Chapter 5
Art class ended rather quickly, all the students filed out to the next class, only after I had caged them and had them sign my petition. Everyone was taken aback by the news, but they weren't scared to sign the petition, against our cheap management.
I had only some names left, if I kept this pace steady, then I would have gotten most of the signatures I needed before lunch period.
I gathered my things to leave, my next class would start soon, and I didn't want to be the last one there. My eyes glanced at the drawing Cameron made, he had gone quite a long way in it, and it looked so realistic.
A bit interested, I sauntered over to the eisle beside mine, admiring the painting she had been doing. Though it was a bit rough, anyone who walked past it would stop and admire it.
I continued to take a peek at everyone's drawing, till I stumbled upon one that left my feet firmly planted to the ground. My eyes zoomed in on the drawing and captured it, saving it in my memory.
The sketch was of a bottle, a beer bottle, filled up to it's neck, corked close. And inside, was a girl, her banging her fists, wanting to get out. The air bubbles that flew out of her mouth as she tried to let out a scream, was so derailed, I could see the agony.
No, I could feel it.
The artist captured the exact moment of struggle, as her legs lifelessly peddled, trying to get to the top of the bottle. But, the most interesting thing about this drawing wasn't just the concept, but the well detailed expression on the girl's face.
It looked as though she was staring directly into the eyes of death, and it ate her whole. Just as I was about to lay hands on tht drawing, just to see if it was real, I felt a looming presence behind me.
"It'll dirty your hands." The voice said to me, causing me to forcefully snap into reality, and lose my balance for a second.
Luckily, I held my own and stood firmly, though, it did feel as though some force pushed me back up.
"That voice..." I said under my breath, swiftly looking over my shoulder at who it was that just spoke to me.
My gaze landed on none other than the name that seemed to pop up around me more than usual. Carlisle Stoll, in the flesh, wearing yet another grey hoodie.
"It's you!" I announced all too suddenly, backing away from him, maintaining a good two metre distance from him.
My stupid decision caused me to crash into the eisle, dropping the work to the floor. "No!" I cried out, crouching down to pick it up, worried that I had smudged the drawing.
When I looked at it, my fears were realised, my carelessness smudged the intense shading done with intention to make the centre piece stand out.
"Oh crap! Do you have any idea what you've done? The work is ruined now! Argh!" I shouted, holding up the sketch, contemplating just whose work it is.
He didn't say anything, but just kept on staring at me intently, which made me get all sorts of irritated with him. I mean, if he hadn't showed up, then I wouldn't have had to back away.
"Just get me a pencil or something." I chided him, pulling myself an art stool, to try conceal the deed, or better yet fix it with the best of my abilities.
He placed a charcoal pencil in front of me, and an eraser. I hadn't really worked a shade that dark and was a bit frightened to try use it.
One wrong move, and the whole drawing is destroyed, I was starting to have second thoughts about helping to fix this sketch.
I placed the pencil on the sketch, slowly about to glide my shaky fingers about the paper, sure that I would make a wrong move.
"Your hesitation holds you back from unleashing your passion." I heard a voice dangerously close to me whisper into my ears, far too close in my opinion.
I looked to the side of my face, lips parted to scold him for daring to try and get close to me. But the moment my eyes landed on him, I couldn't find the words to say anything to him.
His utter and complete focus was thrown into the sketch, it was like he was staring into the window of the artist's soul.
"Notice how the artist used straight and rigid strokes instead of free ones, it fits perfectly into the caged theme of the work. Your strokes should be a bit more stiff." He said, placing his arms over mine, guiding me on what to do.
The moment his hands rested on mine, I felt this sort of spark run through my veins. In comparison to mine, his skin looked pretty plain, as though he hadn't had any vitamin D since childhood.
I tore my gaze away from him and focused my attention on the work in front of me, taking notice of what he said.
"You're right." I voiced out in awe, surprised that he was able to not only notice that, but his strokes were effortlessly flawless.
Before I knew it, he had let go of my hands, leaving me to do the rest of the sketch by myself. I was so caught up in the fun of it, that I hadn't noticed him take his leave.
"What do you think about it? I think I can add some light to..." Silence answered my question for me, alerting me that I was alone in the art room, and horribly late for my next class!
"Where did he go?" I asked with a worried expression, feeling beyond guilt for speaking to him like that, when it was my fault for falling the painting.
There was no use attending the class now, the teacher was strict on tardiness much more than attendance. If anything, I would just pretend I was at the nurse's office today, and avoid getting scolded at altogether.
But first, I had to use this free time and try find Carlisle, and give him a proper thank you for saving me yesterday.
Rumours or not, I believed I owed him at least that much.