Seventeen is the age that decides who every young soul is destined to be with forever. Dating back to Neanderthals, humans have always felt this natural pull to the other half of their soul. Made to make sure that the human population is reproducing...
i felt like this chapter was a filler, and it really wasn't a filler, it was just a seemingly nothing really happens except something does happen chapter
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09 | Brushes
S o p h i e F o s t e r
By the end of the day, I knew that I'd gone to school for nothing. Absolutely and positively nothing. Torture comes in many forms, but nausea and school might be one of the worst in a day in the life of Sophie Foster.
I'd checked maybe three times every hour that I hadn't gotten my period early. It was the only thing that could maybe possibly explain why I was so nauseous all the time.
I'd given up on finding my soulmate. That idea seemed insane; I'd chastised myself by the end. Not going to lie, I was definitely a little bit disappointed, though. My soulmate had been something I'd been ready for for ages.
I was kind of hoping my soulmate was a girl. Just a little bit. Simply because I couldn't imagine a boy ever truly liking me. A girl soulmate would be more supportive. We would understand each other better. I don't know, that's just how I thought of things.
As of right now, I had categorized myself as a grayromantic (look it up) or a bisexual, since I wasn't sure what my sexual orientation was. I'd researched quite a bit just to try and understand that. For all I knew, since I'd never been attracted to anyone, I could be aro-ace? I would make a terrible soulmate if I was an aromantic asexual, though, so I was thinking I'd rather not be.
Look at me, rambling again. I'm sorry, it's pretty common that I go off on tangents.
I was out the door as soon as the bell rang, signaling the end of class. I don't bother looking back.
💖
I entered art class next day feeling even more defeated than before. My period? Nonexistent. My wanting to barf? Every single second.
The art classroom feels more spacious than most other places in the school – wide, huge glass windows opened to let fresh air in probably helps with that. The smooth floor is concrete, but slightly chalky, probably from how much clay and chalk is used in here daily. The ceiling tiles have all been decorated and painted into different designs on the ceiling, so it's actually quite interesting to look up for once.
I normally sit next to the quiet, shy nerds that end up in art class. It makes me feel inadequate because they're all such good painters, but I much prefer them to the obnoxious boys at the other end of the classroom.
I put my stuff down at my desk, trying not to drop it too loudly, despite the classroom already being somewhat noisy.
I go to grab my paintbrushes at the same time about three other people do. Our hands brush together, and I feel something so sharp I almost drop the paintbrushes I'd just gripped. Everyone freezes as our hands collide, and then a chorus of apologies and awkward laughter goes around.
I stand there like a freak as the art teacher yells for all of us to sit down so she can begin the lesson.
I don't feel nauseous anymore. My body and mind breathes a sigh of content relief out for me as I go back to my seat.
Now I have another problem, though. Which one of the many faces that grabbed brushes at the same time as me was my soulmate? It could be any one of them, and I really didn't get a good look before our hands brushed.
I look around my art class instead of painting, scanning faces and trying to commit each and every one of them to memory. I don't have a clue how I'm going to get to find my soulmate out of so many people. I sigh.
"Sophie Foster, get back to work!" the teacher barks at me, and I oblige quickly, being the goody-two shoes I am.
I wish I had the guts to just stand up and ask if anyone had been feeling nauseous all today and yesterday, but I'm too shy to do so.
Even so, my mind wanders as I slide the paintbrush smoothly across the surface of the paper. I want my relationship to be like paint across paper; no bumps, a solid thing, and colorful.
Finding your soulmate is always told to be such a happy thing. It's glorified, romanticized. All the songs on the radio tell of beautiful love stories and happy beginnings. It's something I'd really, really like more than anything.
