Art Class With My Enemy

Chapter One

Chapter One

I stared down at my schedule, wondering what horrible things I did to bring me this bad karma. Thinking back, I couldn't quite remember doing anything too extreme. Sure, I purposely hosed down Mrs. Grice's little ratty dog, but she was a cranky old lady. And the dog was about to attack me as usual, so my action was necessary. Then there was the few white lies I've told my parents the past couple days, but who hasn't done that?

Exactly, so there is no way I should be enrolled in an art class for my last period of the day instead of the dance class I signed up for. I thought getting into that class was a done deal. I mean, my guidance counselor knew about my passion for dancing and my hopeful future career doing it, which lead me to believe he'd alter my schedule to put me in the advanced dancing class. Apparently I was wrong.

Anyway, with the support of my friends—mainly my best friend, Harlow—I was able to temporarily forget how much my guidance counselor screwed up. Shrugging it off as a fixable mistake, I decided to just simply talk to him at lunch and resolve the issue.

"Mr. Shultz!" I yelled as soon as I barged into my guidance counselor's office. The middle-aged, short, bald-headed man stopped typing to look up at me.

"Miss Stevens, what can I do for you?" he greeted, gesturing for me to take a seat, which I took.

"You can fix my schedule!" I replied harshly. My attitude didn't faze him though; for the past two years he's dealt with it each time I got into trouble. It's not like I was a horrible student, I just didn't take any crap from anyone, whether it was a student or a teacher. Needless to say, whenever I got into trouble, the principal would force me to talk through my issues with Mr. Shultz.

"Is there a problem with your schedule?" Mr. Shultz asked.

"Yes! You didn't put me in any advanced dance classes! Not one single dance class!"

Mr. Shultz looked somewhat surprised, but I had a feeling it wasn't from my outburst. "Didn't you hear?"

"Hear what?" I answered.

He sighed before adjusting his glasses. "I'm sorry for you to just hear this now, but the school underwent more budget cuts. The dance classes were what suffered this time around."

I paused, unsure of what to say to that. "You mean there aren't any dance classes this year?"

"I'm afraid not," he answered, watching my reaction to this horrible news.

"So you mean to tell me that they cut all dance classes, which will probably prevent me from getting into a great school for dancing, and now I'm stuck in this art class? How come they didn't cut something else?" I asked angrily. I knew Mr. Shultz shouldn't be getting yelled at by me, but I was way too angry to lower my voice by that point. Dance class was the only class I looked forward to in school, and now it's done with all because football and other sports matter more to the idiots of this school.

"I know you're upset, Dakota—"

"That's an understatement," I interrupted.

"—but we may be able to bring the classes back next year. I'm sure you can get permission to practice in the studio after school too," he suggested. He paused before adding, "Now, for the art class, I can switch you into another class—"

"Oh that'd be great! I'm really horrible with anything artistic, excluding dancing if you count that," I said, interrupting him again.

"Alright," he said, checking his computer, "the last class I have available at this time is weightlifting. Let me just print you out a new schedule and—"

"On second thought, I think I can survive art," I interjected. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I offered a small, fake smile. "I'd rather draw stick figures than break a sweat," I joked. Knowing me, I'd probably break my arm instead during weightlifting class. I was better off in a simple art class.

He smiled. "Very well, then. Is there anything else on your mind?"

I shook my head and got up to go to lunch. "Nope, thanks a heap, Mr. Shultz!"

Just before I made it out of his office, Mr. Shultz stopped me to add one last comment. "Dakota? Don't worry too much about the cut dance classes. I'm positive I can get permission for you to practice after school in the studio. It'll all work out." I flashed him a genuine smile in thanks before making my way to the cafeteria to see my friends.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Harlow asked me as I sat next to her. Harlow, or as I sometimes called her, Harlie, has been my best friend since I could walk and talk. Therefore, it was no surprise that she picked up on my depressed mood, unlike the rest of the people at our lunch table. They were all good friends and everything, but Harlow was the one person who knew me almost better than myself.

"The school had to cut the dance classes," I announced. Harlow seemed upset, though more for me than herself since she wasn't a dancer by any means. She was more into acting, which would probably be the next thing cut at this stupid school.

"That really sucks, Kody," she replied, using the nickname everyone called me. Yeah, I never cared if it was a guy's name, it was just better than being called Dakota. Anything was better than being called that.

"I know, but hopefully I can still practice in the studio after school like Mr. Shultz suggested. I can't just take a year off and not practice, you know?" Harlow nodded. "Anyway, how was your first day of classes so far?"

Throughout the remainder of lunch, we talked about our classes and who was in them. We talked to a few others at our lunch table as well, some of whom were in our academic classes. The rest of the day went by pretty quickly, until the last class I was dreading came along.

I stepped into the art classroom and took in the unfamiliar scent. It smelled like a mixture of clay, crayons, and something else I couldn't place, yet it all reminded me of the past failed attempts I've had in previous art classes. Every year in an art class there was always that one person who messed up by burning, melting, or spilling things. I would know, since that person was always me.

Instead of taking in the visual scenery of the classroom rather than just what scents I could distinguish, I stupidly chose to check my phone at the wrong moment. I say 'stupidly' because I should've known to pay extra careful attention to where I was walking in the dangerous art classroom. It must've been a paintbrush or marker or something—whatever it was, it caused me to trip, making me fall right on my back. The quick action seemed like it came out of some bad cartoon, I thought, as I stared up at the ceiling. I heard a few people who were already in the classroom laugh, while one student stood over me.

"You're not too graceful for a dancer, huh?" he said, smirking.

Oh great, I not only have an art class instead of a dance class, but I have it with the one person I cannot stand. Gage Jenson.

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Author's Note: So here's the beginning of the two-chapter preview of my story. The full version is published on Amazon, as a Kindle version and paperback novel. I would love it for you to buy either if you enjoy my stories. The second chapter is added to see if you'd like to buy the whole thing, which I hope you do! Thanks so much for reading!

~Savanna Leigh