Page 52 of Undone

“Well, I’ve never been played this badly before.”

“I don’t think he played you.”

“What would you call it then?”

“A love story that isn’t over yet. Just be patient if you want to continue pursuing something with him. But he better give you one epic grand gesture or apology when he does come crawling back.”

I shook my head. “My break is almost over. I’m barely breathing over here, Dev. I’m barely getting through the days.”

“I know.” She placed a hand gently on my arm. “But don’t forget we’re here, okay?”

I nodded, took my coffee out of the microwave and headed back to the art room. Thank God for blank canvas. You can create anything you want on it. I placed my coffee cup down and grabbed an oversized one, placing it on an easel. Rolling up my sleeves, I got to work. Bold splashes of color streaked across what was blank seconds earlier. My arm moved in quick flashes. Paint to canvas. Paint to canvas.

“Whoa! That’s so cool!” Jonah, one of my junior students, walked in staring at the canvas in awe.

“Thanks. Take a seat.”

The rest of the students filed in while I worked. None of them spoke as I continued to empty out everything inside; painting it for them to see.

Finally, I put the brush down.

“I’m going to go around the room one by one. Tell me what you see using one word. Alex…?”

“Bravery.”

“Cristina?”

“Pain.”

I tried not to wince.

“Ben?”

“Justice.”

“Emily?”

“Beauty.”

“Dean?”

“A monkey’s ass.”

A few students openly laughed, some hid it behind coughs. He’s my smart ass. The kid with a huge chip on his shoulder who tries to hide the fact that he wears the same pair of jeans to school every day and showers in the boy’s locker room at night. If Creed was looking for their next teen recruit; he’s right in front of me.

“Two choices. The Principal’s office or the canvas? Choose.”

“Huh?”

I picked up another blank canvas and placed it on an adjacent easel. Raising my eyebrow, I held out a clean brush.

He mouths a curse and slid from his seat. I could tell the cocky bad boy felt awkward as shit.

“Just paint what you feel.”

He shrugged and dipped the brush in black paint. He slashed it in a diagonal stroke, holding the brush as if it were a knife and he was slashing the canvas with it. Over and over he painted. Paint flew off the brush and landed on my arm as he struck the canvas.

“There.” He threw the brush down, breathing hard. He expected me to be mad as he pulled his hoodie up and walked back to his seat. The rest of the class held their breaths, waiting for my response.

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