Portrait of a Bad Boy ✓

Chapter 4: Paintings

Throughout highschool, art was one of Blake's favorite subjects with one of the best teachers. From cubism to surrealism, there was always something to learn. Today, they were doing realism. Blake found himself immersed in the frame, putting his own little spin on the bowl of fruit before him.

As he added the final touches, the ringing of the bell brought him from his thoughts.

"Don't forget to write your names on your work. We will finish up realism and go to cubalism next week." As Blake started to pack his stuff away, a throat cleared behind him. "Mr. Erickson, may I have a word with you?"

He turned to Mr. Johnson. The middle aged man was silent as he regarded the picture Blake had drawn. Blake froze as his finger tapped absently against his leg. Mr. Johnson was a brashed as he was honest, letting you know what he loved and hated in the paintings he saw.

He was one of the rare teachers that didn't look or talked down to Blake.

"I know we were working on realism, but I thought if I could make the shadows a little larger and sharper then it would give this impression of just how big the room really is." Swallowing, Blake waited for the criticism.

"Hmm." Mr. Johnson nodded. "I see. Though you might want to work on softening the bowl and fruit then if that's truly what you want to go with." Turning back to his work, Blake tilted his head trying to picture the image he was talking about.

"Blake, you have talent. One of my best students in the class." Wait, what? Blake's gaze snapped back to Mr. Johnson, trying to find the hidden joke. "I want some of your artwork to be included in next month's showcase, especially this one."

"Really?" Excitement bounced inside him, threatening to make him conbust. "Are you sure?" At the teacher's smile, Blake could't stop his own from surfacing.

"I'm sure." He nodded to him. "I hope you will make it. I plan to invite a few friends to this one."

A few friends...His heart whacked against his ribs. He felt ecstatic, nauseated, and terrified all at once. Get it together, Blake. "Thank you sir!"

"Don't thank me. Keep practicing and you might get somewhere with this skill." He nodded to Blake. "You're dismissed."

Blake shot up and rushed from the room. With art being the last class of the day, he hurried toward the front of the school, where the trickle of students was already starting to die down.

As he adjusted his backpack, he headed down the stairs and toward the parking lot where a familiar figure was standing against his car. Her green eyes snapped to him as he approached, softening as a small smile pulled to her lips. "Someone seems happy."

"I'm very happy," he remarked, flashing her a small smile. "Guess who's going to be in next month's showcase."

"Really?" Her eyes widened. "For who?"

"Art." His smile grew. He felt like a kid on christmas. "I can't believe it either."

"That's amazing, Blake!" Lyla cried. "Mr. Johnson doesn't choose just anyone."

"Remember when he made Tony's mom cry?"

"Well, she kind of deserved it. He can't draw and yet she kept hounding him about being in the showcase." Her smile grew as she nudged him. "His drawing doesn't need to be in there unlike yours." At his growing smile, she laughed. "You look like you're about to burst."

"I feel like I'm about to burst." Blake gripped his chest. "It feels weird how happy I am." His gaze snapped to her. "Is it weird?"

"Not really. You seemed to really love art so..." She tilted her head. "What are the paintings he planned to show the world?"