Page 57 of The Lies We Steal

My pencil pressed harder into the paper, these drawings were just reminders. Warnings of what happens when you trust beauty over action.

Using my thumb, I began to blend the hard edges, shading them into skin texture giving her more depth than she deserved.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, the only thing able to pull my head out of my sketchbook during class. I’d learned to drown out the sounds of those in power at a young age, school was a breeze for me now.

After pulling it from my pocket I see a few messages from the guys, mostly talking about Silas and his slow ass. We’d been waiting for a few weeks to hear about the security footage he was trying to hack into.

Something about it was harder to do than other things, I think he mentioned something about a firewall? I don’t fucking know. All I did know was that he was taking his precious little time.

We’d been following Thomas, taking turns keeping an eye on him and we’d yet to catch him doing anything suspicious. No midnight runs from his condo apartment on Main Street, no smuggling of illegal drugs into his car after school, we hadn’t even caught him going into the chemistry lab.

I figured he was keeping everything in his house now. Trying to lay low after Chris turned up missing and the Candy King nearly died from a fire that broke out in his house. Whoever was involved knew they might be a target. They knew someone was coming for them next and they were probably doing everything they could to keep their presence to a minimum.

Rook and I camped out for an entire night outside his place and there weren’t so much as a flicker of light in the wrong direction. I was starting to believe we were looking at the wrong guy, that the swipes in and out of the chem lab were just a coincidence.

I fire a text back, slipping my phone back into my pocket and picking up the pencil to finish what was I working on.

It was rare that I paid attention in class, even when I got lucky and had art as an elective in high school, I still drowned out the sounds of teachers and their directions. Not because I thought I was better, because I didn’t need their help. I didn’t want their guidance.

Flipping to the next blank page in my book, I begin working on a few tattoo designs. Ones I’d like to have, ones I’d like to give to others. The more I worked, the more I was leaning towards black and gray illustrative designs, even a little surrealism where I could bend the creative spectrum onto skin.

Shade believed in mastering all techniques in tattooing, starting with the basics and building up. You could have a specialty, one category you’re really good at, but you have to do the others just as well. So even though I hated traditional Japanese style work, I worked on sketching a dragon onto my paper.

“Mr. Caldwell.” I hear my name seconds before my book is being shut by someone that is not me. The pages of my sketchbook tumble on top of my drawing hand and pencil.

The rest of the class seems to inhale simultaneously, all of them possibly in shock from watching someone else blatantly disrespect me. Sure, teachers are in charge at Hollow Heights. It’s their job to dictate and guide us along our four-year journey.

Just not me.

Not me.

Not Silas.

Not Rook or Thatcher.

They leave us be. Letting the bad apples guide themselves hoping our last names and money will cover any horrific damage we cause in the time we are here.

They don’t bother bossing us because they know it would fall on deaf ears. Not only could we cause mayhem on our own, disciplining one of us would mean the possibility of upsetting our families. And with a name like Caldwell. One that is on half the town, the school library, and on the board of the university, mine was the last family you wanted to piss off.

“Would you mind telling me the definition of an Axon? Relative to the body, of course.” Professor Thomas Reid stands tall in front of my desk, I hadn’t even wanted to sit in the front but by the time I got here, it was all that was left.

I drag my tongue across the front of my teeth, making a deep sucking noise as I do. Students around me holding their breath, watching me,

“Do you mind kissing my ass? Relative to the body, of course.”

It’s not the answer he wanted, but it’s the answer he expected from me. He scoffs, the corners of his lips tipping into a satirical smile. I’d yet to see anything about Thomas and Briar that resembled one another except the dirty blonde color of their hair. If they didn’t tell you, I don’t think anyone would be able to tell.

“Clever, Alistair, very clever. You know what they say, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

I smirk, “And the highest form of intelligence. Maybe you should stick to teaching biology instead of lecturing students on Oscar Wilde. Doesn’t seem to be your forte.” Another failed dig at me has changed his attitude almost entirely.

The aggravation sitting on his shoulders as he imagines a scenario where he can give me a piece of his mind without me smarting off back to him.

“You’re right. This is biology. So let’s keep the doodles and sketches for art class. Pay attention or I’m kicking you out.”

It’s apparent Professor Reid, a teacher who has only been here a few years doesn’t care about the unruly reputations that surround me and my last name. I respect that. A man who makes his own assumptions, one who is not allowing others to scare him into not doing his job.

It’s an honorable quality and in any other situation, it might make me respect him more, but sadly, it’s not and all it does is piss me the fuck off.

---