Rosy Cheeks and Charcoal-Covered Hands

Rosy Cheeks and Charcoal-Covered Hands - Chapter 1

"I have five minutes before class starts, I'm not taking you."

"That's plenty of time!"

"Mal, just walk."

"Carlos, have you been outside?! It's so hot I might actually melt before I get there!"

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being unreasonable!"

"Just stay in here until class gets out then," Carlos suggests.

Mal scoffs at the suggestion.

"What am I going to do for two hours, Carlos?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

"Not walk back to the dorm, apparently," Carlos chuckles.

Mal's lower lip juts out.

"Mal, you'll be fine," he assures, hand resting on her shoulder momentarily. "Just go on your phone or something," he offers, brown eyes leaving green to glance at the clock perched in the hallway. "See you after class!"

Mal remains in the same position, staring at the floor, for an undetermined amount of time. It is long enough that all of the students have made it to class, even the stragglers that attempted to sneak in late. It feels like an eternity, but perhaps she does have a flair for the dramatic. She probably got that from her mother. Her footsteps echo through the now empty hall as she approaches the lounge located at its end. The door is already open, as usual, so she walks right into the room and unceremoniously drops all of her weight into the most comfy looking chair. Her body sinks further into the cushions than she anticipated, and she lets out a rush of air. It does not take her long to locate the cellphone in the pocket of her favorite leather jacket, and she lets her sketchbook fall into her lap in favor of holding the device with both hands. She leisurely scrolls through social media, desperately hoping someone posted something interesting.

This isn't so bad; at least she is holed up in the only building on campus that seems to make proper use of its air conditioning. There is no way Mal is going back outside. The walk back to the dorm she shares with her friend Carlos is not too terrible-about fifteen minutes of walking or much less in a vehicle. However, she had spent no more than three minutes walking between buildings today, and she is pretty sure the sun's unforgiving rays evaporated her sweat before it even had the chance to emerge from her pores. That's how that works, isn't it? Maybe she is being dramatic...

Mal's finger taps the weather app to see how much she is exaggerating, and she is met with a much darker version of herself. "No, no, no!" Mal mutters, pressing various buttons to attempt to revive the phone. "Fuck!" she whispers. She presses her hands against her face and takes a deep breath before placing the now useless device back into her jacket pocket. It's cool. No problem. She can find something else to do. It has already been - she glances up at the clock - eight minutes.

Going through the recycling only earns her a few laughs. Art students are notorious for throwing away projects they are unsatisfied with, and she is not an exception. Nothing is so terrible that she keeps it for future amusement, though. Through her rummaging she discovers a soft stick of charcoal and a mostly dead sharpie. She zips the charcoal in her pocket for safekeeping. Mal knows just what to do with the sharpie. She saunters over to the whiteboard and attempts her best depiction of a dick in the top corner. The click of the cap finding its home sounds through the small room. Mal decides now is as good of a time as any to take a bathroom break. She returns to the cushy chair and retrieves her sketchbook. There is no way she is letting that sit in the lounge unattended.

Her trip to the bathroom inspires some more shenanigans. The brilliant idea to lock all of the bathroom stall doors comes to her while she's peeing. Although it is a bit of an awkward climb over the top to get back out, Mal is pleased with her meddling when all is said and done. She washes and dries her hands, grabs her sketchbook off of the counter, and returns to the lounge.