Everything for the Hunt

Chapter Three

The school art room was made like an Aladdin's cave of paintings and statues – the kind made so that the eyes could follow you around the room. Metal framed pieces hung from the ceiling casting shadows across the floor. I ducked under a small print hanging in the centre of the room as I made my way over to my area; a small desk filled with colour pencils all scratched down the nub and a variety of acrylic paints in mostly shades of green, an easel with one leg shorter than the other being propped up by an old hardback on Da Vinci. It was a small taste of calm in the middle of my Friday and probably the only thing I looked forward to at school. 

I nudged my bag under the desk with my foot and reached for the stained apron hanging across the canvas I was midway through painting.
                                            "What do we feel like today ladies and gentleman?" Miss Armstrong asked, slipping a pencil into her tightly curled hair. She reached out to tweak the dial on the old radio which was perched on the windowsill in between two leafy plants mooching lazily in the sun. 

Eve shuffled in across the paint-stained floor, unloading the armful of chalk boxes and wax crayons she had raided from the art cupboard. Her hair was now falling all over her face; she tried huffing if out of the way as she pulled on her apron but it didn't seem to shift enough to see clearly again.
                                               "I swear to you, if I don't finish this piece today I'm locking myself in here all weekend until I do" She took her seat next to me, tilting the easel so she could continue her chalk drawing.
                                               "Is this a ploy to pull out of movie night?"

                                                "I really don't think it's my thing"

                                                "I think we owe it to Rob – he's sat through enough Nicolas Sparks movies"
                                                 "Hey! He never complained" the slight scratching of her chalk on canvas drifting off into the music. 

                                                "Exactly" I laughed.

                                                "But Nicolas Sparks movies are actually good" rolling my eyes at her protests. I grabbed more Forest Green paint from my desk and squeezed some of it onto my palette. Tilting my head to the right to re-evaluate where I had left off – the forest scene I had been painting was missing small trees to fill in front of the mountain range. I criss-crossed my paint brush onto the palette to mix together the right colour.
                                                  "So... how's home?" I didn't look at Eve as I asked, it was a touchy subject and I wanted it to sound more nonchalant than my voice had made it seem.
                                                  "You're terrible at this, you know?" laughing calmly as she continued to scratch at the canvas.
                                                   "I'm trying, ok? Just humour me" She was right – I wasn't exactly great at the heavy subjects; even with my friends they made me uncomfortable.
                                                  "Dad wants me to spend every weekend at his new place in Callenwood but I don't know if I will..." I raised an eyebrow "... Katrina will be there" she put on a mock whiney voice to imitate the young woman her dad had been having an affair with for the last three years. Of all the men in the world you wouldn't pick hers out of a line up for the cheating-on-their-wives type. "I still can't believe it"

                                            "Join the club - I can't even look at him the same way"

                                           "How's your mum and Oliver?" her mum and her brother seemed to be taking it worse than she was. Whenever I passed them in town coming home from work they looked exhausted –like neither one of them had slept in days. To Eve's credit she managed to go on and continue with life as if nothing was wrong – although I didn't know how healthy that really was.
                                            "Mum cries a lot, Oliver never comes out of his room anymore – it's feeling a little like I'm living alone"