Page 13 of The Order

“I thought you might not show up early today,” she says with a grin. Her petite body leans back in her chair, relaxing her feet on her desk, pulling her attention away from her drawing.

“Trust me, I didn’t get here without struggle.”

I toss my bag on my desk, sighing while taking my usual seat toward the back of the classroom. Mrs. Auburn pulls away from her desk, sliding her chair closer with its wheels. She grabs a pencil from her hair, forcing my head up from its leaning position on the top of my desk.

“Why are you red? You look like you've been running.”

“That would be because of Max Vega,” I admit.

I watch the gears turn in her head as she reflects on my words.

“The blonde one? The twin?” she questions.

“That would be the one.”

“What did he do?”

More like, what did I do?

“I may have fed into his little crush on me after we got off the tram…. I kissed him, and I think it has done more damage than good.”

She smiles, looking as if she cracked some code.

“Are your feelings toward him not as prevalent?”

“Maybe,” I already know how much of a lie that is. “But not enough for me to start feeding into hiswants,” I finish, feeling that familiar churn in my stomach.

“All jokes aside, he is academically knowledgeable and not the most awful thing to look at. Maybe consider what influence a relationship with him could have on your Judgment Day.”

It always comes back to that, doesn't it? How good do you look when our people's leaders decide where to place you after you're done with schooling? Even the people you choose to sleep with affect where you are placed.

“I'll consider it,” I say through a strained smile.

She looked satisfied at the response. Returning to her desk, she grabs a new piece of graphite, continuing her art piece, moving her head toward the array of canvases stacked on the shelf next to me.

“You can continue yours if you want. I’ve been eager to see what you will do with it.”

With a swipe, I grab the brightly colored canvas from the shelf, sprawling it across my desk with a heave. It is nothing more than layers of color, layered to create the start of something I have yet to finalize in my mind. I see the bright colors of spring seep through the painting. Most of the images on my canvas came from dreams and, sadly, have yet to come together to form a complete picture. My usual paint palette rests on the shelf next to the paintings, along with my two brushes I use like no other. My brush swirls in a bright red, landing on my canvas in detailed precision as I begin building up what I can only assume is the start of a pair of hands at the bottom of the canvas. I still see them vividly from my dreams the night before.

“Bring it over, I want to see,” Mrs. Auburn happily chimes.

Dragging the canvas over to her, I gently plant it on her desk, both of us leaning in to observe my progress. It's hard to decipher what exactly is going on in the painting. It is too morbid to be plastered on a wall in the school. The start of a pair of hands rises from the bottom of the canvas. Daisies grow from the palms in bunches. Something lingers in the back of the painting, something I have yet to visualize fully.

“Do you want me to get into the symbolism I see in this, or should I save it for another day?”

Mrs. Auburn is nearly leaning over the painting, scanning it up and down for intricate details even I have yet to point out.

“Maybe save your in-depth analysis for when it has one.”

She laughs, backing away from the painting with a thud into her seat. A small chime on her computer sounds before a flash devours her screen.

“A message from the Academy Director.” Her eyes are glued onto her screen as she reads.

I stay silent, waiting for her to engage in our conversation again. The fiery-haired art teacher has become an enormous comfort to me this past year. Unlike all the other teachers, she genuinely loves her work. Her willingness to walk the line with regulations so often makes her a breath of fresh air. That's why I always make time to come to her class thirty minutes before I have to. Everything else in this school seems so confining.

“Did you know some Untouchables roughed up a baker from the Unfortunate sector this morning?” she questions.

“I was at the stop it happened at. Josh and Colton were responsible.”

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