Clove was about two seconds away from hurtling her ball of paper at Cato’s head when he finally snapped to it, giving her a blank gaze and he walked to over to the two of them. Oh great, this was going to be a fun experience. Clove suspected that her being partners with Cato was probably punishment for the attitude that the two of them were famous for. Everyone assumed that the two of them were good friends, because they were the only two who had balls to stand up to not only the teachers, but the trainers and the Peacekeepers. But to be frank, the two of them hadn’t really spoken to each other at all.
The first time they had actually had to acknowledge each other’s presence was in sixth grade, when Clove had the idea to take one of her many razor blades that she kept a point of keeping hidden in the heel of her boot and using it as a screwdriver to ease some of the screws out of the chair of their History Professor, whose nickname was Mr. Elephant, for obvious reasons. The man had to weigh about five hundred pounds, and Clove had gotten detention for being late again. So, when he had stepped out of the room to get another snack, she had snuck to the front of the class and began to work on loosening the parts of the chair so that when he sat down, he would topple over. She had the first screw in her hand, and was working on the second when she heard him start to come back down the hallway. She looked up quickly, debating for a few seconds on what to do. Should she dive under the desk and hope he doesn’t notice her? Or should she make a mad dash for her desk and just say that she needed a Kleenex? By some miracle, the time she looked up again, Cato was blocking the doorway and asking Mr. Elephant about World War II, which gave her just enough time to pry the screw loose and scurry back to her desk. Ten minutes later, when he sat down in his chair, sure enough, he did topple backwards. That was the day that Clove and Cato earned the reputation as the team of Pranksters and probably the biggest jerks in the school.
Despite the fact that they never really spoke, Cato and Clove did help each other out throughout the years, Clove sometimes “accidently” leaving her test face-up on her desk to go to the bathroom when Cato was stuck, or Cato sneaking a sandwich into her bag when her stomach would grumble loudly in class and Clove would flush from embarrassment. But now they actually had to say something to each other, and not only speak, but neither of them had a fucking clue what they were doing.
“Yes, of course I know about paintings. In fact, in my free time I spent my nights and weekends in this very gallery studying the history of the art.” She retorted, rolling her eyes and snappishly trying to un-crumple her paper.
“Okay, so the first painting is…” Clove furrowed her brow, not only could she not see the name because of the creases in the paper, but it looked like it was in German… or something.
“Here, you speak German don’t you?” She asked Cato, thrusting the paper at him. “Read that shit. What’s the artists’ name? I know the painting is called ‘The Yellow House’ and it’s from 1888 but I can’t pronounce the name.”
Cato took the crumpled paper and held it by the corners, holding up closer to the light fixture and he squinted.
“That’s not German, That’s Dutch. Vincent Van Gogh.” He told her, handing her the crumple of paper and trotting off to the only yellow-ish looking painting in the gallery.
