my best friends brother - rewriting

5 ... art

"We had family over and decided ourselves into partners. The game was to paint a portrait of anyone in the room on a time limit. When the timer was done, we had to guess by writing down our answer, and whichever team guessed, won the round."

"It sounds confusing because you'd have to play to understand. But it came to me as a fun activity idea for today. This..." she pointed to her painting.

"... is the exact painting I did of my daughter who
was in this position, having a conversation."

"You smashing or passing that?" I heard a guy from the table beside me as he nudged his friend. I inwardly cringed, finding him disrespectful.

"Dude it's a fucking painting. I'm not that desperate," he shook his head at him.

"But imagine the real thing."

I glanced over as he thought for a moment and a devilish smirk appeared on both of their faces.

My eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head.

"Guys like them shouldn't have the title that they have," Brett uttered all of sudden, glancing at them.

I glanced up at him and nodded in agreement as he watched them, shaking his head in disappointment.

"...everyone understand?" Mrs. Cee's voice brought me back to life as the class fell into a fit of murmurs. She recovered her painting before taking a seat at her desk. "Give me a minute before it's partner picking time." The class fell into chatter.

"What is one thing you love to do? Like really love?" Brett chatted, leaning his arms on the large table.

"Just gathering ideas for Friday," he shrugged.

"Um, this is pretty much it," I gestured at the art utensils that were being passed out right now.

"Oh, and listening to music especially."

Anyone here could see how much of a loser I was. I never went out, I never liked shopping or hanging out in public teenager hang-out spots. It gave me anxiety being around kids my age, feeling as if they were judging me. It was like that with anyone.

But teenagers are powerful when it came to being judgmental. You never know how far they can go.

Speaking from a teenager herself.

We are ruthless. They are ruthless.

"Okay. What's your favorite type of art?"

"Any kind really. But I guess if I had to choose, it would be art with a meaning behind it." I replied.

Brett opened his mouth, on the verge of speaking but got interrupted by the classroom door striking open. The person revealed to be always late for this class Damon. His presence caused silence.

Just the sight of him rendered me breathless.

But the sight of his dark messy hair, the shiny familiar lipgloss stained against his neck where a very much noticeable hickey was placed, had me regaining my composure back instantly.

My gaze turned towards my fingers as I played with them, finding them more interesting than him for once. It hurt every time, but it was nothing new.

You shouldn't care, Hermione, he's not yours.

I know I shouldn't care but I do.

"Mr. Camden you're late... again, " Mrs. Cee acknowledged him as she kept her gaze on her laptop. Damon rolled his eyes and ignored her.