The Happiest Color

Chapter 8: Alistair Livingston (Part 1)

I was nearly late to my next class. I kept accidentally bumping into other students while searching for the room number.

801. There it was plastered right outside the red door. The room was much larger than other classrooms. Instead of desks, there were long tables in which each student sat. There were only two tables unoccupied when I entered. I took the next to last one on the right side of the room.

This was the only class I was not given a boring syllabus for. I don't think a syllabus could teach someone how to be a better artist anyway. I wasn't much of a great artist, but I wasn't completely terrible.

Mrs. Langford strutted about the classroom in her hot pink heels pointing to the location of different art supplies. She looked vibrant in colorful dress and shoes. It seemed to match her personality quite fittingly.

She handed us large sheets of paper and a tin of sketch pencils. We were instructed to draw our own self portraits. Something she thought was extremely important as an ice breaker for the first day of art class.

I had never attempted to draw myself. Though, I had doodled characters from the books I read in my own sketch pad at home. I was fairly confident in my work.

I had nearly finished my sketch when someone tapped me on the shoulder...