chapter 15 - little Suzy

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Talia:

It's finally Friday, and I think I could cry tears of joy.

This week was shitty, and that's an understatement. At least it's the end of the day and I only have art class left. I can definitely last an hour.

I stroll into the art room with my chin held high, trying to convince myself that I'm happy to stay in school for another hour, which is entirely untrue. Reverse psychology is a very difficult process.

Grayson's already seated at the table, deeply emerged in what seams to be endless amounts of electronic paperwork. Is he secretly an office worker? I wouldn't be surprised considering I don't know as much as I think I do about him. Who knew he could be so confusing?

I take my seat across from him and decide it would be polite to say hello. "Hi."

His head remains hunched over his laptop as his eyes scan rapidly through its contents. What could possibly be this interesting that he couldn't hear me?

I decide to try again. "Hello."

"Grayson?" I speak once more, thinking he will respond to his name. Almost like a puppy.

My thoughts turn to be correct. Grayson's head perks up and he looks at me through confused eyes. "Hm?"

"I was just saying hello," I say. A smile threatens to break across my face, but I swallow and hold it back. Clueless Grayson is funny looking, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Mhm, yes, hi," he shortly mumbles before immediately returning to his computer screen. His eyes rapidly move from left to right while he silently mouths the words.

Who knew paperwork could be so interesting? A quick snort of laughter escapes from my mouth. I try to make it appear as if I were coughing by covering my lips with my hand, but Grayson's eyes have already lifted to meet mine without raising his head. His eyebrows knit close together in even more confusion.

"What?" Grayson asks.

I remove my hand from covering my mouth and use it to broadly gesture to his computer. "You're just really focused right now."

Grayson nods his head in understanding and then rubs his eyes. I wonder how late he was working last night, because the dark bags under his eyes are alarming. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," I wave off. "So what's got your attention that bad?" I ask, finding that I want to keep the conversation going—even if it means keeping him from his work.

He runs a hand through his hair, causing its dark thick strands to stick up and to the side. My perfectionist side would smooth it out, but I wouldn't want to freak him out. For a guy, his hair looks well taken care of. It's shiny and holds a soft wave without frizz protruding in different directions. He did mention he has three sisters the other night, so maybe they force him to use actual product, instead of the generic five-in-one that all teenage boys seem to use. Gross.

"Duke wants me to fill out and sign a binding contract promising to play for my full freshman and sophomore years," he explains. Grayson glares at the computer screen as if it's public enemy number one before looking back at me and adding: "I didn't know it was due today."

That explains the extreme levels of concentration.

"I see," I shortly say, not wanting to interrupt his work any longer. He takes the hint and continues his typing and scrolling and overall mind-numbing process.

Before long, the final bell rings to signal the start of class. I hear Grayson breathe out a heavy sigh of relief, followed by the closing of his laptop. I'm glad he was able to finish.

"Bonjour, Class," Miss Bradstone beams from the front of the class. Her attire is a little bit strange today. A bright yellow blouse covered in white polka-dots drapes over her torso, a magenta skirt flares just past her knees, and a pair of light-green heels hold her feet. I'm glad she teaches art and not fashion. Except now Miss B thinks she teaches French.

"Welcome to day two of Art Composition," she continues. "I hope y'all brought your creative thinking caps to class, becau—"

"Miss B," a male voice interrupts. I turn in my seat to find Blake raising his hand and leaning over the table from his spot. "I left my creative cap at home."

His table erupts in small snorts of laughter, and, without thinking, find myself smiling.

"That's terrible news, Blake," Miss B exclaims, matching his energy and humor. "I have one you can borrow, do not fret. Now, let me continue. Today for class we will be doing a fun little art game to learn more about colors and how they interact with each other. At the end of the period I will be introducing a semester long project that I think you will all have some fun with. So, without further adieu, I shall begin."

Miss B gives every student a tray, each filled four globs of acrylic paint: blue, yellow, white, and red. She also places in the center of the table a color wheel, which she briefly mentions how it is set up and how we can use it to our advantage for the game. Once we have paint brushes, a cup of water, and pieces of thick painting paper, she explains our task.

"On the projector I will display a color. It is your job to try and replicate that color as close as possible by using the paint in front of you. The color wheel, as I explained, will help you decide what colors need to be mixed. The table that collectively gets the color closest will win a point. We'll start easy."

Projected on the board sits a light-purple. I should pass this game with flying colors. Ha, art pun.

Grayson...perhaps not.

As I easily use my knowledge of color theory to create the light-purple as seen. Grayson's paintbrush takes turns hovering over different colors, unsure of which to start with. I bite my lip to hold back a smile. I don't think I should be finding someone struggling so cute. It's also horrible of me to find this amusing. I never knew someone could be this clueless about colors. It's as if he has never taken an art class in his life, or has completely forgotten everything there is to know.

