Grayscale

Chapter Five

        I got to where I would turn off onto the path that led to the broken fountain and stopped dead in my tracks. There were footprints. And the snow was fresh, which meant whoever went to the fountain was probably still there. I groaned a little bit, faced with trying to figure out how to deal with this new development. Would I have to insert them into my picture? Would they stay long enough for me to do that? Should I just let it go and find a pretty tree to sketch?

        This fountain is too perfect to just give up this sketch. I have to do this, whether I'm alone or there's a hundred people there.

        I let my feet lead me down the barely-touched path to the fountain. It was long and winding - or as long and winding as a short path in a small park can be - and between that and the heavy tree cover, I couldn't see the fountain or the boy perched on it reading until the path opened up to reveal the almost hidden little alcove. My breath caught in my throat and my feet stopped dead in their tracks as I took in the sight before me.

        The fountain was even more beautiful than I remembered. It had a big, round circular basin at the bottom where the water would collect if it were ever repaired, and the outside edge had intricate trim running along it. In the middle, there was a column that led up to a second basin, where water would poor out into the bottom. It too, had a decorated rim. The majority of the top, however, the actual fountain part, lay in the bottom basin, crumbled and useless. From what I could tell, it used to be a small Cupid statue, and water probably would have come out of his bow, but it was broken almost beyond recognition now. The whole fountain was covered in dead vines.

        And then, there was the boy.

        He was beautiful, even in black in white. He sat in the bottom of the fountain, back resting against the broken Cupid, nose buried in a book. I couldn't see what it was, but I could tell but the way his lips turned up into a small smile at the corners that he definitely was not reading something for a history class, like that asshole at the cafe had been. He let out a small laugh before turning a page, his little smile turning into a full-fledged one, and I think my heart dropped to my stomach. He was adorable, his dark hair hanging in his face as the words on the page made his face light up. He was so engrossed in his book that he didn't even notice someone had joined him.

        This was the boy. He was the one.

        Well, not the one. But the one who would fill my void. He had to be. There was just too much that was perfect about this situation for him not to be. I mean, who came out to a broken fountain in the middle of winter to read if he had a girlfriend to spend time with? He wouldn't be out here reading for pleasure if there was a girl at home waiting for him to come back and cuddle and watch Disney movies with him like I was sure every other teenage couple in the North was doing today.

        And besides that, I just had a feeling.

        I decided to play it cool, though. I still had work I needed to do. This sketch really was pretty important. My teacher had told us yesterday that it would be worth thirty points, which was a big assignment for us. I had to do well on this. Not that I had any doubt that I would. I was an artist. I wouldn't brag about much of anything else, but this was my niche in this world. I excelled here. Math, I was barely sliding by in. English was okay, just because of the creative writing assignments. French was a solid B. But art? I had a hundred and four percent, and there was an art show coming up that my teacher had recommended six of my pieces for. This was my calling.

        I dusted off a bench, and sat down, trying to decide on the best angle. It wasn't until I unzipped my bag and pulled out my sketching supplies, pencil poised to make the first stroke, that the boy finally looked up from his book.