LOOKISM || liquorice

. what happened was then and what will happen is now

The restrooms in the art department are always empty. It is never used for what it is there for--one only went inside to get a refill of water for painting. No one went to the restrooms in the art department otherwise.

So when you make a water run (alone, mind you. Your entire class was fooling around in the classroom instead of finishing the watercolor piece they were supposed to be working on), paint-covered medium-sized mason jar dangling carelessly from your hand, and hear water running, you are immediately suspicious. You open the door carefully. A sink's faucet is running--what a waste--but no one is in sight.

When you see the closed stall you turn around instantly. Knowing this school, someone (more like someones) was probably having sex and you were not about to disturb them. One foot steps out the doorway before you hear it--the sobs, and the familiar voice. You weren't familiar with the owner, but the voice itself--she was always everywhere, you thought, letting your mind wander.

"Piggy," Zoe cries, "I'm sorry."

---------

A lazy splash of bright, shimmering gold is flung onto the paper, and you lean back to admire your work. Waves of teal and turquoise fill the top of your watercolor painting, highlighting the dark blue gradient underneath. A ray of light shines its way through the abyss, making the red-orange fish seem a bright orange-yellow instead. It was difficult, getting the lighting right for this piece. You never really painted underwater scenes--but then again, you never really painted much of anything. simply letting your brush guide you.

Behind you, the whispers of your classmates fill the empty expanse of your art classroom. The murmurs occupy the half-filled jars of paint, sit in the chairs of the abandoned easels, crowd into the mouths of catty gossipers and the ears of nosy listeners.

"There she goes."

"He's so talented. His painting are amazing, but he always does that."

"'He'? But I thought she was a girl."

"Meh, with those looks, they could be whatever. Think it's a guy though. Look at the flat chest, lol."

"Lol."

"So pretty, too. Looks and talent. Such a waste."

You smile at your painting. A beautiful, blue ocean, a look at what laid beneath the waves, filled with fish the color of the sun. A scenic piece marred by an angry vertical stripe of gold that shines in the afternoon daylight. An unappealing, distasteful scar ruining the deep allure of your latest artwork.

Ugly.

You give a satisfied nod.

"Perfect."

---------

You had never met Zoe, but you had heard of her. And everything you heard you instantly disposed of. A character should be judged by you, and only you, not by bits of rumors floating around a high school full of teenagers known for their condescension and idiocy.

So when you overhear a classmate tell her friend that Zoe was dating Logan Lee, you take it with a grain of salt. Even when you bump into them, arms around each other, as you turn a corner in the hallway.

"Hey," Logan glowers at you, trying to seem intimidating, though he falters slightly when he sees the pretty face. He shakes his head--he can't think that way. He has his girlfriend with him! His face morphs back into its nasty sneer, and Zoe has to hide her flinch.

"Apologize, bitch," he snarls at you. You return the gesture with a lazy blink, before shifting your bored gaze to the pretty girl he has his arm wrapped securely around.

"Good luck," you say, almost sluggishly. "I'm rooting for you."

Zoe had never met you before either. Like you with her, all she knew about you were things heard through rumors--though unlike you, she let them cloud her judgement. To Zoe, you were the lazy genius of the art department: talented, with a pretty face and a screw loose. She could definitely confirm one rumor: you were absolutely stunning. Flawless, clear skin complimented by [h/c] hair, [e/c] eyes framed by long, shiny eyelashes. Despite your languid posture you still held your chin up high and confident. That confidence came from your looks, she knew; you knew, too, you were pretty, and you weren't afraid to be judged by appearance.

She wonders, as you walk away, feet dragging slightly, if you are afraid of much of anything. Your steps may be slow, but they are certain; you walk in an almost-strut, with an air of knowing about you. Not even Logan can say much to your departure (in fact, he says nothing at all, only sending you a derisive huff that you never acknowledge)--Zoe has a feeling he, too, feels it, the strange aura, as if you are something greater than yourself and are searching for exactly what that is. You know a lot, she realizes, and that is how you knew exactly what to say, your words sticking close to the teenage girl. She suddenly feels better, less heavy, even with the burden of him both metaphorically and literally on her shoulders.

To Logan, well, he had already forgotten you. All he remembered from your encounter were your words--"I'm rooting for you". Logan thought they were for him, and he was proud; the school had already caught wind of his new relationship, and they even supported it. His mood was lifted, and his steps as he and Zoe made their way to the cafeteria had more bounce than before.

And you? You had left the school, despite it being only lunch. Your pace steady, you walk to the nearest bus station, waiting patiently in line until it is your turn to purchase.

You smile pleasantly at the gawking cashier, choosing to ignore the prominent blush on his cheeks.

"Hello, could I get a ticket to Seoul, please?"