Chapter One
Robin Smith gathered her stuff from her locker, struggling to balance two textbooks, three notebooks, and a binder in one arm as she checked her text messages. Suddenly, as she was closing her locker, something slammed into her, perhaps a wall–but walls didn’t move.
As Wren Jones walked down the strange, new hallway, eyes searching for his locker number 42069, he felt something hit his chest with an ‘oomph’ and then fall. He saw a small, petite girl laying still on the ground next to many books.
Scrunching up her face, Robin glared up at the tall guy before her. Her ass hurt from where she had landed on it, and her stuff–which she’d spent so long gathering into a haphazard pile to take to her next class–was scattered about the hallway. “What the fuck?”
Taken aback by her crude language, he said, “Excuse me? You ran into me, not the other way around.”
Robin started collecting the papers now crumpled on the floor that had fallen out of her binder. “I beg your pardon? I was just standing here, airhead.”
Wren just sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to win this argument, and started picking up some textbooks off the ground.
Robin offered a begrudged “thanks” to the new kid, standing up once she had collected her things. “I guess I should offer to take you to your new class, or something.”
Wren just stared at her with a blank look on his face. She rolled her eyes, raising her eyebrows at him. “So? What is it?”
Pulling out of his daze, he said, “Yeah, um, sure. Do you know where Mrs. Martin’s art class is?”
Letting out a giant sigh, Robin let out a curse. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That’s my next class.”
Wren sighed internally, but didn’t let it show on his face. “Looks like we’ll be spending a lot of time together,” he said, smirking at her.
Rolling her eyes once more, Robin set off in a fast, determined pace down the hallway, towards her–their–next class. Art, her favorite class, ruined by this fucktard.
Wren debated whether he should offer to carry her books like a gentleman, but she was already upset enough, so he decided to leave it. As they reached their classroom, he was filled with a warm feeling. Art was always his favorite class; there was just something about being able to express yourself through drawings and painting that made Wren feel instantly better no matter how bad the situation.
Shouldering open the swinging doors, Robin smiled at Mrs. Martin and set her stuff on the counter, taking a seat at her table–which, unlike most kids in the class, she had all to herself. She was Mrs. Martin’s favorite, so she got her own space.
Wren just stood in the doorway, waiting for someone to tell him what to do. Then Mrs. Martin looked up from her cluttered, messy desk and said, “Hello, are you Wren?”
“Yeah–yes I am. Hi, Mrs. Martin,” he said.
“Hi honey! Umm, let’s see where you can sit,” she said, stepping away from her desk, revealing her multicolored, hippie-like outfit.
“There’s no more seats at any of the desks here. I’m going to have you sit at this desk,” she said, pointing to the one where Robin was sketching a drawing.
“Robin! Wren is coming over to sit there, okay?” Mrs. Martin yelled from across the room.
None of the other kids looked up from their desk, unbothered by her yelling.
Robin’s head shot up, eyes wide. “What? No! You can’t do this, Mrs. Martin. I’ve gotta have my space.”
She gestured to her drawing materials, spread over the entirety of the desk.
Mrs. Martin sighed and said, “I’m sorry honey, but this is the only empty spot for Wren to sit.”
“I-I can go try to squeeze in somewhere-” Wren tried to say.
“Nonsense! You’re sitting with Robin and that’s the end of it,” she said, already walking back to her scattered desk.
“Mrs. Martin!” Robin complained, but after receiving a hard look from the teacher, she reluctantly cleared off half of the desk, setting her stuff on the floor instead.
Wren walked over to the desk and sat his stuff down onto the floor. He didn’t say anything but instead took out a sketchbook and a pencil and started drawing randomly.
Mrs. Martin went up to the front of the room, and the class immediately went quiet. She had gained respect from the students the moment she’d given them donuts the first day of school “just for existing.” Clearing her throat, she said, “Alright class, today we’re going to be practicing something I’m sure a lot of you have already done in previous years of art class. We’re going to be doing blind contour drawings of the person beside you. Remember, when doing blind contour, you can’t look at the paper, or lift up your pen. Don’t try to go too into detail, just get the basic shapes of their face.I’ll give you a bit to get ready, then you’ll have five minutes to draw each other.”
Robin let out a groan, fishing two Sharpies out of her pencil pouch. Blindly tossing one at Wren, she turned in her chair to see that it landed on his leg. She flipped to a new page in her sketchbook, raising her eyebrows at him.
Wren picked the Sharpie off of his leg and flipped his sketchbook to a clean page. He felt like groaning too, but he could keep his emotions in check–unlike some other people.
Then Mrs. Martin yelled, “On your marks, get set…GO!”
“Robin! Wren is coming over to sit there, okay?” Mrs. Martin yelled from across the room.
None of the other kids looked up from their desk, unbothered by her yelling.
Robin’s head shot up, eyes wide. “What? No! You can’t do this, Mrs. Martin. I’ve gotta have my space.”
She gestured to her drawing materials, spread over the entirety of the desk.
Mrs. Martin sighed and said, “I’m sorry honey, but this is the only empty spot for Wren to sit.”
“I-I can go try to squeeze in somewhere-” Wren tried to say.
“Nonsense! You’re sitting with Robin and that’s the end of it,” she said, already walking back to her scattered desk.
“Mrs. Martin!” Robin complained, but after receiving a hard look from the teacher, she reluctantly cleared off half of the desk, setting her stuff on the floor instead.
Wren walked over to the desk and sat his stuff down onto the floor. He didn’t say anything but instead took out a sketchbook and a pencil and started drawing randomly.
Mrs. Martin went up to the front of the room, and the class immediately went quiet. She had gained respect from the students the moment she’d given them donuts the first day of school “just for existing.” Clearing her throat, she said, “Alright class, today we’re going to be practicing something I’m sure a lot of you have already done in previous years of art class. We’re going to be doing blind contour drawings of the person beside you. Remember, when doing blind contour, you can’t look at the paper, or lift up your pen. Don’t try to go too into detail, just get the basic shapes of their face.I’ll give you a bit to get ready, then you’ll have five minutes to draw each other.”
Robin let out a groan, fishing two Sharpies out of her pencil pouch. Blindly tossing one at Wren, she turned in her chair to see that it landed on his leg. She flipped to a new page in her sketchbook, raising her eyebrows at him.
Wren picked the Sharpie off of his leg and flipped his sketchbook to a clean page. He felt like groaning too, but he could keep his emotions in check–unlike some other people.
Then Mrs. Martin yelled, “On your marks, get set…GO!”
Realistic Fiction
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