The True Kings || kellic

Ch. 4 || Blue Paint Splattered Everywhere

Kellin's P.O.V.

I know I've said this before, but I'm saying it again. Switching schools sucks. After the lunch period of death, I had art class. At least it's a class I know will be easy. Art was one of the one things I could actually do sufficiently, along with music, hiding my emotions, and screwing things up. Students bustled around me in the crowded hallway, calling obnoxiously to their friends across the way or shoving someone against a locker door and sucking faces with them.

God, sometimes I hate high school. Correction, I hate high school all the time. With the fact that everyone has to be like everyone and the social hierarchy is more strict than one of ancient Egypt's (only thing I remember from world history class). And those unspoken rules that everyone just seems to know except for me. Like, when was I supposed to learn that if I sit in the front of the class, I'm a teacher's pet that answers every question, but if I sit in the back, I'm a stoner kid?

Slowly but surely, I found my locker with difficulty, for the reason that I couldn't pull out the paper that had my locker number on it for a while because one jock shoved me down to the ground and people just kept walking over me as if I was a bridge. I opened my locker and threw my iPod into it, then rested my head against the metal door frame. I stood like that until the warning bell rang and the crowd of teenagers thinned out.

Today was really going terribly. It's not like I expected it to go well, but I didn't think it would be this bad. Not that people are, like, bullying me for being the new kid, it's more like the entire student body is ignoring the fact that I even moved here. And, to be honest, bullying would've been better than this.

The buzzing of the second bell brought me out of my daze. I grabbed my books and dashed down the halls, only stopping a couple times to check the map of the school I was given to make sure I was going the right way. I stopped in front of the door to room 231, caught my breath and looked at my reflection in the glass of the window in the door. My dark hair hung in my face and my usual pale cheeks were rosy from running.

I pushed the door open, revealing a classroom of easels scattered around aimlessly, kids covered in paint splattered aprons at each one, painting away. Music played softly in the background, but it wasn't the type of music I expected. Black Flag, The Misfits, and the Smashing Pumpkins played from a CD player sitting on the teacher's desk.

As I weaved in and out of the easels, no one looked up at me, no one even paid attention to me. Everyone just painted. But I guess that was my life now. People just ignoring me no matter what. Once I was standing in front of the teacher's desk, I noticed things that seemed peculiar for a high school teacher. His tousled hair was red, but dyed red, like a firetruck. Instead of a normal black suit that teachers usually wear, he was wearing a blue suit with a red tie. And when I approached him, he was sitting at his desk, reading a comic book.

"Um, excuse me, is this senior art?" I questioned cautiously, as when this man lifted his eyes from the comic book and looked at me, his eyes were just slightly rimmed with red eyeliner, nothing I would ever guess a teacher would wear.

"Yes, it is. And how may I assist you?" the teacher replied with a question, speaking formally, but in a jubilant, nonchalant type of way.

"Uh, I'm Kellin. This is my first day at this school," I told him.

"Well, hi there! I'm the teacher, Mr. Way, and welcome to art class! Now, what we are doing today is to pick a color, any color, that describes how you're feeling today. Then, just paint with it! Do whatever you want, the only rule is that you have to use that one color," Mr. Way instructed me. Seemed easy enough.

I started to walk away from Mr. Way's desk before he called me back. "And one more thing," he started with a grin, "I like your shirt." He shooed me off back to finding an empty easel, the comment leaving me with a grin on my face. Yes, I already did get a compliment on my Misfits shirt today, from the strange boy in English class, but this was different. A teacher complimented on my rock band t-shirt.

Soon, I found a vacant easel by the sinks. I set my books down and went over to look at the paints. After grabbing one of the aprons and slinging it over my shoulder, I trained my eyes on the different paint bottles. How was I feeling today? Ignored. Forgotten. Just flat out sad. So, I guess the only suitable color was blue. I snatched the bottles of navy and royal blue and then made my way back to my easel.

I hung the apron around my neck and squirted some paint out onto the palette. I picked a paintbrush and tapped it against my chin in concentration. What should I paint? Everyone was just painting the usual still life of some sorts, city skylines all in lavender, sunsets in clover green, vases of flowers in cotton candy pink.

The only thing that I could think of when trying to muster up an idea of what to paint, was nothing. A swirling mess of blotchy colors filled my mind. Abstract, it is. Slowly, I dipped my paintbrush into the paint sitting in front of me, and then flicked my paintbrush in the direction of the canvas. I continued splattering paint all over my canvas until you couldn't see anymore white, only a two-shaded blue mess.

Quickly, I dashed over to the paints and grabbed the white, hurried back to my easel, and mixed the royal blue with the white to get a sort of sky blue. With this new color, I began to paint shapes. Over the splatters, I dragged my paintbrush, creating lines, swirls, and triangles. I was starting to become content with my work, adding dimension to the shapes with a teal kind of blue when Mr. Way came over to my easel and looked at my painting.

"Ah, I see you chose blue," he said, examining my painting, "You know, blue is usually a color associated with sadness and depression." I couldn't meet Mr. Way's hazel eyes, for the reason that he pinpointed exactly why I picked blue. And he knew he was right. I kept my eyes trained on my shoes, not able to bear the look of probably disappointment on Mr. Way's face. "Kellin, everybody gets depressed, it's totally normal."

I slowly lifted my eyes to meet Mr. Way's face. His eyes were filled with an emotion I didn't recognize. Was it...understanding? He gave me an encouraging smile and told me to get back to my project. Before I could react, Mr. Way was talking to another student who was painting a yellow portrait of a woman.