merely platonic.

iii

"So is our dear houe d'art actually going to join the art club?"Genevieve grinned, raising her brow whilst looking in the direction of the art room and then back at me.

I tugged on my collar while a faint blush made it's way out, creeping slowly to my face and heating my cheeks.

"Not anytime soon, no."

"That's a bummer, both the club and our frosty faerie will miss out on a talent such as yours." Gen smiled coyly at me at her mention of my supposed 'squish'.

"Oh shut it, nobody is going to be missing out on anything." I shut my locker and faced my teasing friend with an unamused front.

"Well I for one cannot keep track of your notable and unquestionably talented artists, so we'll have to find you a new chum."

The blonde pulled away from the locker walking backward whilst chattering away to me; a well-known quirk of hers.

"You should really rant your opinions about Monet's brush strokes and how vermilion should be still considered royal and worn on only the fine occasions to one such as her."

I started walking towards her clutching on to my wheat jute bag.

"That's purple you're talking about, not vermilion, and on the other hand you're perfect for the position."
I patted her back to which I received a frown.

"Well, I most solemnly disagree on my part."Gen placed her palm on her chest and shot me a deadpan look.

We made our way down the polished oak staircase onto the second floor and headed to the staff quarters to collect Gen's lost beret that was hopefully lying in that dusty wooden box in the corner of the room.

We asked for permission and entered the room making our way to the lost and found.

"Now remember we're here to find your beret and not snoop around for any more than that."

"I got it, Ruth." Gen sighed in annoyance and began rummaging through the pre-loved items.

"Ruth?"

I shot my head up at the phlegmy strained voice that belonged our Mrs.Baxter. "Would you be a dear and run these documents under the xerox machine in the press room, if you don't mind the dust?"

I immediately made my way to her desk and received the type-written papers from her hands "How many copies exactly, Ma'am?"

"Thirty, exactly."

As I left the room I could feel Genevieve's eyes on me, but I was really the last person to deny a request, be it, even Mrs.Baxtor.

I finally reached the last step after climbing two whole fleets of stairs and reminded myself that my metabolism was in dire need of physical work and calories.

The fourth floor was the quietest and dustiest of all in our school. It had the press room which had the heavy-duty printer which could handle the bulk orders or newspapers, our second library, and a storage room that was hardly ever visited or cleaned. Just a hundred years of Mason High's history and achievements all left under dusty white bedsheets; long forgotten.

I, with great difficulty, managed to get the door open to the press room and made my way to the bulky xerox machine; a very intimidating thing if you ask me.

I laid the papers on the nearest chair and braced myself on figuring out how to use the goddamn thing.

Oh if only someone would come.

I finally managed to somehow work the sinister machine and got twenty copies done.

The press room was very dusty indeed.

There were three CRT monitors lined up on a desk with, two covered with a white bedsheet, the other one looked like it was in partial working condition.

There was a world map dated to 1995 which served no purpose whatsoever.

There were some chairs stacked in a corner; pencil stand knocked over; newspapers fallen on the ground, the whole room was unkempt enough to drive a germaphobe insane.

But what intrigued me the most was the string theory board opposite to the world map.

It had pictures sprawled all over that were definitely taken in the 1950s, ranging from a sixteen-year-old girl at prom smiling for her picture to a french bulldog lying on a porch.

They were the most random and didn't really seem to correlate with each other, which left me very confused.

"It's unlocked, why?"

A husky voice that seemed to be scolding someone, startled me and I froze.

The door creaked open and I heard footsteps come to a halt.

"Who are you?"

The voice demanded an immediate response and didn't like any delay.

I almost immediately turned around and recognized the brunette standing in front of me with crossed arms, and a nerve making it's way to her forehead.

"It's Ruth." It was the slightest bit I got out before getting choked on my own words.

"Well, Ruth," She pronounced it like it was venom on her tongue, "Get out."

"I had to get these copied-"

"Now."

I decided not to quarrel with the stern command and hurriedly snatched the papers from the machine and rushed out of the room, hearing the door slam behind me.