SLUMP

scene ii

Jett eyes his canvas on his easel, contemplating whether or not to add another bold stroke to the background or the centerpiece of his newest project.

His thoughts run around in circles, unsure of how to perfect the portrait. Absent-mindedly, he reaches for the canister of red paint, hoping to mix it with the white already on his palette. He thinks of sun kissed skin and pink -

Scrunching his nose, he shakes his head, wondering why images of her were popping into his head like a bag of popcorn in a microwave. Like a scratchy record, the memories replay the events of that morning. Zeroing in on the painting once more, he settles into his thinking face, but just as he did, a paper airplane flies into the brunt of his forehead.

"Yah!" Jett catches the paper plane before it could fall into one of his paint cans. "What was that for?!" He demands from the musician lying down on the floor a few feet away from him.

Dian runs his fingers through his silver-coated hair. "You were thinking so loud, I could hear you all the way from down here." Eyes still closed, he faceplants into the scattered notebooks underneath him and groans. Most were of his journals, full of uncompleted and snippets of lyrics and semi-produced melodies and songs he drew up in his head. While the others in his backpack, much like Jett's own carryon, were full of untouched schoolwork and projects.

The dark-haired artist redos the loose strings of his paint-mucked apron and ponytail, lips forming a pout. "You didn't have to risk the possibility of me getting an eye injury for it."

When the musician chooses not to comment, Jett redirects his focus onto his painting. In the back of his mind, he grouses internally at the fact that he still had to attend another class for filmography in a few hours and had a dance competition to prepare for after. Speaking of which, there was still that art competition he had his eye on, especially on the generous prize money. It is only the first day of his sophomore year of college, and he is wishing for summer to come again.

After a few moments of silence, a conversation Jett is not expecting comes to light.

"So," Dian drawls, flipping through the music score sheets with a sharp flick of his wrist nonchalantly, "who's Bubblegum?"

Jett resists the urge to fling his paintbrush in the direction of the pianist. At this point, Jett could have lied and not said anything, but he's known Dian since they were babies, and as such, his best friend instincts kick in at the last second.

"You saw?" His voice is meek.

Jett hears his friend snort. "Who do you take me for? Of course I saw. Anyone would have if they were as bored out of their minds as I was," his voice cuts out as the clanging sound of a hammer clobbering a nail echoes from the other side of the abandoned art studio, causing both parties to jump in fear. "Speaking of which," Dian diverts his gaze to their carpenter and set designer, Bronwyn. "Can you keep it down?! I'm trying to have a conversation here!"

"Really?" Bronwyn sticks a nail in-between her teeth, muffling her speech. "Didn't notice." Without another word, she continues hammering her next commission. Her client has ordered a wooden birdhouse to decorate their backyard, giving Wyn a deadline of less than a week. Due to this, she has been constantly drilling, cutting, and hammering nails all afternoon.

"Why am I friends with animals," Dian asks himself, moaning again like a zombie.

"Don't ask me," the carpenter slides her dusty pink-black gloves off her slick hands.

From their first introduction, Jett admits Wyn was not who he expected her to be, but at this point, he no longer is surprised by the curveballs life threw at him. First and foremost, she almost always wears a yellow construction helmet atop her brown curls. At least, she calls it that.