Page 52 of Beyond the Lines
“I’ll be assigning partners based on complementary abilities and approaches,” she continues. “You’ll complete five practice pieces in different styles, one per week, culminating in a final shared piece that will count for thirty percent of your grade. That piece will also weigh on my choices for the select seminar.”
Jesus, that’s a lot of trust to put in a stranger…
“Each pair will meet outside of class at least once per weekto develop your collaborative vision for the final shared piece,” she says. “You’ll choose between pastels, charcoal, or watercolor pencils for your final piece, and you’ll need to select your own model or still-life arrangement.”
The requirements pile up, each new detail evaporating what little hope I had for a peaceful afternoon. I glance around the room, mentally sorting potential partners. Maybe quiet guy. He seems low-maintenance. Or paint-splattered overalls girl—her work is solid, if a bit chaotic.
Hell,anyone.
Anyone buther.
Professor Lucas begins circling the room, handing out papers with the full assignment details. When she reaches me, there’s something in her expression—a slight tightening around her eyes—that makes my shoulders tense. She’s clearly still annoyed at me from the other day.
Join the line, lady, I think, but don’t dare say it.
“Mr. Andrews,” she says. “You’ll be working with Ms. Altman.”
My brain stutters, processing her words in slow motion.
Ms. Altman.
Lea.
Of course.
“Professor,” I start, not entirely sure what I’m going to say but knowing I need to say something.
“This isn’t negotiable,” she cuts me off, her voice dropping so only I can hear. “Consider it an opportunity to show that maturity we discussed after last class.”
She moves on before I can respond, handing out materials and partners to the rest of the class, leaving me staring at the assignment sheet.Paired Life Drawing: An Exercise in CreativePerspective. The irony isn’t lost on me. Right now, my perspective is that I’m screwed.
I look up from the paper just in time to see Professor Lucas approach Lea. She hands her the assignment sheet and says something I can’t hear, but I don’t need to. Lea’s reaction says it all, and it’s clear she wasn’t expecting me as a partner any more than I was expecting her.
Her head snaps up, eyes widening in disbelief before narrowing. Her gaze locks on me, and if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under with a hockey stick through my chest. For some twisted reason, I’m almost pleased by her reaction, because at least I’m not the only one suffering.
“Is there a problem, Ms. Altman?” Professor Lucas asks, loud enough for the entire class to hear.
Lea tears her eyes away from me. “Professor, with all due respect, I don’t think that I’m the best partner for?—”
“You don’t think you can work with Mr. Andrews?” Professor Lucas interrupts, her tone clinical. “It would be disappointing to give you a zero for your grade…”
A few curious glances dart between us. Great. Just what I need—to be the subject of art class gossip on top of hockey team gossip. I’ve already got the PUCK ME crew in the stands of every game, but now there’s a whiff of scandal around Lea and me…
“I just think I might work better with someone else,” Lea says, her voice tight.
“As would I,” I add, finally finding my voice.
Professor Lucas looks between us, a smile playing at her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Project partners will not be reassigned simply because the partners don’t like each other. In fact,” she says, addressing the entire class now, “some ofthe best art comes from suffering, so you’ll need to make it work.”
Someone in the back of the room stifles a laugh.
I don’t see the joke, personally.
When neither Lea nor me responds, Professor Lucas nods, clearly satisfied with our capitulation to her terms, and continues her circuit around the room. The buzz of conversation resumes as students process their assignments and partner pairings.
I stare down at my blank page, my head pounding.
This is my future on the line.
