Just One Voice

•Making Decisions•

~17~

"Why does this school have to be so philosophical and crap." Rylie drawls out her question, making it sound more like a statement.

I tighten a red floral hair scarf around my head, trying to somewhat contain my frizzy curls. I'm almost certain that my blonde strands have become even lighter in only two weeks of living under the garish California sun.

"What do you mean, philosophical?" I ask as she distractedly walks me to class Friday morning, fully engaged in another one of her rants.

Rylie is a very opinionated person, to say the least. We love her anyway.

" 'You have to find yourself as an individual artist before coming together to create one multi-working masterpiece.' " Rylie dramatically mocks the quote, shooting me a dull and unimpressed look.

I chuckle, knowing that I've probably heard Mrs. Esme say the exact same thing, if not close to. "It's an art school, what else would you expect? I thought I was the newbie here."

"You definitely still are. It's just that, a lot is different already this semester. All art divisions and grades usually put on a huge production for the mid-term showcase. We don't split up and do our own things, that's just—"

"Mid-term showcase?" I raise an eyebrow, having to stop her there.

"If you're not already aware, you'll hear about it soon enough." Rylie pushes the thought aside with a wave of her hand, "You're really coming into this blind, aren't you?"

Processing her accusation, I barely notice as we approach my classroom number printed loosely on a wooden door. "This is me."

"And I'm going insane waiting another entire school day to find out if I made Elites—" She pauses, sighing, "It's still cool if Acee comes over after school right?"

With a nod of approval from myself, Rylie bids a stout goodbye, retracing her steps back towards the dance hall. Her tight topknot disappears amongst the other students in a matter of seconds.

I enter the classroom and politely greet my math teacher, Mr. Bower, though I'm not expecting any return of consideration. As if this subject wasn't already hard enough for me anyway, of course I would get stuck with one of the most strict core teachers.

Though I heard Rylie's ballet teacher makes them do fifty more working sets if they so much as talk at the wrong moment, so maybe I shouldn't be complaining.

I slide my book burdening backpack of my shoulder and onto the textured tile floor. Just as I'm taking my seat, the school's speaker system crackles to life, accompanied by static and an ear piercing mic malfunction.

"Sorry about that." Corrects the voice of the male whom usually reads off our weekly announcements.

Though he must hand the reins over after that simple start, because Principal Hawklin's cold tone suddenly takes control over the intercom. "Good morning students of MACC. Firstly, I am proud to congratulate Mckenlah Beck on her first place win for the National Congregation of Visual Art youth contest."

The people around me beginning softly clapping their hands together, so I do the same.

I don't know who Mckenlah is, but good for her. We're only a couple of weeks into the year, and she already has something impressive to show for it. Do I? Not exactly.