Page 28 of Faux Real
“Photography,” she groans as if it’s the most revolting subject.
Blimey.
“You’retaking photography?” I ask lethargically. Why? Why must all good things be ruined?
She narrows her eyes, picking up on my tone. “Oh God,” she whines. “Are you in that class too? Seriously?”
“I amjustas disappointed as you are,” I state.
She’s going to make us sit together. That’s what couples do. An entire class sitting next to the devil. Splendid.
“Shit,” she grumbles. “Okay, well, I can show up late, and hopefully by then, you’re already partnered with someone else. That way we don’t need to interact with one another. Reasonable?”
“Surprisingly yes,” I muse. Interesting. I did not expect that.
“Good plan.”
“Greatplan,” she retorts flatly, turning on her heel. “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you in class.”
“Can’t wait,” I state.
Kill me. Kill me now.
ten
A Thin Line
KENNEDY
WhenIwalkintoRoom 303, I’m relieved to find that Oliver is seated beside Clifford, the only student at Hilton whose parents don’t fly first class. Personally, I think it’s great that we offer scholarships to the academically gifted seeing as our world-renowned faculty is often wasted on morons.
I hand Mr. Takanaki my late slip, thank God Mrs. Patella agreed to write one, and head to the back of the classroom, scanning for a free table. My choices are either to sit with Olive Newman, a friend of Maxine’s, I don’t know her very well, but she seems fairly harmless. Or I can sit beside...Sawyer. Great. He’s in this class too? I strut toward Olive and plop my school bag down on the desk.
“Oh, sorry, Kenny,” Olive says, her eyes apologetic. “Jasmeen is sitting here. She’s just in the bathroom right now.”
“Of course, she is,” I grunt, dragging my feet to the far table on the right side of the room as our photography teacher drones on about the syllabus. I perch down on the stool next to Sawyer, the scent of his sweet cologne wafting in my direction. Such a familiar scent. One that I used to love and spray on my pillows.
But now it’s equivalent to emotional feces.
“Why are you taking this class?” Sawyer whispers as I pull out my notebook. “Trying to up your selfie game?”
I don’t understand Sawyer. One minute he’s relatively nice to me, the next he’s calling me a bitch. Whoever said women are hormonal clearly never interacted with high school boys before.
“I needed an arts elective,” I explain dryly, jotting down notes as I listen to Mr. Takanaki review the grading rubric. Thankfully, most of the assignments are individual with only two partner projects. Maybe I can ask the teacher to do them alone. I’ll buy a tripod or something. Despite what people say, teamwork seldom makes the dream work.
“Oh,” he hums. “And you chose photography?”
“Yup,” I say. “It was either photography or painting. We both know I’m not artistic. At least with photography, I just point and shoot.”
“I think there’s a bit more to it than that, KC,” he muses with a low chuckle. “Otherwise, everyone would be a photographer.”
“Sawyer, please,” I sigh, his laugh causing my gut to clench. I miss laughing together. I miss laughing in general. “I’m trying to listen to Mr. Takanaki. Stop talking to me.”
What is his deal? Does hehonestlythink that we can be friends? Or maybe he’s trying to get me to lower my guard so he can rip out my heart again. Did Corrine put him up to this? Is this a game? Regardless, it’s not happening. I will not be a pawn. If he wants the honor of talking to me, he can date me. Otherwise, he can fuck off.
“Whatever, KC,” Sawyer mumbles as he scribbles in his notepad. “Just trying to make conversation.”
“Well stop,” I state in a stern tone. “You’re distracting me.”
