which leave little to the imagination.