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‘Are you asking as a friend?’
We stare at each other a moment, breaking eye contact only when Miss Talbert claps her hands. Everyone falls silent and looks in her direction.
‘Right. Well, I can’t seem to get the VCR working, so we’ll just keep going with our final pieces. I know some of you are struggling, so I might pair you guys up for the lesson so you can share ideas with your partner. Work through any problems you have. Get inspired.’
Hunter crosses his arms and tips his head back. No surprise that he’s not a fan of study partners.
‘Tamsin, you can go with Amy,’ the teacher says, walking between the tables. She stops when she reaches me, then looks at Hunter.
I know what she’s going to say before she says it.
‘Annie, I’m going to put you with Hunter. You have very different styles and ideas. I think that will help you both.’
Hunter sits up straight. ‘I don’t need a partner. I’ve got plenty of ideas.’
Saw that coming a mile away.
‘Well, Mr Reed, I’d know that if you had submitted your plan to me on time.’ She walks on, calling out more names.
Tamsin picks up her books and says to Hunter, ‘Be nice,’ before walking over to sit with Amy.
‘Okay. Let’s go,’ Miss Talbert calls, clapping her hands again. ‘I want lots of feedback and sharing of ideas.’
Hunter doesn’t move, so it falls on me to do so. I rise, picking up my stuff and walking around to the other side of the table. The closer I get to him, the brighter his eyes burn in my direction. It feels a lot like approaching an aggressive dog and trying to read their body language to know if you’re about to be bitten.
He reaches for the chair next to his, dragging it back from the table. The legs screech against the floor for endless seconds, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. I lower myself into it.
The second my book hits the table, he picks it up and flicks through it. ‘I don’t think we’re going to be much help to each other judging by these pretty little drawings.’
I take it from his hands.
‘Why are you going to this party tomorrow?’ he asks.
The question catches me off guard. ‘Because I haven’t been to one before.’
‘So you’re rebelling?’
I give him a tired look.
‘Most kids rebel before they’re legally allowed to do whatever the hell they want,’ he says.
I reach for his sketchbook. When he doesn’t stop me, I flick through it. Ink drawings of slaughtered pigs hanging on butcher hooks fill the pages. ‘These are… disturbing.’
‘You feel disturbed?’
‘Yes,’ I say, closing it and handing it back to him.
He nods. ‘Good.’
‘That’s good?’
‘Yeah. You felt something. That’s the point of art, isn’t it?’
I swallow. ‘I see. This is your way of saying you didn’t feel anything when you looked at mine.’
‘Besides bored?’
I look down at my drawing of a young woman with her horse, then mutter, ‘Let’s just work independently.’
