His Bad Boy Ego | ✓

Chapter 9

Ever since the incident, I haven't seen Landon in any of our classes the past few days. Even though I was thankful that he hasn't been around, I was still curious as to where he ended up.

Some students said he got expelled, or suspended. Some even said he was in prison. But from what I've heard, his dad would've had enough money to bail him out of any of these situations.

I opened the door leading to the private art room and sat in the same seat as I have since my first day of school. Plugging in my earbuds, I walked towards one end of the classroom where all the different size of canvases was stacked up against the wall. My eyes caught attention of the largest canvas, twenty-four by thirty-six inches. An idea popped into my mind as a small light bulb lit above my head. I dragged out the preferred canvas and tossed it on the floor. Lightly jogging towards the other side of the room, I grabbed a few loose sheets of newspaper. I pushed the rest of the stools and tables towards the side of the classroom and laid the large canvas in the middle of the room.

I smiled widely as I turned towards my bag, pulling out my personal art supplies. First, gluing all the new paper flat on the canvas, I grabbed the large paintbrush and dipped it in navy colored acrylic paint. I dabbed the paint onto the canvas, and rocked my head side to side from the beats of the chill music.

After what only felt like a few minutes, I dropped my brush with white paint on top of extra loose-leaf newspapers and stretched my arms. I released a loud groan, and yawned quickly afterwards feeling all the muscles in my body quickly tense and release itself in satisfaction. I sat up straight and observed my painting of an astronaut reaching for the moon. I bit my lip and smiled before removing the earbuds.

"Wow."

I jerked up in shock as I swiftly turned around on my feet. I was still squatting, however I had my legs crossed in an awkward way. I lost balance and fell back on my cushion. I looked up at the guy and there was Isaiah Chaser. Isaiah had his eyes locked on the painting behind me, his mouth wide open as he eyes glistened in amazement.

I awkwardly cleared my throat as his attention was quickly drawn back to me.

"Hi," I greeted, sending a single wave towards his way.

He chuckled and looked back at the painting, "Hi."

I pressed my lips together awkwardly, tapping my fingers against the hard-wooden floor.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked.

"For about ten minutes," he responded, checking his watch. He had a chip bag in his hand, and was carelessly tossing potato chips into his mouth, as he observed the painting.

"You're a really good artist," he complimented.

I nodded and looked back at my painting, "Thanks."

The awkward silence still lingered as the only sounds that we can hear in the room are my fingers tapping against the floor and Isaiah's teeth crunching on the potato chips.

"How'd you know I was in here?"

"I saw you through the window," he casually answered. He pointed his chip bag towards the big glass window located right next to the door. It amuses me that he always had a chip bag in his hand, and as ironic as it sounds, he's one of the most talented soccer player in the school. Shouldn't athletes watch their diet?

I nodded at his response and packed up my art supplies before tossing them back in my bag. I took the dirty paintbrushes and tossed them in one of the bins with the sanitizers for the art teacher to clean them later on.