AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Mr. Weir lifts a placating hand. “I remember being young. In my high school days, I would have turned half the school to stone if I could. Don’t worry, I’m not here to judge your feelings. Just your expression of them. It’s good work."
The teacher moves along, and I get back to the task, grinning. I don’t want to be arrogant, but I think I’m going to get an A for sure on this one. Tisch, here I come…
I take my empty crate and go pick up more material in the storage room next door.
There was always a box with random scraps of metal, but unless I’m very much mistaken, it has a much bigger selection now—torn pieces of steel that look like ominous spears, smooth, bent metal that would do a wonderful cheekbone peeking out of Stheno’s clay skin. As I’m working on the face now, I take the steel bone and some more clay.
I’m smiling when I come back into the room. That doesn’t last.
Mr. Weir’s thin face is tight with cold fury as he speaks to one of the students—Marie Vaughn. She keeps her eyes downcast under the chastising. The rest of the class gathers around them, their faces various ranges of shocked and appalled.
I barely even see them. I can’t hear a word anyone is saying.
My eyes are on my work station.
The sculpture I’ve worked on for the last five weeks has smashed on the floor. Hard. All of the clay is in pieces.
I can’t move. I can’t talk. I can only stare in horror. It feels like losing a piece of me.
This is no accident. Supported as it was, my work could have handled a fall. Some shards of metal have been dislodged too. It wasthrownon the ground with enough force to ensure its complete destruction.
Nothing my peers have ever done to me hurt this way. Nothing.
Mr. Weir sees me, straightens up, and sighs before taking a step towards me. “I’m so sorry, Nadia, there has been an incident. Now, I’ve seen your work until now—I can grade on that with no penalty.” His usually slow and stern speech is rushed and uncertain. “If you’d like an extension, that’s also possible. Or I can give you leave to work on your project outside of school in case you’d like to finish it.”
“I…” My voice sounds all wrong, weak and congested. No wonder. My throat is dry. I clear it before speaking again. “I need some air.”
I head out of doors. I don’t think he calls me back, but I wouldn’t have stopped either way. Halfway to the exit, I start running. The walls feel like they’re closing around me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
At the courtyard, I come to a sudden halt, and not because of the cold rain pouring on the cobblestones.
He’s here. Jason. He’s wearing his ridiculous black and red letterman jacket.
Of course he’s here.
I’m fucking miserable, and he wouldn’t want to miss that. I bet the bitch texted him the moment she obliterated my work.
He sees me and frowns. “Nadia. Are you well?”
He must be fucking joking.
I cross the space separating us, each step determined, my fingers curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms.
I punch him, or I would've, but he catches my fist with a chuckle.
“Oh, Nadia, darling.”
Fury singes my entire body, and I try again and again to hit him. He wanted a war; now he’s getting it. It’s on him. He deflects my blows with ease, still laughing, acting like this is some kind of game.
It’s not a game. This is my life he’s ruining for his entertainment. I yell as I let all of my rage, frustration, fear, and sadness out with each swing. They get weaker as I tire and as the rain drenches my blazer. Jason doesn’t even bother to evade or block a couple of pathetic bitch slaps against his chest. Then he catches both of my hands and locks me in a twisted embrace, my arms tight to my sides.
I refuse to hug him back, but to my shame, confusion, and anger, I cry against his chest. I can’t help it. It’s all too much.
Until now, the bullying hasn’t really bothered me. Or maybe it did and today was the last straw. I can’t tell.
I think today crossed the line because I care about my art. This class had felt like a sanctuary, and now that’s also tainted.
Jason says nothing, one of his hands caressing my back in a slow, comforting rhythm. I soak it up. I feel incredibly stupid for crying on him and accepting this comfort when all of my issues are basically his fault.
