(Spin-off of Imaginary, more so specifically it's second book, Severity)
Cleo Vexer, a problematic teenage girl, is the sensation of your average pessimist and mediocre criminal. Still having to survive the rest of her senior year bitter and lonely...
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I replayed the game of Spit Caslon and I played yesterday afternoon in my head. I had won of course with my physiologic strategies. Caslon calls it cheating, but I think it's genius. He did win a round, I'll give them that.
I survived another hour with the one and only Charlie Marian, who knows how to make anything we talk about uncomfortable.
Second period with Caslon was always amusing, and the rest of the day played out accordingly until seventh period.
I watched Caslon with curious eyes as he sat down on the empty stool beside me during the middle of my art class. Canvases were laid out in front of our stools with a little table containing drawers of supplies between us.
"You're not in this art class." I stated as he dropped his bag behind him.
"I am now." He shrugged nonchalantly before trailing his eyes around the room.
"That's it?" I narrowed my eyes at him confusedly. "You're just not going to explain why you're here?"
"Okay, okay, I'll tell you." Caslon says dramatically. "They put me in the wrong class and said they could change my schedule by Monday. But the graphics teacher, Mr. Lake, was so annoyed that I didn't know how to do anything that he demanded I'd swap to this class as soon as possible. So here I am."
I laughed with a small smile staining my face. "So you're not a techie, I see."
He nodded his head agreeing. "There's no arguing in that."
"And of course that specific class you just had to be transferred to is with me." I sighed playfully.
A smile tugged at his lips. "That's called fate, Vex."
I snorted. "Yeah, that's what we'll call it."
I continued my painting and handed Caslon the assignment sheet. I expected him to look at it, but he only flickers his attention to it for a second before his eyes land back on me.
"You don't believe in fate?" He raised an eyebrow.
"If you haven't noticed," I drawled. "I am a major pessimist. I don't really believe in much."
Caslon reluctantly looked down, glazing over the assignment. It doesn't seem like he's having an easy time focusing.
"You know what, screw it." He muttered as he shoved the paper into his bag and turned on his stool to face me.
"You're already behind." I reminded him. "You better get started before you curse yourself for it later," I added, still focused on my green orientated painting.
"Is having the color green intertwined with everything you do a must?" Caslon asked, ignoring what I said earlier. "It's like every time I see you, there's always something green apart of whatever's going on."
"It's a subtle obsession." I shrugged.
"But why green?" He questioned.
"Does that matter?" I internally grimace at the higher pitch of my voice.
"To me it does." He quoted what I said yesterday.
I sighed, giving in. "When you see the color green, what emotion do you associated with?"
It took Caslon a second of thought. "Jealousy, envy, I guess."
I nodded to indicate that he hit it on the nail. "I'm the sort of girl guys call crazy because I spray paint the walls of cheaters like Oliver Walkley after a breakup."
"I wouldn't go as far to call you crazy," Caslon said. "Heartbroken, more likely."
"That's why I'm closed off." I shifted my eyes to my canvas as I swiped more green paint on my brush. "I'm a shadow girl. It's not my intention to be memorable."
"But you spray paint the walls of those who wronged you." Caslon pointed out, a triumphant yet soft grin printed on his face. "How can you be forgettable when you leave a legacy?"
My hand stops against the edge of the canvas, my head slowly turns to stare at him. Caslon sends me a sheepish look.
