The Artist | #3✓

Chapter 8

"You're good at teaching. I'm impressed," I heard Toby say, making me look up from my drawing to face him. He was sitting at his desk, a look of concentration on his face as he clicked on his wireless mouse. I bit the inside of my cheek, remembering that he was coloring a poster that was going to be used next year. He was doing it in Photoshop. I was familiar with that - maybe I could help?

"The kids love you, or maybe it's because you're closer to their age. I can't really tell," he continued to say, pushing his bangs aside with his free hand. I looked away from him, not knowing how to reply to his comment. The class I'd taken had left the art room about thirty minutes ago, and neither Toby nor I had a class to take for the next three hours.

I wanted to talk with him, but my mouth seemed sealed. Yeah, that wasn't what I was going for.

"You look stressed. Are you okay?" I heard him ask, making me look up before shaking my head. He was always asking me that — asking if I was okay. It made my heart dance whenever he did since he meant he had to have been observing me in some way.

"I can help with the poster," I said at a go. It came out rushed, and I wasn't sure Toby would even be able to make out what I had said.

"It's okay don't worry about me," he said, still clicking on his mouse. "It doesn't take much time to do anyway."

I found myself humming at that before I looked down at the drawing I was doing. It was another composition for a future painting on movement, but this time I was drawing chickens.

"Plus, I didn't know you knew how to do graphics on a computer. Your mum's pretty traditional with her art, I thought you were the same," Toby said, making me look up from my drawing. I shrugged, not knowing what to say to that either. I didn't do it often, but I'd watched enough lessons on it to know how it worked to an extent. Also, my dad did something similar since he was an illustrator and cartoonist. I've watched him work, and I've tried my hands on some of his stuff as well.

"I'm not sure why I'm surprised, you're a prodigy," Toby chuckled, and I wasn't sure if he'd been talking more to himself than to me. He didn't say anything after that, and the room fell into silence once more.

"Do you like stickers?"

"What?" I felt my face flush at his genuine puzzled reaction when he looked up from his computer. I shook my head, looking down at my drawing as I mentally scolded myself for being so stupid.

"I'm sorry, I'm not really sure why I asked," I apologized, but I did know why. I'd felt like the room was too quiet, and I'd wanted to talk to him so I'd just thought up something random to ask. I heard him chuckle a bit - he sounded quite amused.

"You're odd," he chuckled. I could feel my chest tighten a bit, but what he said afterward made me relax. "You're odd in a sweet goofy way. I like it." He turned back to his computer and continued with what he was doing, and I just sat in my seat as I felt warmth rush to my cheeks.

"So how are you preparing for college. You'll be gone in a few months," I heard him say, making me look up before turning towards him. I couldn't really read his expression, but I'm guessing there wasn't much to read since he seemed to still give what he was doing his full focus.

"I'm not doing much really? I'm going to live in the school's residence, I think?" I said, watching him nod at my words.

"I used to live in my college's residence, but they had single rooms so I never had a roommate to pester me," he laughed, letting go of his mouse, and taking his gaze off his laptop's screen so he could look at me. "There were general bathrooms, and a general lounge, laundry, and kitchen for each floor, though. I absolutely hated it, someone always took what I put in the fridge, even when it was labeled."