The Artist | #3✓

Chapter 12

The room was silent since everyone was giving their full focus on what they were presently doing. Wyatt, Candice, Ava, Xander, and I were all sitting at the dining table. Xander, Wyatt, and Candice were using their gadgets, while Ava and I were sketching away on our drawing pads.

While I was drawing I would look over at Ava who was sitting beside me. I would gaze at her work from time to time, observing her progress. She was doing a floral pattern design in pencil color. Candice, on the other hand, was sitting at the far end of the table with her headphones on, and she was probably watching one of her cartoons.

"I feel like dying," Ava joked when the tip of her coloring pencil broke for the third time in ten minutes. She chuckled, picking up the sharpener she'd placed by her side to remedy the situation before she continued coloring. Wyatt and Xander had looked up from their phones briefly at her words, but they looked away when they saw nothing was wrong.

It was late in the evening, and the day seemed to be passing by slowly, or maybe it was partly because it had been on Friday Toby had broken down in front of me, and I haven't been able to see him since then. It was Saturday now, but my mind was still swimming with worry.

I was brought out of my thoughts by a yawn from Wyatt. He muttered a quick apology when he noticed that half the table had looked up at him. He then returned his attention to his phone. Wyatt was probably talking to his friends — or maybe Ji-Hun, judging from the signature smile he had on his face.

After a while, people started to get up and leave the dining room. The first to leave was Ava, then Candice, and finally, Xander, leaving just Wyatt and me alone at the dining table.

"Wyatt," I eventually spoke up, watching as he looked up from his phone to give me a confused look.

"What?"

I shrugged, not having a specific reason why I'd called him. Maybe the silence had been too much for me, or maybe I just wanted someone to talk to — someone to give me some advice. "Nothing really. How are you?" I ended up saying, adding the last part and hoping that he'd pick up the conversation and not let it die.

"I'm doing fine. I'm going to watch a movie with Aiyana tomorrow. How about you? How's life been?" he asked, briefly looking down at his phone screen to type something before he looked up at me again.

"There was someone you wanted to talk to, right? Have you spoken to them?" he asked, making my face warm-up at the question.

"I guess — somewhat," I responded, making him frown at me a bit.

"Somewhat?" he asked, his frown deepening with his words. I shrugged, not knowing how to explain what I meant.

"We're talking, but I don't know... I can't get them to tell me things, and I don't want to ask directly because I don't want to sound nosy," I said. "I don't even want to know for the sake of knowing. I want to help, and maybe feel like I'm trusted by them."

"You can't force someone to tell you things..."

"I'm not trying to do that," I said, cutting Wyatt off out of frustration. "I don't know... I just want him to open up to me so that I can help him, you know?"

"Him?" Wyatt said as if asking a question while ignoring the rest of my sentence. I frowned a bit at him, a little irritated by his reaction.

"Yes, him. I like Toby. I like my former art teacher. There, I've said it. Now that that's out of the way, can you help me?" I asked, making him look at me with a stunned look on his face. I wasn't sure if it was because of the information, or if it was because I'd snapped at him.

"Okay, sorry, and yes," Wyatt mumbled all at once, running a hand through his hair as he looked away. "What do you need help with exactly?" he asked, stirring the conversation back on track.