Annalise Springster's a High School Dropout

Chapter 2

Cassie's POV

Two weeks later

Annalise Springster is painting my wall.

Meanwhile, I read aloud the schedule of events for this school year from my school-provided laptop and down spoonfuls of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

It's movie night. My mom is downstairs creating what my little brothers, Sammy and Cole, call "the ultimate snack plate." They are probably downstairs too, watching with salivating mouths.

"Ok so, first midway meetings are going to be on...."—I scan the screen—"January 28th, about a week after Decisions Week and then they let us know our class ranking on...."

"February 9th."

"Right."

"That's going to be a big day for you when you've found out you've beaten me out for valedictorian," Annie smirks.

"Oh, don't give me that."

I am so going to beat her out.

"You're stiff competition, Annie."

"Mhm."

For a few moments, I close my laptop and just watch her work her magic. With arms smeared in paint, she adds the blotches of green to a vast expanse of land dotted with trees. The land rises and falls in small and large curves to give it a perception of depth. Above the hilly terrain, the sky is a delicate well-calculated blend of bright cadet blue and white to create the kind of spirit-lifting scenery one usually only sees in internet stock photos. She was painting The Hills. I turn further to the right and examine the obscure outlines on the rest of the wall that she had painted the week before underneath sweeping streaks and blotches of grey.

Odd...Oh, wait.

There's downtown and there's the school. That squiggle is Witchiter Ave and the one intersecting it is Eastview Street. Those little squares way back in the corner are the homes of the largest housing development and the conglomeration of rectangles and half-circles situated slightly east of them is the mayor's house. It was Greensboro.

"Greensboro?" I look back at her.

"Indeed, it is," she says, sticking her tongue between her teeth concentrating.

My eyes drift back to the dark clouds hovering over the abstract shapes, and I can't help but notice the contrasting blue and grey. "You chose grey clouds for the town and blue for the Hills."

I can't remember a day Greensboro had clouds that dark.

"Mhm." She shrugs, never stopping the sway of her brush or bothering to look at me. "I don't know, something about The Hills always seems brighter to me."

Artists.

I watch her add swatches of brown and green, creating finer lines, thicker lines, points, and arcs. Suddenly, in a swift motion, Annie moves from the grass to further detail the clouds.

Those are really big clouds. Now they're touching the grass—covering the grass.

In broad strokes, Annie takes the largest paintbrush and paints over her near-perfect version of The Hills.

"It's all wrong!" she exclaims jolting me out of my stupor. "Just all wrong." Her extensive streaks become short and hurried. She ensures every last bit of The Hills is covered in white before turning to me for the first time in hours. "Something about it wasn't right."

It was near perfect.

"You couldn't have just fixed it?"

"I mean, I guess. But starting over just seemed easier."