POETIC JUSTICE | #Wattys2016

that

eighteen and five months begins and ends on the edge of tears. i meet my greatest enemy and deepest fear: spontaneity.

when my intro to fauvism class starts sometime in the late morning with my teacher asking each of my classmates to present our rough drafts, my heart sinks like an anchor into the ground beneath my feet.

it was a superstitious thing i had developed — but it always worked. show your art before it's finished, and you'll never finish it.

i tap my fingers across the thin folder i kept my drafts in, visualizing the shaky lines and lofty shapes that it consisted of. it was in such a precocious stage i wasn't even completely sure what i was doing — but i would have to figure it out, soon. my brain throws itself into a small chaos.

despite my best efforts, miss king's footsteps grow closer and closer to my easel, her inquisitive and critiquing voice approaching my work. i can't even will her away, i'm so desperate — but my savior works in the form of sid's messy-haired figure, bounding in through the classroom doors with her perpetual smirk.

"nice to see you showed, sid. we're presenting drafts today, so be ready or have an excuse," miss king announces. sid nods in her direction, before skipping over and settling into the seat beside me. she pokes my shoulder gingerly.

"hey. you alright? you look all stressed out," she asks. i instinctively loosen the frown on my face. sid giggles and i sigh.

"i am, actually. i can't — i would be shooting myself in the foot if i presented my stuff today," i explain. sid looks at me quizzically, but i wave her off.

"well, maybe i can help you," she suggest. she leans over into the magenta messenger bag by her seat, producing a thick binder and an offering hand.

i'm totally confused for a moment, before the puzzle pieces click together.

"sid, no, you don't have to do this —"

"stop, asami, that's so freaking cheesy. i I know i don't have to, i want to. choose whatever picture you want, but stay away from the back okay, those are personal," she says quickly, handing me the collection.

i give her one more hesitating look before flipping through binder pages. sid is a concrete artist, i can see immediately — her subject is shown clearly in each sketch, unlike my metaphorical style, where the subject can be one million things. it's different from mine, but good. her color schemes make her work unique.

i cannot meet miss king's gaze when she surveys the drawing — praising my daring to try new techniques and shading — but sid brushes my leg with hers, and i am reassured.

"i owe you big time, sid, really, thank you so much. you're amazing," i breathe out. sid shrugs and smiles coyly.

"it's no big deal, asami, that's what i'm here for," she tells me. i shake my head. gracious people baffle me to no end.

"there's got to be something i can do to repay you. like, do you need any help in a subject? or can i buy you a coffee, or something?"

sid's eyes flicker excitedly. she pulls out a slip of paper from her jean pocket.

"only because you offered," she begins, "there's an ice and snow festival happening in the city on christmas eve. it's supposed to be really cool, and there's going to be food, and my older brother's band is playing. you don't — you don't have to come," she stops, seeing my face fall. i quickly compose myself into a smile.

"no, i want to go, it's just — addie was supposed to drive up here to see me, and then we were gonna drive back to her parents place for christmas," i explain regretfully.

"oh," sid says softly. "that's okay. addie's a lucky girl."

i stare at my desk uncomfortably, before patting sid on the shoulder.

"hey, don't be upset. maybe you can ask your boyfriend to go with you," i offer.

sid laughs dryly. "yeah, i'll ask him."

"i'm really sorry, sid. i wish i'd known, i would have rescheduled it in some way—"

"it's all good, asami, don't you worry. hey, i'll see you later, okay? class is almost over and i've gotta go to the bathroom like, right now," she says me. i give her a small grin, watching her tell miss king and then slip out the door. i sit alone now with the shadow of guilt resting in my chest. 

—

if u forgot asami's a freakin cutipie and lmao remember when this was s'posed to be a short story cuz i donT