Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > .waste.of.time.
I sighed as I walked into art class later that day.
It took me a second to realize that I was in the right room, because it didn’t look anything like the one I’d been in yesterday.
All the desks were pushed against the back wall and stacked on top of each other, and easels were set up back-to-back all over the place.
This did not look good.
Ms. Holly, the teacher, was sitting at her desk reading an art magazine when I walked over to her.
I cleared my throat.
She looked up. “Oh, hi, Alixz. Go ahead, pick an easel. They’re up for grabs right now.”
“Uh, okay,” I said. “Just . . . Why are there easels in here?”
She smirked. “Well, as you might have noticed, this is the art room.”
“Right.”
“Well, since you’re the first one here . . .”
I looked around and noticed that I was, indeed, the first one here. I guess I’d been so surprised by the easels that I hadn’t bothered to notice much else.
She stood up and surveyed the room before grinning at me. “Our latest class project is going to be portraits.”
I felt my eyes widen. “Portraits?”
She nodded, beaming.
I felt my heart sink. I suck at art. The only reason I took this class in the first place was because Gerard was taking it and because it’s normally an easy B.
And it had been an easy B, until now.
Portraits?
“Are we going to be graded on those?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “What part of the phrase ‘class project’ did you not understand?”
“I understood it,” I said. “I was just hoping you weren’t serious.”
She laughed. “I assure you I was deadly serious,” she said. “Now, pick an easel. You don’t have as many options as you did ---”
That was when I noticed that more students were coming in and selecting easels.
I headed all the way to the back, in the corner.
Or maybe I should have stayed closer to the front, by the door. I needed to grab Gerard as soon as he came in to make sure he’d be my partner.
Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. After all, he was such a good artist, all he would do is make me look worse than I already was.
And I did not want to jeopardize my B.
I felt my phone vibrate in my bag, and I pulled it out. It was a text from Evie.
EVIE: What class are you in now?
ALIXZ: Art. You?
EVIE: Art? I didn’t know you took art.
ALIXZ: Well, I do.
EVIE: Oh. Well, some of us are coming over to my house after school to practice. You want to come?
ALIXZ: Yeah. But I can’t. I have to get home.
EVIE: Why?
ALIXZ: Because my mom’s out of town.
EVIE: Really? PARTAYYYYYY TIMEEEEE.
ALIXZ: LOL. How about NO. My Gram’s there and she’s why I have to come straight home.
EVIE: Sucks.
ALIXZ: Tell me about it.
I heard the thud of someone tossing a bag on the floor, and the grind of a stool’s legs scraping against the floor. I peered around my easel. Gerard was the source of the noise.
Of course.
“Portraits,” was all he said. “Excited?”
“I don’t think I want you as my partner,” I said. “You’re just going to make me look bad.”
He snickered. “This is art class,” he said. “You only signed up because I did.”
“I know that,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like the fact that you’re better at it than I am.”
“Okay, guys!” Ms. Holly said, clapping her hands once.
“And GIRLS,” said a girl across the room.
“And girls,” Ms. Holly said. “Okay. So. Our newest class project is portraits! Okay?”
“Why are these things set up back-to-back?” someone said.
“Because, obviously, you’re going to paint each other’s portraits,” she said. “It’s not brain surgery . . . We’re just going to start off with some basic pencil sketching, so back in your seat, Trevor, we don’t need paint.”
I bit my lip as the sounds of pencils on paper filled the room. I was about to go digging in my bag for a pencil when I noticed that one had already been placed on the easel’s tray.
Gerard peeked around his easel at me, eyes narrowed in concentration.
I sighed.
Portraits.
What on earth had possessed this woman to come up with something like that?
I had no idea where to even start.
Why couldn’t she have done something easy, like the time we did abstract art? I think that was the only A I’ve ever gotten in this class.
I drew a few half-hearted lines on the paper, knowing that it would never, ever, no matter what I did, resemble anything that even remotely looked like Gerard.
It was useless.
