Page 41 of King

Strokes of orange, reds and yellows make a pattern on the canvas. The collection of imperfect lines create a flame-y background, a burst of white in the middle. The colours bleed out into greys, the border of the painting blurring in black. “That’s beautiful.” She leans against the table next to me, arms crossed, eyes still on the canvas. "Have you considered an art scholarship?”

“Pft,” I snort. “As if.”

She smiles, “You should consider it.” Giving me a nod, Clara walks away. She floats around the room encouraging students but none like the one she gave me.

An art scholarship.

Could that be a real possibility for me?

With a boost of confidence, I spend the rest of the class zoned out in my work. The strokes of the brush calm me the more I stay focused on my canvas. I’m calm. Relaxed. It’s exactly what I need to prepare for my next class. Gym.

When I find the girl’s locker room it’s already empty save for a couple of girls in what I assume is the ERA gym uniform.

“Joelle Rowland?” A tall woman in a sleek black ponytail and green tracksuit approaches me, clothes in hand.

“Jo.” I nod.

“Coach Richards.” She tosses me a white polo and green shorts. Pointing a narrow chin towards small green lockers, she nods. "You’ve got ten minutes then meet us on the court.”

I’m not sure which court she’s referring to since there’s like a dozen, but I’m happy to have the locker room to myself.

Changing into the outfit is quick and like my first workday this outfit looks too small, the shorts too short. If I make a wrong move the whole class is seeing my ass.

I wear it anyway, throwing on a pair of white Nikes I got from our closet. After folding my uniform, I pause, realizing I've forgotten to bring a lock. Looking around, I stick my uniform in an empty locker off to the side, closing the door. It’ll be safe there, it’s just my uniform and boots. Spotting a door marked “Yard” I exit into the afternoon sun.

Coach Richards and some students are already on the volleyball court. With a jog towards them, I'm trying to show this teacher I give a fuck. Most people hate Gym but I prefer it. It's a great way to blow off some steam instead of sitting behind a desk.

Clara’s words replay in my head as I get close. Have you considered a scholarship? Not until that moment. While I love to write and paint it’s never been something I’ve considered. They’re “stupid hobbies” as my foster parents would say. Clara’s the first person to say that it's worth anything. If I show a little more effort, a scholarship might be in reach.

My jog slows as I get closer to the field, motivation slowing with it.

Fuck.

Lea and her Trust Fund Trolls are on the field. They've dolled up their gym wear with colourful belts and bows in their hair, giggling away. The girl next to Lea tosses a volleyball up and down, Georgina ignoring the outdoors for her phone.

My feet swivel in the grass, turning around. Fuck this, I’ve had enough for one week.

“Rowland! Over here!” Richards blows a whistle.

Great.

My eyes flick to the clouds before I turn around, Lea and Georgina glaring at me.

Do they take all their classes together?

The rest of the girls on the court begin to huddle together and whisper, all eyes on me.

“Last class of the week Jo,” I mutter to myself. "It'll be over before you know it."

“Alright, ladies! Let's kick the year off with some volleyball! Before we get into it, let’s warm-up.” Coach Richards blows the whistle and starts leading the class into some drills.

I’m definitely out of shape because I’m breathless after a few jumping jacks and mountain climbers. I’m happy when warmup comes to an end. That’s before Coach Richards starts splitting us up into teams.

The class shuffles around, Coach Richards counting our heads with two fingers. “One, two. One, two.” I’m a “one” and when I find out what that means I’m wishing I was anything else. Richards barks, “Twos get together on this side, Ones on the other side of the net.” She points to where Lea and Georgina stand and I hope that if I stay on this side, no one will notice.

A whistle goes off, her eyes on me. “Rowland. I said ones on the other side.”

Groaning, I start making my way over. At least sports is another thing I excel at. My dad and I used to play touch football all the time with Willow, mom lounging on a camper’s chair in the fall daylight.

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