Page 8 of Hell House
Skye looks at me with sympathy which I brush off. I’m used to people’s snap judgements.
My phone buzzes, fuck it, the teacher already thinks I’m trouble, so I sneak a glance, seeing a group chat between my Intro to Business group. Javelynn sent us all a meet up time to discuss our project. I had to admire their go-getter attitude. I see three tiny dots pop up and then Pierce’s response that he’ll be there with a winky face. A fucking winky face. That guy was so full of himself that it even came through in a text.
Jackson followed with his affirmation that he’d be there, and I glance over to the Professor whose back was turned as she finished doling out the syllabus to the rest of the class. I quickly send a thumb emoji, even though I hated those and slid my phone back into my black studded purse. I shook my leg absentmindedly, ready for this class to be over. Sure, I loved English Literature, but I wanted more than just the bland same old tirade. I wanted something that sent my mind on fire with inspiration. Memorizing Jane Austin’s birthdate wasn’t it.
Dread filled me as I thought of spending the evening with my business group. As much as I liked Javelynn and I didn’t know anything about Jackson other than he was cute in a preppy sort of way, the thought of spending any time around Pierce sent me glowering. I pushed away the dread by imagining I was smacking him with my black studded purse. I snorted under my breath, which would wipe off his stupid smirk for sure. I would never really do something like that unless I was in danger, but still imagining it brought me a wicked sense of joy. If I had to suffer through his presence, at least I found a way to keep myself entertained.
CHAPTER TEN
Skye
The art room was set up in a circle with canvas holders and stools placed around a circular stage that held one wooden stool and several props. I stare at the fake apple that sits on the desk next to a pile of grapes and my stomach clenches with nerves. I have to show the professor that I belong here. My scholarship depends on her approval. The pieces I’d produced to the scholarship committee had been enough to get me in the door but holding onto my position was a whole other beast. Art was subjective and I hoped my style translated to the professor that I was worth keeping around. I shift my weight on the padded stool that I’d claimed for myself. I arrived early wanting to scope out the classroom before everyone else. I’d never taken an actual art class before. Everything that I’d learned was self-taught, with spurts of YouTube videos.
A few fellow art students trickle in, selecting their seats and fiddling with their stand’s height. I take out my roll of brushes, feeling the fine hair tips fanning against the pads of my fingers. The feather light brush of them calms my nerves, letting me breath a bit more freely.
The professor waddles in at 10 on the dot. She has short, white tufted hair that’s bound with a bright purple scarf. Her ears hold two large turquoise gemstone earrings that jingle against her smaller silver hoops that go up the length of both her ears. Her arms are covered by a matching purple shall that’s covered in turquoise flowers. As she shuffles to the middle of the room, she passes my stand and I notice her brown shoes are paint speckled and well worn. She raps her elaborate silver cane on the stand, getting the attention of student’s who were caught up in their conversations.
“Hello, hello. I am Professor Whitelsbee. I am the primary art teacher here at Kildale. We will be getting right in the thick of it, because there’s no time like the present! I want you to whip out your paints, grab a canvas from the back of the room and make me something beautiful. Something that shows me who you are.”
We sit stunned for a moment until Professor Whitelsbee bangs her cane on the ground. “Go!” We spring into action, scrambling for a canvas to bring back to our stations.
I pick the closest one to me and unpack my paints, uncapping the ones I want to use and squirting the malleable colors onto a painter’s pallet. I stare at my canvas thinking of what to put together, but nothing comes. What is something that shows who I am?
I mix a few colors together as I think. A loose idea starts to form in my mind.
Professor Whitelsbee moves staggering around the room, studying our movements. Several students seem well underway, but I’ve yet to even mar my canvas with a splotch of paint. She shuffles behind me and lets out a sound of disappointment as her eyes flick over my blank canvas, she doesn’t stick around, but I can feel the knots of nervousness tightening around my chest. I pick up my paint brush and pack on a light glob of blue paint.
The color matches my eyes, so I decide to paint the scene my mother always talked about, the story of my name. I flick my paintbrush over the white canvas, the colors blending together until it starts to take shape in front of me. It always feels like a magical experience when I transfer the ideas in my head into something tangible.
I lose myself in the painting and before I know it, the hour is up and people are packing away their supplies and cleaning off their paint brushes. I step back from my work, admiring what I have so far when I catch the Professor scowling at me. My heart rate picks up as I hurriedly join the rest of my class in the clean up and set my canvas on a drying rack stationed in the back. Professor Whitelsbee bids us farewell, her words not mine, as we file out of the classroom. I wave goodbye as I leave, but the Professor is already hobbling in the other direction. I wince, thinking back on her disapproving looks all throughout class and my stomach churns at the possibility of not living up to her expectations.
I have plans to meet up with Salem and Javelynn at lunch, and hurriedly walk down the dimly lit corridor. The cafeteria is on the opposite side of campus and my stomach is already screaming with hunger.
When I finally find my new friends they’re deep in conversations and questionably made burritos. Salem’s laughing at something while Javelynn chews their food with a smile.
“Hey! Skye, listen to this. So, I’m running late to my Speech class and I’m booking it so I can make it on time. When I get there, the door is locked! I try jiggling it and pull thinking, maybe it’s just stuck, when my professor opens the door and I fall back, my feet going right over my head, flashing my Speech teacher my underwear.”
“That’s one way to try and get an A.” Javelynn says wiping their mouth with a napkin. Salem shoves their shoulder, with a grin on her face.
“I can’t believe he saw my underwear. His whole face got red, and he looked up at the ceiling when he asked if I was okay.”
“Were they cute underwear at least, or was it a granny panty situation?” I ask, digging into my soggy looking burrito. Oh God, this tasted like wet sand.
“They were plain black and full coverage at least, but still I had to sit there the whole class knowing that my teacher had seen my nether region.”
“Next time maybe wear something that says ‘I heart Speech’." Javelynn says with a snicker and tossing their trash like it’s a basketball. It sinks straight into the open hole, and a few people nearby let out a small clap.
“I hope there won’t be a next time. Ugh, how am I going to get through a whole semester in this class?”
“Maybe sit in the back… or wear pants like me.” Javelynn says pointing down at their outfit.
“I wish this school was more progressive and then they would allow us to wear pants. My legs are already freezing and we’re not even in winter yet.”
“What are we doing this weekend?” I ask, taking a sip of my water wishing I had picked something different to wash this taste away.
“There’s a pool night at Diablos.” Javelynn mentions, scrolling on their phone. “There’s also a yoga meet up at the top of Possession Hill or a group hike that starts at the lighthouse and takes you around the island. The weather looks like it might be clear enough for kayaking.”
We settle on doing some yoga since our legs are sore from all the stairs in our dorm. I, for one, could use some deep stretches after I’ve had to hobble up the stairs the last few days.
