Page 96 of Knight

I want that scholarship.

When I get to the art room I find the canvas I left at the back of the class. It’s covered with a cloth, the way I left it with my name on the back. I’m excited since I haven’t seen it in a while, left here for safekeeping when I thought I was going to Mexico.

“Welcome back, everyone!” Clara clasps her hands together, attempting to make eye contact with everyone in the room. “I can’t wait to see what’s inspired you. We’ll go around one-by-one, presenting your creations but don’t reveal anything until it’s time. Believe me, you’ll start comparing your work and that can be devastating.” She takes a deep breath before her eyes land on me and for once I’m not ducking in my seat trying to thwart the teacher from calling my name. I sit up, straightening my posture so Clara sees I’m ready for this. Ready to own my future.

“Jo,” she smiles, sitting on her desk with a beige shawl pulled over what looks like a Beastie Boys shirt. “Why don’t you kick us off.” She waves me to the front of the class and I pick the canvas off the easel, bringing it to the one beside her.

Once it’s settled, I put my hands in my jacket pocket. Wiggling my toes in my boots, I scratch at the hair growing back on my side-shave, unsure of what to say. This means a lot to me, so much it’s making me nervous. “So, this is supposed to represent the human cond—”

“Grim Reaper!” Someone coughs under their breath. A hockey player, but I narrow my eyes and continue.

“How about we don’t interrupt?” Clara says. “Go on, Jo.”

Rolling my eyes, I let my arms drop to my side. “Anyway, I’ll let it speak for itself.” Glancing at Clara, she smiles and I pull the black sheet off the canvas. Standing back, I wait for everyone to take this in. This is my chance to show the class, to show Clara and this school that I’m not just a girl from The Grove. I’m so much more than that.

“Oh! Oh my god!” Clara’s cheeks go red and the class starts to snicker before everyone’s laughing. I look around, their eyes on my canvas, a couple of students whipping out their phones. What the fuck is wrong with them? What’s so funny about a—

When I step in front of my canvas my heart sinks right into my stomach.

It’s a cock.

It’s not what I painted at all. I painted something that represented love and pain. The combination that’s been prevalent throughout my life. It was beautiful. A window into my past, my present, but this … It’s veiny. Thick and vivid. I mean, it’s not half bad but this isn’t my project. I try to explain as quickly as I can, “Clara I—”

She sighs, “Oh, Jo.” Her hand comes to her cheek as she shakes her head, her eyes still on the painting. So is everyone else’s. I cover it up with the cloth, heart racing, cheeks burning. “Jo, I’ll admit, I thought you’d take this seriously.”

“I did! I—”

The crowd gets louder. Trying to hide it seems to make it worse. Clara shakes her head again, attempting to calm down her students. “Alright, alright, everyone. Jo, this isn’t going to cut it for that scholarship.”

I’m guttered. So fucking guttered. This was a shoo-in. And now it’s gone.

“Is that what King’s cock looks like?” Someone calls from the class.

My eyes lock on the boy who said it. The same one that yelled out “Grim Reaper” earlier. King. This was him. If he can’t have me I don’t get to have anything.

Motherfucker.

“No,” I say to that boy, right before I lose it. “That’s what your face is gonna look like when I’m done with it!”

I’m storming towards him but Clara blocks my path, locking eyes with me. “Jo, c’mon. Sit down.”

“But he—”

“Listen, I don’t want to have to send you to the Headmaster.”

My shoulders fall. Defeated. I thought she had my back.

Without another word, I walk to my seat. But as soon as this bell rings, I’m finding Damien King. And he’s dead.

* * *

You won’t get a grade good enough for that scholarship.

Clara’s words on the way out of class stings like an angry wasp.

Like a poison burning through me.

She didn’t give me a chance to explain, late for some faculty meeting. That’s okay because I’m dealing with this myself. If Damien wants my attention, he has it. He crossed a line fucking with my art project. That art class is my ticket to a better education. A career doing what I love. A better life. And he’s trying to take that from me.

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