I sketched some more.
It took me a second to realize that I was in the right room, because it didn’t look anything like the one I’d been in yesterday.
All the desks were pushed against the back wall and stacked on top of each other, and easels were set up back-to-back all over the place.
This did not look good.
Ms. Holly, the teacher, was sitting at her desk reading an art magazine when I walked over to her.
I cleared my throat.
She looked up. “Oh, hi, Alixz. Go ahead, pick an easel. They’re up for grabs right now.”
“Uh, okay,” I said. “Just . . . Why are there easels in here?”
She smirked. “Well, as you might have noticed, this is the art room.”
“Right.”
“Well, since you’re the first one here . . .”
I looked around and noticed that I was, indeed, the first one here. I guess I’d been so surprised by the easels that I hadn’t bothered to notice much else.
She stood up and surveyed the room before grinning at me. “Our latest class project is going to be portraits.”
I felt my eyes widen. “Portraits?”
She nodded, beaming.
I felt my heart sink. I suck at art. The only reason I took this class in the first place was because Gerard was taking it and because it’s normally an easy B.
And it had been an easy B, until now.
Portraits?
“Are we going to be graded on those?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “What part of the phrase ‘class project’ did you not understand?”
“I understood it,” I said. “I was just hoping you weren’t serious.”
She laughed. “I assure you I was deadly serious,” she said. “Now, pick an easel. You don’t have as many options as you did ---”
That was when I noticed that more students were coming in and selecting easels.
I headed all the way to the back, in the corner.
Or maybe I should have stayed closer to the front, by the door. I needed to grab Gerard as soon as he came in to make sure he’d be my partner.
Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. After all, he was such a good artist, all he would do is make me look worse than I already was.
And I did not want to jeopardize my B.
I felt my phone vibrate in my bag, and I pulled it out. It was a text from Evie.
EVIE: What class are you in now?
ALIXZ: Art. You?
EVIE: Art? I didn’t know you took art.
ALIXZ: Well, I do.
EVIE: Oh. Well, some of us are coming over to my house after school to practice. You want to come?
ALIXZ: Yeah. But I can’t. I have to get home.
EVIE: Why?
ALIXZ: Because my mom’s out of town.
EVIE: Really? PARTAYYYYYY TIMEEEEE.
ALIXZ: LOL. How about NO. My Gram’s there and she’s why I have to come straight home.
EVIE: Sucks.
ALIXZ: Tell me about it.
I heard the thud of someone tossing a bag on the floor, and the grind of a stool’s legs scraping against the floor. I peered around my easel. Gerard was the source of the noise.
Of course.
“Portraits,” was all he said. “Excited?”
“I don’t think I want you as my partner,” I said. “You’re just going to make me look bad.”
He snickered. “This is art class,” he said. “You only signed up because I did.”
“I know that,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like the fact that you’re better at it than I am.”
“Okay, guys!” Ms. Holly said, clapping her hands once.
“And GIRLS,” said a girl across the room.
“And girls,” Ms. Holly said. “Okay. So. Our newest class project is portraits! Okay?”
“Why are these things set up back-to-back?” someone said.
“Because, obviously, you’re going to paint each other’s portraits,” she said. “It’s not brain surgery . . . We’re just going to start off with some basic pencil sketching, so back in your seat, Trevor, we don’t need paint.”
I bit my lip as the sounds of pencils on paper filled the room. I was about to go digging in my bag for a pencil when I noticed that one had already been placed on the easel’s tray.
Gerard peeked around his easel at me, eyes narrowed in concentration.
I sighed.
Portraits.
What on earth had possessed this woman to come up with something like that?
I had no idea where to even start.
Why couldn’t she have done something easy, like the time we did abstract art? I think that was the only A I’ve ever gotten in this class.
I drew a few half-hearted lines on the paper, knowing that it would never, ever, no matter what I did, resemble anything that even remotely looked like Gerard.
It was useless.
I sketched some more.
Sign up to rate and review this story