The Artist | #3✓

Chapter 5

"You look scared, what's wrong?" I heard Toby's voice ask with a small laugh. It startled me, making me blink a few times in shock before I turned to look at him. It was Monday morning and the start of the summer school season. We were standing in the school hall with a bunch of other teachers, watching students walk in. Most of them looked tired and irritated — like they'd been forced out of bed and instructed to come to school —which probably wasn't too far from the truth. Many people took summer classes because they'd failed them during the year, and not just because they liked learning during the holidays.

"They look like this every year," Mr. Philip, the physics teacher said, laughing as he walked by us and towards the hallway that led to the offices belonging to science teachers. Toby laughed, before motioning for me to follow him, and we headed to the art room together.

"We're lucky because we don't have to walk from classroom to classroom since all at classes are held right here," he said with, as he spread out his hands motioning to the wide room. He looked refreshed today. His brown eyes were wide and looked excited, and his face had more color than before. His brown curls were also shorter and cupped around his face more smoothly - a haircut?

I looked around the art room, a little confused about where to sit. I wasn't a student anymore, but the desks set up in the room belonged to MR. Dave, Mr. Steve, and Toby respectfully.

"You can sit by Dave's desk," I heard Toby say, answering my unasked question. I muttered a 'thank you' before heading to the seat. The feeling I had when I did was both odd and satisfying. Mr. Dave's desk was decorated with stickers and engravings — personalization at its best. I smiled, spotting some of the scribbles and carvings that belonged to students.

Chelsea was here, 2009.

As I read the messy engraving I started to wonder how long Mr. Dave had been working behind the desk I was now sitting by as a teacher.

"He's very restless." Toby's words made me turn to him. He was writing something down on a notepad, the odd way he held his pen like it was a brush made me smile a bit.

Little things.

Little things that I noticed about him were endearing to me.

"He scribbles on everything he can get his hands on, you should see his report folder. He's restless, but aren't we all?" Toby laughed in that small lisp way of his — like it was a part whisper and a part chuckle. He paused what he was doing, looking at nothing in particular as he continued talking. "It's an artist thing I suppose, manifesting in us in different ways. Dave's might be scribbling at everything in sight, and mine might be being overly organized."

I smiled at that, humming in agreement as I picked the bag I'd put down on the floor when I took a seat. I fished for my schedule, finding it and reading through it to see that I only had one class today. I turned towards Toby again, watching him type, and I noted that look of concentration was on his face where he frowned a bit and bit his bottom lip. I soon looked away, deciding to go through my phone. I was a bit shocked to see I had a message from a while ago — I barely got those if I didn't count the ones from my parents, and a certain kind of awkwardness seemed to emit from the phone in my hands when I realized it was from Wyatt as well.

WYATT:

I hope you're off to a good start. Just checking in.

9:32 AM.

ME:

I'm doing fine. Thanks for asking.