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"Thanks."
Dicky — no, Maddison thought, he should stop being petty and start growing up. So, Richard, who was sitting in front of a large easel, looked up at him and stared. Maddison wanted to scoff. He just thanked him, he didn't tell him he killed a person. No need to look like that.
Richard coughed, reaching for the palette Maddison was handing him. Then, “You’re welcome. Did you like the watercolor palette?"
"Yeah."
"I can tell you where to buy them if you like. Or I can just lend you mine. I have plenty of supplies."
Maddison said, "No, just tell me where the shop is."
He told him the name of the store. "It's at the city center two stations from here."
"Okay. Great."
"Do you want to come with me?" Richard, out of nowhere, offered.
"Huh?" Maddison said, dumbfounded.
"I'm going there to pick up some titanium whites and half pans. Do you want to come with me?"
Maddison stared at the blank face. He wanted to decline. This was ridiculous. Him? Getting chummy with Dicky ? Sammy would laugh —
"Sure," Maddison blurted out before he even finished his thoughts. "Sure. Just let me get my things."
Trying his very best to focus on putting his stuff inside his backpack and ignoring the states from his club mates — they must have found it weird that he was being civil with their president, himself included — Maddison left the room with a nod towards Richard, hoping the guy would follow and get this over with.
Chapter 4
Life at Wellspring was surprisingly boring, Maddison thought as he juggled his arduous academic obligations, club activities, and broken heart.
Granted, that last one he should have been over with now that he was almost halfway through his last year in high school; especially considering his purpose in transferring to a new school was that very thing, but unfortunately for him, absence made the heart grow fonder. What he thought would be the solution to his problem just became the reason said problem became bigger and bigger to the point where he could barely keep his feelings under control.
Maddison hated that he was trapped in this sort of hyperawareness — he was privy to every emotion, to every movement he did that indicated he still felt for his (ex?) best friend. Every stroke of brush, every milk bread consumed, every Calculus problem unsolved (because he may have looked like a dumb brute, but Sam was a math genius, had helped Maddison countless of times when he struggled with numeric). He wanted to focus on the more important things: passing his exams, getting better at painting, and preparing for college. That’s what his brain was telling him. But his heart had other plans. Maddison hated it.
After staring at his textbook for fifteen minutes without comprehending what was in it, he decided enough was enough. Pulling out his easel towards the middle of his dorm room and grabbing a stool, Maddison sat down and began mixing acrylic paints, a canvas with a half-finished painting already set up. He painted mindlessly, as he often did when doing abstract pieces — this time with random shapeless flowers for the foreground and lopsided buildings as his backdrop. It was relaxing because he was painting for no one but himself. Sometimes he got frustrated when it was for a club submission or conceptualization for an upcoming competition because something was expected from him, but this time was different. He had not done a piece for himself in a while — the last time was when he did a watercolor portrait of —
Cutting that particular train of thought before he burst in yet again another teary self-pitying episode, Maddison squeezed some more paint on his palette. He was running out of titanium white again — he often was. He should have gone to the art store. The monthly stipend the academy sent to him wasn’t due to come till the end of the month and he was left to budget a quarter of the allowance provided by his parents for five more days. Art supplies were truly expensive and Maddison wondered idly why he wanted to make his life miserable with his choices.
His last visit to the art shop was only two weeks ago but already his supplies were depleting. Grunting some, Maddison deliberated if it was acceptable to ask Richard for a tube since that guy never seemed to run out of materials but decided against it immediately. He didn’t want to owe the guy any more favors than he already had.
Their first trip to the art store that one day was anti-climactic. Maddison was even surprised of how boring a company Richard was but he did reluctantly agree that it was at least a tiniest bit fun. Richard was quiet in nature and he did not try to make small talks with Maddison, seemingly comfortable with silence. It somewhat irked Maddison, who loved conversations and craved attention, but given the mood he was in at that time, he decided that he liked the silence.
They ran several errands together after that, sometimes even going to the city center not just to get their usual hoards but for other stuff too. They often visit mini-marts to buy foods that were not available in their cafeteria. There was a Korean convenience store one block away from the art store that they went to, and Maddison used half of his money to buy junk foods and developed a liking toward choco pies. It was a benefit of living on his own. He never had that kind of freedom before; he was scolded for eating junk foods by his parents and Sammy was such a health freak —
“Dammit!” Maddison hissed as his upper stroke went a little too heavy on the canvas and the yellow ochre bled unflatteringly on the electric pink peony drying beside it.
He dropped his palette, making a colorful mess on his beige carpet before flopping down on his bed. The view outside was of the school garden, full of red and orange and yellow with random bursts of holly green. Autumn colors. It was so beautiful and relaxing. The season was almost over if the leaves on the ground and the bare trees were any indication.
Maddison dreaded the upcoming winter. He was still undecided whether he would go back home or stay in this boarding school for Christmas break. He never spent the holidays away from home but maybe this year he would, if only to avoid seeing the people over there. His mother might throw a fit.
The thought of his mother made Maddison pick up his phone, unlocking it to browse the unreplied messages — three from his mom, one from his dad, and one from Bailey-san’s, all checking in to see how Maddison was doing. The last message did something to his heart. He neglected so many things back home in order to move on, almost everything except his parents. Because of his selfishness, he forgot that not only his parents and that one friend he left were the only people who cared about him. Seeing Sam’s mother asking how he was doing so far away from home unnerved him, guilted him through and through. He should have properly said goodbye to them too. It was only polite. But because he only thought of himself, he forgot. But did he really forget, or did he decide that they were not important enough for him to bid farewell to, even when that farewell was just temporary?
With a heavy heart, he dialed his mother’s number and waited a couple of rings before he got an answer.
“Maddison?” His mom’s excitement was evident over the phone. God, he should have called more often.
“Hi, mom. How are you and dad?”
