VIOLET

Chapter 8

Callan

"So for our first project, everyone will pair up,"

The old lady seemed like she was gonna cry, or maybe that was just her shaky voice.

I watched as she bent over her desk, bringing out a small pink bedazzled hat. 

"I cut some papers up and put little numbers on them," She started, walking over to the far end of the room, her shoes squeaking the whole way. "I want everyone to grab a piece of paper and match up with their numbers." 

Partners? In art? I thought art was some sort of individual expression or something... 

I watched as the professor started at the opposite end of the room and worked her way towards me. People started calling out their numbers and I anxiously waited while the seating arrangements changed around me.

Finally, the pink bedazzled hat was shoved towards me. I looked up at the professor, whose eyes were magnified due to her thick glasses. The grey-blue orbs stared at me expectantly.

 Why did this seem like some sort of important ceremony? Like this number would determine the rest of my life? It's just an art class, lady. Chill.

My eyes drifted back downward into the hat.

Two pieces of paper left. Both folded, giving away nothing.

Just my luck.

Internally rolling my eyes, I reach in, randomly choosing one of the two. 

I open the paper to see a roughly scribbled two-digit number.

22.

"Uh, who else is twenty-two?" I ask the professor.

"I wasn't keeping track," She says nervously, and I suddenly feel bad for putting pressure on this old lady.

"Don't worry about it," I give an apologetic smile, "Who has twenty-two?"I call out, lifting the scrap in the air as I scan the room. Everyone glances over at me, but they soon look away. 

A moment or two passes without a response.

"Hm... Maybe I made a mistake-" The professor starts, her grey brows furrowing with self-disappointment. That guilty feeling was starting to come back.

"Anyone? Nobody?" My voice sounded irritated, embarrassment seeping into me slowly. Was nobody saying anything because they didn't like me? Like that girl who probably didn't shave her pits for a month and thought she was better than me so she moved away? 

"I'm twenty-two," A somber, defeated voice calls. I recognized the melodic sound.

"Oh good!" The professor sighs with relief and walks away to the last person behind me. The sound of her squeaky shoes faded away.

And just like that, I'm left with my hot-ass of a neighbor who hates my guts.

Her dark brown eyes studied me with hesitation, as if I was a wild animal waiting to attack. 

Well, she had good reason to be afraid of one part of me- the part every girl dreamed about.

"Sooo," I start, dragging out the 'o' part of the word. "What is our project going to be about?"

Those brown orbs narrowed into slits as she scrutinized me. I felt my face scrunch with confusion. "What the hell did I say now?"

"You think I'm going to do all the work in this project? Think again, asshole." She said fervently, her plump lips stretching out into a thin snarl.