Page 19 of SNOB

“You’re an artist?”

“Performance art mostly, but I’m doing this for the same reason everyone else here is.” He pulls me close, my cheek pressed to his as he turns me around the room. “Status, prestige, networking. Another reason to yell I’m better than everyone else. Anyway, we’re really late. Need an escort?”

My brows lower. “What do I owe you?”

Beau laughs again, a warm chuckle closer to Greta’s, warmer than Mac's. “I’m owing you back. Seeing Mac and Hannah’s faces when they realize you’re still here will be worth it.” He’s right. I’m still here. And right now, that’s the biggest revenge. Beau holds out a hand. “Shall we?”

Taking it, a smile graces my face.

Maybe I’m not so alone after all.

“Beau. How nice of you to join us.”

I stall once I get to the door, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

It’s not because the shiny wooden floors spread across the open space scattered with easels. Or how the sunlight bathes the room in soft, natural lighting from a window overlooking the garden. This room is as stunning as the rest of SBU, the high ceilings and cushy stools adding to the luxury. But what floors me the most is who stands in front of the class.

Echo Riviera in the flesh.

Five hundred thousand followers. A thirty under thirty. Exquisite brushwork. “We were just having a chat with Dean Patel,” Beau explains.

“I’m sure you were, Beau.” She beckons us in, her beige shawl falling over her shoulder like the effortless artist her social media page shows her to be. “You’re almost an hour behind. You need to get to work, you only have two hours left on this project.” She raises her voice to the class. “This is a reminder that this assignment is worth twenty percent of your grade. Make today’s inspiration matter.” Her catchphrase.

Wait, how much?

“No way.” That voice makes my shoulders rise and I’m thinking the same thing.

“Hannah’s in the arts too?” I ask, leaning closer to Beau.

“She’s delusional about joining the fashion industry," he whispers.

Moving towards Professor Riviera, my tongue pops out at Hannah like we’re two children on a playground. If she wants to be childish, I can be too.

“Yes?” Professor Riviera asks when I reach her sleek, glass desk. She doesn’t look up from her work, scattered across the glass.

“Does this assignment apply to me?” I ask. “I just started here.”

Her eyes move from her work to me like a curtain drawing open before they wander my appearance. I don't know if I’ll get used to how people here look at me, but I didn’t expect this from her. “You have the chance of a lifetime, honey. I challenge you to take it. I won’t be giving you a free pass. Adapt.”

Someone grabs my hand and before I can pull away, that woodsy-floral smell falls over me, my muscles relaxing. “Don’t bother fighting with Professor Riviera,” he whispers loud enough so she can hear it. “She’s just here for a paycheck and doesn’t give a damn if we live or die. But don’t worry, I got you.”

Beau walks me towards a wooden door, his hand reaching for the brass handle. My jaw drops when he slides it open, the smell of oil and pigments seeping out.

As my eyes dance around the supply room, I’m reminded how lucky I am to be here. The space is as big as our classroom. Polished shelves hold paintbrushes with ivory and ebony handles, way different than the cheap wood I’m used to. Even the bristles look expensive. Ornate wooden chests sit below them, overflowing with tubes of paint. They sit beside rows of shiny wooden easels, primed canvases beside them.

“Abstract expressionism.” Beau’s voice breaks my awe. “Your painting should use gesture, emotion, and the intuitive use of colour.” Placing a canvas in my hand, he moves out of the room. “You got this, Ember.”

Beau’s right. I was born for this.

“Oops!”

As I turn to leave the room, the world around me disappears, something cold splashing over my head.

I gasp and for a second it’s hard to breathe as something thick pours over my nose and mouth.

It’s not until I open my stinging eyes that I see Hannah feigning surprise. “Didn’t see you there.”

A snort of a laugh comes from someone within our class before laughter resounds around me. Blue paint slides down my skin as I glance at Professor Riviera.

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