Masking Amaya Frazer

{3} Painting Flowers

Milo appeared amused as he witnessed the drastic change of emotions constantly morph across my fierce features. I bit my tongue and reluctantly sat back down with a huff of annoyance.

He could only see the blacks, grays, and whites of the world, yet he was taking an art class where a standard pallet held far more colors.

Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he asked, "What do you want to do for the project?"

I studied him for a moment, pursing my lips. "Professor Whitmore thinks you're quite the artist," I said, raising an eyebrow as I shot a look at the professor in the front of the room. "So, you decide."

He shrugged indifferently. "I'll think more about it when the assignment sheet is handed out."

Despite it being physically absent, I continued to hide behind the mask that I was desperately trying to uphold. I felt the irrational need to shield myself from Milo's intelligent eyes.

Professor Whitmore passed out the detailed assignment and Milo quickly scanned it before he crumpled it up in a ball, tossing it over his shoulder.

I gasped. "Milo!"

"I'm dropping this class."

"What!" I yelled, incredulously. "Why did you just do that?"

"I can't be asked to do this pointless project," he spat in disgust.

I rolled my eyes. "What's it about?"

"See for yourself," he said, flicking his head at the discarded sheet of paper.

I grabbed it, flattening it out on the table as best I could as I read the assignment.

"Really? This is what has your panties in a knot?"

"I'm more of a boxers kind of guy, actually," he said, oozing sarcasm.

Ignoring his childish remark, I commented, "This should be easy. I mean, how hard can it be?"

"You tell me, Dove. How far are you willing to fall?"

"Excuse me?"

Standing up, he came around to the back of my stool, and whispered in my ear.

"Ever wonder why they say falling in love?"

The shiver that coursed down my spine was involuntary as his warm breath tickled my ear. "N-No."

Without warning, he tugged on the stool, causing it to tip backwards. My arms pinwheeled as I tried to grab ahold of the table.

The stool clattered to the ground, drawing the attention of every pair of eyes in the classroom. Milo's arms came around my body and caught me inches from the ground.

For the second time in just two days, he was the catalyst of my fall, yet also saved me from crashing to the floor.

"You have to fall before you can fly," he said, placing me on the top of the table.

"Is everything alright over here?" Professor Whitmore asked, rushing over to us.

Tucking stray strands of hair behind my ear, I nodded as my face flushed. Milo lifted the stool and righted it, saying, "Nope. This assignment is bullsh-"

"Mr. Black!" The professor fumed as a red blush crawled up her neck. "I will not tolerate this behavior from you."

"How can you honestly expect us to create a piece without using paintbrushes, pencils, markers, or any 'art-related' tools? That's not what art is."

"Oh? If you know so much, then why don't you take over this class?" Professor Whitmore requested, taking Milo's seat as she neatly folded her legs. She gestured to the front of the room as her students stifled laughs and sported smiles of mild discomfort.