So Scarlet (It Was Maroon)

Chapter Three

Art truly is a funny thing. To the naked eye, a piece of artwork can seem complete, only requiring a few touches of color to be declared finished. But have the artist himself look at it and he'll tell you there is much to be done, many strokes to be painted, and even more ideas to be spilled onto canvas.

That's how Keefe felt as he tapped his foot, gazing at the landscape he'd painted. He had everything he needed - the fading light shimmering against the water; the little lilies adorning a patch of green grass; a flock of birds soaring to the heavens in a v-formation. It was done, Keefe told himself, yet he picked up a paintbrush anyway.  Whipping out a series of acrylic bottles, he dipped the top of his paintbrush into its depths, noting the way his heartbeat slowed to match his breaths. Then he touched the paintbrush to his colorful canvas and that was that; he'd given his hand a mind of its own.

Keefe drew a circle, a line, an organic blob, more lines. In a few swift strokes and different colors, he had added a new addition to his painting. He penned his signature at the bottom right corner, standing back to gaze at it in satisfaction—and a hint of wonder. Now he could confidently say he'd finished yet another painting.

There, standing amongst the white lilies, stood a young girl, her blonde hair waving wildly in the evening winds. A faint blush of exhilaration on her cheeks, walking towards the sunset; Keefe smiled as he admired her. For some inexplicable reason, Sophie Foster fascinated him; she wasn't like anyone he'd met before. There was just something about her, something he couldn't quite name. Maybe it was her attitude. Maybe it was the way she chewed her lip when she was nervous. Or maybe it was how she smirked at him, pretty and smug, beautiful and deadly.

But Keefe couldn't let her know that, it would go to her head. Once the painting dried he stashed it under his bed, his heart now thumping faster.

He didn't know what, but something drew him to her without his consent. And Keefe couldn't help wondering if he'd be in big trouble if he couldn't draw back.

***

Sophie couldn't believe she had to put up with Keefe Sencen for nearly an entire term. An entire term! She was prone to go insane if she spent more time with that kid. But somehow, she found herself (somewhat) enjoying their walks from Foxfire Academy to Keefe's house.

His obnoxious voice interrupted their peaceful silence.

"If you really think about it," Keefe started thoughtfully. "Mirrors can never break. They can only multiply."

"And why did you feel the need to tell me that?"

"I have freedom of speech!"

"Not when everything you say is equivalent to shit."

"Care to tell me where the first amendment states that?"

Sophie exhaled loudly through her nose, glaring viciously. Keefe stared back at her innocently, waiting for her reaction. "Screw it," she muttered, rearing her arm back—in which she held her water bottle— and thumping him on the head. Yelping, he took a few steps away from her and frowned.

"Okay, that actually hurt. And you ruined my hair!"

"Sounds like a 'you' problem." Sophie kept strolling on as Keef caught up to her.

"I could tell Ms. Clarette," he taunted.

"You've got no alibis." At Keefe's soft 'humph', she added, "Suck it up buttercup, gotta get used to me if you're gonna keep these sessions going."

Keefe opened his mouth to say something, but stopped once he saw his house. Immediately, his expression turned serious and he took the lead. Sophie silently wondered why, every time, his mischievousness would vanish when he arrived home.

Keefe opened the door and beckoned her to enter. Sophie looked around for the third time at the rich red carpet and the grand spiral staircase. Keefe was just about to go upstairs when another man walked into the room. His face was all chiseled planes and sharp features, downward-turned lips and drawn-in brows. With his hands clasped behind his back, he stood up tall, regal, and vaguely intimidating.

"Father," Keefe said stiffly. Sophie raised her eyebrows, hoping he'd glance over and look at her incredulous expression. Who said 'father' anymore? Was that still a thing?

"Son." Keefe's dad narrowed his eyes on Sophie. "Who's this?"

"Sophie Foster. I'm her art tutor."

"An art tutor? That's worse than your pile of detention slips." Scrunching up his nose, he eyed her up and down, then flicked his gaze back to his son. "Don't fuck this up, at least."

"Oh, this is hilarious! Getting a talk about fucking things up from the World's Greatest Dad. Good joke."

Keefe's dad—Mr. Sencen, Sophie decided to refer to him as—gritted his teeth so loud she flinched. Smoke practically floated from his flared nostrils as he glowered at the two of them. Sophie held her breath.

"Just go," he finally grumbled, storming off in the other direction with a wine glass full of red liquid. Sophie exhaled loudly and climbed up the stairs alongside Keefe with a questioning look.

"Yep, that's Old Daddio in a nutshell for ya."

"That's great and all, but we're doing our art session at my house next time. Your dad is seriously creepy. And what was that about? Detention slips and—"

"It's nothing, forget about it." Before she could ask anymore questions, he jogged up the next few steps and into his room, shutting it behind them. This time, both teenagers shoved the bookcase to the side in a joint effort—the first (and last) circumstance she would ever willingly work together with Keefe Sencen. When this term was over, she was going to leave him behind and never look back.

After all, pretty boys with curly hair and a mischievous grin always ended up being trouble.

Besides, she couldn't stand him. His mere presence ignited her annoyance. Every time he showed up, she felt the irresistible urge to shove his own paintbrush down his throat. Of course, she couldn't actually do it, but in her imagination it was pure satisfaction.

"Foster? Foster!"

Keefe stood at the doorway to his secret chamber. "C'mon." Sighing, Sophie followed him in.

"Let's do figures today. Silhouettes. They're easy enough, so if you screw them up I'll either be really disappointed or really impressed."

"With you, it's just the former."

Sophie unconsciously leaned forward on her toes, expecting an offended retort. Yet Keefe's expression became more closed off; hurt, even, but only for a moment. He wiped the emotion off his face, leaving behind an empty smile, and he didn't look her way while he set up another canvas. Frowning, she silently rolled up her sleeves and picked up a paintbrush, glancing at Keefe through her lashes.

He didn't glance back.

Halfway through drawing a silhouette figure (Sophie had drawn the head, some hair, and the chest), she turned abruptly to face her tutor, who was immersed in his art with deep concentration. Although Keefe was a pain in the ass, everyone had feelings. And no one deserved to feel the worst of them.

"Hey, uh, sorry if I crossed any lines earlier?" It came out like a question, and Sophie immediately wished she could rephrase it.

When Keefe turned towards her, his easy grin had returned, nothing like the blank expression he'd had on before. He searched her eyes like a diver in the depths of an ocean.

"No problemo. You just made me think about some stuff, that's all."

"Okay, good." Sophie painted the rest of the torso and the hands. When she heard snickers from next to her she glared at him, challenging him to say one offensive thing about her silhouette.

"That looks more like a pig than a lady," he wheezed, slapping his knee. Sophie harrumphed; sure, the woman's torso had been a little messed up, but everyone makes mistakes, right?

As if he could read her mind, Keefe added, "'Small mistake'? Oh please, more like elephant-sized!"

"Be quiet, Sencen," she shot back.

"Freedom of speech, remember?"