He must of not been paying attention when Miss B literally explained how the color wheel worked, also. I pretended to listen along, even if I had already learned all of the information years ago. I was tapping my pencils eraser tip on my bottom lip periodically out of boredom while resting my chin on my propped up hand. I found it entertaining how my lips acted as pillows to push the pencil up and down. Grayson must have been distracted by something.

I push forward the color wheel closer to Grayson and his eyes lift to watch me. The room is getting somewhat loud, which makes me believe we're allowed to help our table-mates out. Good, because someone needs it.

Tapping the color blue on the page, I silently tell him that that is what he should start with. When he follows along by scooping up blue with his brush, I sigh with relief knowing he can pick up on social clues and is only clueless about art.

I guide Grayson the rest of the way, having him end with a dash of white.

"Ta-da," I say for him with a smile. He doesn't seem like the kind of person to exclaim with excitement.

Grayson stares approvingly at the light-purple and nods once. He must feel embarrassed that he needed help. "Thanks."

"Hey, it even looks better than mine," I mention, placing my paper next to his to compare. I may be lying, but at least it would make him feel better.

He looks up at the projected color, and then back to our two sheets. It's clear that his purple is too light compared to the one we were supposed to match it with. A half smile creeps across his lips and he shakes his head. For a second I think he might expose my lie, but then he speaks. "Yeah, I think I'm coming for your art career with this."

There is a pause. And then I laugh. I laugh at his joke. "I would have never guessed you knew how to joke around."

"You don't think I know how to tell a joke?" Grayson says while raising an eyebrow at me.

"In the two weeks that we have been thrown together," I begin truthfully, "I have never heard you tell a joke."

Grayson smiles and shakes his head in disbelief. "Fine. You want to hear one?"

"I would be delighted to," I reply, folding my hands in front of me and leaning over the table; either by a curiosity to hear it, or an unknown need to be closer to him.

"Why did little Suzy drop her ice cream?"

"I don't know, why?" I ask, perhaps a little too eagerly.

Grayson smirks and tilts his head down. "Because she got hit by a bus."

My mouth opens wide in shock. That is not where I thought the joke was going. I was hoping for a little pun, or something, not an act of violence. As horribly dark as his "joke" is, I can't help but laugh at its abruptness. "That's awful."

"Jake taught me that one," he explains, nodding his head in agreement. "There's another version, too."

"Oh, I would love to hear it," I share.

"Why did little Suzy fall off the swing?"

My eyes narrow in speculation. "I'm nervous now at the reappearance of little Suzy," I admit.

Grayson shows no hint at what he will say next. "Because she has no arms."

I cover my mouth to conceal my laughter, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the class from their color mixing. I swivel in my stool to face away from Grayson as I calm down. Why is his humor so dark?

"Your jokes are horrible," I say, even though I'm still smiling.

When I look back at him, a smile also graces his lips. A sight that I'm just starting to love. I mean like.

"Tell that to Jake," Grayson says, shrugging off my criticism. "I learn everything from him."

Maybe Jake isn't the best influence on him. I won't tell him that, of course.

"All right, class," Miss Bradstone announces from the middle of the room, interrupting my plans to continue talking to Grayson. "I'll be coming around now to inspect. Then we'll continue this glorious fun."

The rest of class is normal. Grayson starts to grasp the concept of colors, with only a few pointers from me. At the very end, he manages to make cyan all by himself! I feel like a proud art mama.

After we clean up our supplies, the teacher speaks again, this time to explain the semester long project. She's famous for these kind of things. "For our project this semester, you will be developing an art portfolio with a partner. No, you may not chose your partner, because I want y'all to get to know people who are not your friends. With your new friend, you will take them to one of your favorite places, and then they will do the same and take you to theirs. You will do this two times in total. Art creations will be done in class, so you may want to take pictures at these locations. Please pick up the project description on your way out the door. Your partner will be labeled at the top."

The bell rings to signal the end of class and everyone immediately heads to leave. I shove my stuff into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. Grayson and I seem to have been slow packers, because we're now the only two walking towards the door.

I reach my hand to grab the project sheet, but his hand brushes against mine, causing us both retract our hands upon contact. We are both strangely in sync.

"Sorry, go ahead," I say before Grayson can say the same.

He takes the top sheet and, instead of taking it for himself, hands it to me instead. Such a gentleman. "Here."

"Thank you, sir."

My eyes widen in self shock. Why the fuck did I just say sir? We're the same age. Maybe it was the whole gentleman vibe I was getting.

He gives me a questioning look while picking up his paper, clearly not ignoring my statement like I was hoping he would. "Sir?"

"Forget I exist," I share as I walk out the door to escape my problems. Once I'm in the hallway I finally check who my partner is, and as I do, Grayson's footsteps follow behind me until he is next to me again. "Actually, don't forget I exist, because you're my partner."

