Over the Edge

Ch.13-Perfect Picture

~Rhys~

"You did not walk in on that."

I shuddered, just thinking of that wretched memory of my father and Judy in my room. "It's true," I told Emma. "Are you scarred yet?"

She laughed, swinging her legs from where she was sitting on the stone wall in front of Heart High School. I was leaning against it next to her. People walked by and cast us strange looks, but she didn't pay them any mind and I never did, so it worked out perfectly. "Close," she murmured, tucking hair behind her ear. "But not quite."

I nodded, chomping on the cinnamon pop tart in my hand. "I'm kind of frightened to think what could be more scarring than that but I'll take your word for it."

I caught her eye roll. "You'd be surprised."

"Emma! You're back!"

I stepped away as Rose tackled Emma in a bone-cracking hug. Luke just stood by, smiling warmly. I was always glad I wasn't born a girl. I wouldn't be able to stand all that touchy feely nonsense.

"How are you feeling?" the animated red-head asked my English partner.

"Better," Emma replied, eyes flickering fleetingly my way. "Thanks."

Rose smiled brightly, just as the bell rang. We gathered our stuff and Rose and Luke loped off, mixing in with the crowd. I lagged behind and waited for Emma to get herself together. She glanced up and paused a bit with shock, seemingly stunned that I was waiting on her, but she recovered quickly and let an easy smile grace her face. We joined the rest of the student body as we headed to class.

"Rhys Richardson?"

I stopped, and Emma did, too. We turned to see a young woman with thick-rimmed red glasses and curly golden hair staring enquiringly at me. "Yes?" I asked uncertainly.

She took a step closer. I refrained from matching it by retreating. "You are Rhys Richardson, correct?"

I nodded. "I am."

A smile lit up her face. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

Emma and I shared a questioning glance. "Sure," I shrugged. "I'll see you later, Emma."

She nodded but didn't look completely convinced as she hurried off to get to first class. I turned back to the strange woman I had never seen before, to find she was already walking away. I jogged to keep catch up.

"Are you a teacher here?" I called.

"I am!" she replied back. "And I have to say I am just horrified you don't know who I am."

I scratched at my head. "Okay."

"I would think someone of your caliber would seek out my class first, but I guess to each their own."

The woman was crazy. "I still don't follow."

She turned a corner and we headed toward the back of the school. She entered a spacious classroom with table and paint and . . .

"You're the art teacher," I deducted, remembering our school only had one and she wasn't known to leave the back wing of the school all that often.

"Yep. Miss Delilah, that's my name. Do you have a minute?"

Well, considering I hated school and looked for any opportunity to miss class, I had all the minutes in the world. "Sure."

She patted a seat across from her desk and I dropped down into it, plopping my bag on the floor by my feet. She righted a few trinkets on her desk before confronting me. "Rhys, I have a proposition for you."

I leaned back, crossing my ankle over my knee. "Okay."

She steepled her fingers on her desk, assuming an air of professionalism. "My sources tell me you are quite the up-and-coming artist."

I froze, body going rigid. "Who told you that?"

She winked. "My sources."

I swallowed hard. "I don't know what you're talking about."

An amused twinkle entered her eye. "Well, in case you ever remember, there's a contest that's nation-wide open to all aspiring high school senior artists. The winner receives a full scholarship to any art institution of their choice."

I didn't say anything out-loud, but her words did peak my interest. Full scholarship? I could hear Rico's voice in my head now, practically screaming at me to take hold of the opportunity and build a future. But an art institution? Was that what I wanted to do with my career?

Hell, I didn't know.

This was the first time in my life I had even entertained the future.

"I do implore you to think about it," Miss Delilah commented. "I would hate for a fresh talent to go unnoticed."

I nodded. "Can I go now?"

She waved me off. "Sure, sure. Will you think about it?"

I threw my bag over my shoulder. "Maybe."

She sighed. "I heard about your reputation, Mr. Richardson. I suppose that's as good an answer as I'll get out of you."

I had a reply on my tongue, but I bit it back and just walked out of the room.

As if I needed something else to think about.

~*~

My secret place was just as I had left it before, only slightly dustier. I kicked off my shoes and dropped my backpack and jacket to the ground. Maybe a scholarship wouldn't be so bad. I liked to paint. Why not make a career out of something I liked to do?

I sat down at the easel still standing in the middle of the room and stared at the blank canvas. Then again, what were my chances? It was all across America. There had to be some fucking kid genius who did nothing in their life but paint continuously.

I snorted. What a hilarious image that was.

I sighed, picking up the brush and rubbing my thumb over the bristles, crusted over with dried paint. I would need the perfect picture. Something unparalleled by the freak genius out there with no life. It would require work. Did I even want to invest so much of my time into this?

What the hell would I even paint?

A sudden image came to mind, of chocolate brown hair and long lashes; of fragile grey eyes and heart-shaped lips. I shook my head. Painting Emma? That was just creepy.

Even so, I dipped the brush in the brown paint, hand experimentally starting the curves of her face and hair, all from memory.

All from memory.

Great.

I was a fucking creep.