Pall Malls + Poetry // Judd Birch x OC/Reader

Just Say When

A blank drop ceiling panel stared Emily in the face for over an hour. She sat on the floor of her Advanced Art classroom with one knee crooked up, a paintbrush clenched between her teeth with her pencil tapping anxiously against her thigh.

When you get only one chance to do something right, the stakes are a bit more steep, aren't they?

"You're putting too much thought into it." A girl said from across the way. She and this classmate had been sitting in front of each other all class, but they never spoke before now.

Emily glanced up, the girl even looked more artistic than her — with her neon green mohawk and facial piercings. She'd caught her name a time or two, Rowan, possibly. They'd never interacted, but then again Emily hadn't interacted with much of anyone at this new school.

"Most of my pieces aren't exactly suitable for a hospital ceiling." Emily joked, though it was true. Cigarettes and nude women likely wouldn't make children with cancer feel very much at ease.

She considered a bird. The birds outside of the shatterproof windows of Claymoor had always given her a little bit of peace. It seemed much too simple, though, and she hated starting projects that would never feel fully complete.

"I'm Rowan. Your name's Emily, right? I've seen some of your sketches, they're impressive."

"Thanks." Emily said, without paying the girl much mind. "They say trauma pays off when you're an artist. Guess I should be expecting my check any day now."

Rowan laughed and it caught Emily's attention. She could see herself drawing a girl like her. The bell rang and Emily gathered her supplies, she tossed the panel back into the pile of others. She hadn't so much as made a mark on the damn thing. It would be her Art final at the end of the semester.

"You worried about the Principles of Design exam next week?" Rowan asked. She was lingering close by even though she was seemingly already packed up and ready to go.

"Oh, uhh... no, not really. Maybe the Contrast portion of it. I feel like it's more relevant for like, abstract or americana style artists, so it's kinda hard for me to relate."

The two girls started out the classroom door side by side. "My muse is photography. I spent forever practicing contrast for my final last year, I'd be down to study this weekend if you're not busy." Rowan said.

"Really?" Emily asked with mild disbelief. They trotted up the stairs, Emily leading as she made way toward her locker. "Yeah, that would be great, actually. I think I'm busy tomorrow, but I'm free Sunday."

She could see Judd leaned against her locker just ahead and it would be a lie to say that her heart didn't flutter a tiny bit.

"Yeah, let me get your number and I'll text --" Rowan had just pulled out her phone when she was abruptly interrupted by Judd's harsh scowl and overbearing tone. He smacked her phone out of her hand and it hit the ground before she even knew what was happening.

"Judd, what the fuck?!" Emily shouted.

"Yeah, Judd, what the fuck!" Rowan parrotted.

Judd popped the door of the locker open and took the books out of Emily's hands that he'd learned she never carried home on Friday afternoons. The sound of paperboard banging against steele caused heads to turn their way with anticipation of a fight.

"You're not getting her number and you sure as shit aren't seeing her outside of school." He slammed the door and threw his arm over Emily's shoulder. "And if I catch you pulling this sneak shit again, I'll sic my fucking raccoons on you. Now fuck off, Rowan."