"What?" He halts in the middle of the hallway, probably a little shocked at my information. Crowds of students walk around him, as if he is a barrier that needs to be avoided. His eyes squint at his own paper to check if my information is true. Maybe he too is surprised at the universe's luck.

"Don't sound too disappointed, Grayson." I  turn around and push closer to the wall of lockers and open my own to put away some unneeded textbooks.

His head snaps up at my statement as I lift up my Chemistry cinderblock-of-a-textbook. "I wasn't disappointed, just surprised."

"Hm, figured as much," I say with a half smile. It's fun to mess with him. There's a question on the verge of being voiced. I face Grayson who is still staring blankly at the project paper. "Don't you think it's weird that we keep getting thrown together?"

He finally moves the sheet away from his face to look back at me, this time with another confused expression. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that," I begin, taking a moment to compose my thoughts. "We've been going to the same school for, what, thirteen years? And we're just now talking, or whatever. It's like we've been avoiding each other. So don't you think it's weird that in the past two weeks we've been, like, unintentionally meeting?"

Grayson remains quiet and just stares at me. One of those stares that makes me believe he doesn't understand what I was trying to explain. It's also one of those stares that makes me feel like my bones have turned to jello, so I lean against my locker, just as a precaution.

"No, uhm," Grayson finally says, reaching his hand to rub the back of his neck. "It's probably just a coincidence."

Something about the tone of his voice makes me was to believe that it is not just a coincidence. I wouldn't want him to think I'm suspicious, though.

"Yeah, you're probably right," I agree with him. I pull out my Government textbook and place it inside my bag to take home. "Or maybe Cassie's right about you stalking me."

What was intended as a joke, causes Grayson to scoff and roll his eyes. Man, who knew this guy has so much attitude. Soon I hear him mumble under his breath while turning his head away from me. "She's crazy."

I pretend to not hear him, mostly because I'm not in the mood to defend my best friend. Even if there is some truth in his words. Scratch that. There is truth in his words. She's been acting strange these past two weeks.

"So, are you doing anything tomorrow?" I ask, closing my locker shut and slinging my backpack on one shoulder. I wave the project sheet in front of me as a suggestion.

"Eager to get started on it?" Grayson says, answering my question with a question.

"Maybe. I actually don't have any tests next week, so my parents will let me escape without hassle."

Grayson nods his head. "I see. What place do you have in mind?"

"Oh, it's a surprise," I share with a bright smile, one that Quinn would be proud of. "Pick me up at ten AM tomorrow."

"You're a little bossy, did you know that?" Grayson says, tilting his head down and smirking a little.

Or maybe I'm just feeling much more comfortable and confident around him. Like we're becoming close friends. "You'll get used to it."

"I hope so."

I'm about to confirm our plan to meet up, but then a voice cuts through the slowly dispersing crowd of students.

"Lia!"

I lean to the side to look past Grayson and am met with an angry Jessica plowing her way towards me.

"Oh, great," I mumble before Jess gets close enough to hear me.

When she's right in front of me, she crosses her arms and leans her weight to one side. "Miss Girl, I've been waiting five minutes by the car. What's taking you so long?"

I smile at her body language, strangely finding it amusing. "Sorry, Jess. I was just making plans."

"Yeah, my fault," Grayson says, holding his hands up in surrender.

Jess suddenly notices the other presence beside us, but her attitude doesn't change. "Save it, tall boy." A hand waves up from Jess in front of his face. "Come on, Quinn and I have plans and I have to make myself look pretty."

"Yeah, 'cause you're really not looking great, right now," I joke with a smile.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jess shouts, drawing the attention of a few lingering freshman. "I'm beautiful!"

"Yeah, yeah." I point at Grayson and look up at him with an apologetic smile as Jess pulls my arm and forces me to move my feet away from him. "Ten AM sharp, don't forget."

"Yes, ma'am," he replies.

Jess spins me around, finally forcing me to turn away from Grayson. She weaves us through the hallway at a speed that's close to a run. It's ironic, considering she has previously said running is for people who hate themselves.

Once we burst out the front doors of the school, we walk a normal pace in the direction of our car.

"What's at ten AM sharp tomorrow?" Jess asks. She's so noisy, I'm shocked it took her this long to ask.

"We have an art project to work on," I say, "so that's when we're doing it."

Jess rolls her eyes and groans. "Ugh, boring. I was hoping it was a date."

My mouth opens in shock at her honesty. "Why would it be a date?"

"You're so dense sometimes," Jess says as she opens the back seat of the car for me to toss my backpack in. "I'm too lazy to elaborate."

This time, it's my turn to roll my eyes. I'm not dense. Whatever that means.

"I'm picking out your outfit. I don't trust you," my sister adds.

I groan into my hands. Sisters are annoying.

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This chapter was more of a filler to introduce the next parts. But, it looks like our girl Talia is getting suspicious of Grayson. Ooo.

Qotd: what is the biggest red flag for a person?


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