Scarlett Blood

Chapter 4

The day went on with no sign of Nicholas Stone. By the time the tour was over, Natalie and I were on our way to becoming fast friends. It was exciting and new, and I fervently hoped that it would last. She seemed as taken with me as Blake was, though I planned to curb his interest in me if it became clear he wanted anything other than friendship.

After the tour, we had free-range to explore the rest of the day, as long as we didn't disturb classes in session. Natalie and I agreed to meet at three to walk home together, and I took myself off to the art building while she went to grab lunch with a few new students who still had questions. The building itself was unspectacular; red brick with average windows, but the inside felt like stepping into an art gallery. Every wall was adorned with paintings, and sculptures of clay or wood were stationed here and there in the halls. I paused to admire a few pieces, feeling a little self-conscious. They were all remarkable, unique. I kept walking until I found what I was looking for — room two-oh-two. The door was open, so I stood just outside.

I stood, quietly and unobtrusively, peering around happily. I counted seventeen people in the classroom, but they were all dressed very casually. I couldn't determine who the teacher was, or if they were here at all, until one boy, working at an easel, suddenly turned to look at me and smiled.

"Hello. Are you here for class?"

A few people turned to look with him, but the rest seemed too intent on their projects.

"Not until tomorrow. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

He stood up, gesturing me into the hall. "They like to work without talking," he explained as he closed the door.

"I'm sorry," I repeated.

"Don't worry about it." He didn't necessarily look like a teacher. In fact, there was something about him that reminded me of Nicholas Stone. I couldn't put my finger on it, because unlike Nicholas, this man had an easy, almost lazy smile, chocolate coloured hair that was cut short, and kind blue eyes. He didn't hold the same powerful attraction that I'd felt this morning, but there was a sort of magnetism about him that couldn't be denied.

"Uhm, my name is Scarlett Holden. Are you the teacher for this class?" I asked.

"That's me. Technically, I should introduce myself Mr. Lawse, but everyone calls me Pic."

"Pic? Why?"

He waved his hand. "It was a nickname I adopted my first year here. I love Picasso." His expression shifted into curiousity. "Scarlett Holden. . . you sent in the Guernica with your application, right?"

"Yes."

He looked at me with fresh admiration. "I've never seen someone take that piece and put a modern spin on it like you did. The colours, and your technique were incredible."

I felt the blood rush to my face. "T-thank you."

"I review all the art major's applications. Don't tell anyone I said this, but yours was the best I've seen in years. I hope I can expect more like that from you."

"I'll try my best," I smiled. "I really like Picasso too, but he's not my favourite."

"Da Vinci?"

"Michaelangelo."

He smiled, nodding. "I think you and I are going to get along well, Scarlett. I look forward to seeing what you do this semester."

"Thanks. I'll let you get back to your class."

"I should. See you tomorrow."

I left the building, a huge smile on my face, and collided with a girl at the bottom of the steps. Warmth spread over my front, soaking through my shirt and onto my jeans.

"What the f**k?!" she shrilled.

I froze, stunned and embarrassed, staring at the once white blouse she wore that was now covered in coffee.

"Oh, my gosh, I'm so sorry!" I apologized immediately. "I didn't see you!"

"How could you not see me? Are you f*****g blind?" she sneered.

"It was an accident," I said.

She flipped her long, blond hair, glaring at me. Oh, no, I thought, she's one of those girls. There was no question; blonde hair, atheltic body, legs for days and a huge rack. To top it off, she was beautiful. Yup. Typical cheerleader barbie b***h.

"I think you're the accident," she said, confirming my theory, "stumbling around, smiling like an i***t. Watch where you walk from now on."

"Sure, I'll do that."

She looked down at her shirt. "For your sake, you better hope this washes out!"

She stormed off before I could advise her how to get coffee stains out. Whatever. Seconds after she disappeared around a corner, Natalie appeared, looking after her. When she spotted me, she hurried over.

"Did you do that to Kayla?"

"Do you know everyone?" I asked.

"No. We've had classes together since last year."

"Oh. Well, if you're referring to the coffee on her shirt, yes, I did that, but not on purpose."

Natalie stared at me mutely.

"What?" I demanded.

She frowned at me. "You don't know who she is, do you?"

"Should I?"

"That's Kayla Black. As in, daughter of one of the wealthiest business men in the country."

"Seriously?" I scoffed. "No wonder she's such a bitch."

"I hope she forgets about this. She's one person you don't want to mess with." Natalie looked away, chewing her lip. I narrowed my eyes.

"Did she do something to you?"

She met my eyes, then looked away again. "Like you said, she's a b***h," she shrugged.

I didn't press her, though I wanted details. Instead I said, "Are you ready to go home?"

She nodded. "I can show you a few places on the way. You already found the cafe, but ther's a bute little boutique down the road, and across the road from them is the most amazing pizza place. I swear, you'll never eat any other pizza again."

That night, I carefully selected my outfit for tomorrow (after eating four slices of pizza, which was the best I'd ever tasted in my life) and made sure I had absolutely everything in my bag for school. I'd spent an hour talking to Mom and Dad and Hazel, but when I looked at the time, it was ten o' clock, and I was still very much awake. I went to the living room and grabbed a book, but after ten minutes and re-reading the same page over and over, I knew it wasn't going to work. Instead, I grabbed my sketch pad, flipping to a fresh page.

The drawing began like any other, and soon it became the outline of a tree. I didn't think about what I drew, when it was just me and the pencil like this. I liked to let my mind go blank and my hand move freely. Let the pencil guide me. It wasn't until I was nearly done that a physical shock went through my body. I stared down at what I'd drawn, at the perfect recall of that hair that mouth, those eyes. . .

Nicholas Stone.

I slammed the book shut, my hands trembling.