“You’re in my group,” he says matter-of-factly. “Or had you decided to join another one?”
He releases my desk, plonking it down next to his, to the obvious dismay of the other girls. They don’t pull their own desks away, though. I’m more of an inconvenience than anything else, obviously, and won’t get in their way of claiming Sindri.
Well, good luck to them. And joy. I bet he’s an amazing boyfriend—not—judging by his asshole moves with me. Let them date him and then have humiliating videos of themselves circulating in the school. How fun.
I watch him as one of the girls starts talking about her drawing, using way too many long words. Apparently, she did it in the expressionist style which is why, when I glance at it for a second, it looks like a jumble of lines.
Sindri is watching me back and it’s making it hard to follow what the group is discussing. The drawing isn’t expressionist enough, it seems, and the other girls are very vocal about it. My bad. I thought the class was about learning the styles, not verbally stabbing each other to death.
“This is mine,” one of the other girls says, lifting her pad. “It’s done in the art deco style.”
“That?” The first girl laughs. “That’s not art deco by any stretch of the imagination, you poor deluded creature.”
And it starts again.
Sindri grins. “How about we look at Mia’s drawing?” he says.
“I… don’t think that’s a good idea.” I shoot him a murderous look. “I’m new, I don’t have experience in drawing and don’t know the movements in art so well. I’m behind with classes.”
“Maybe you should go see the Academy counselor,” he suggests. “Plan some catch-up classes.”
“Yeah.”
I’d never planned on staying long enough to need this, and it’s crazy that I’m considering it now, especially while waiting for these bitchy girls and this jerk of a boy to joyfully dissect my drawing and me.
“Not sure I’d want to see what mess she’s drawn,” the first girl says dismissively. “I bet it’s terrible.”
“Well, I for one want to see,” Sindri says and snatches my drawing from my desk before I have a chance to rescue it. He lifts it, that bastard, for the girls to see. “This is… interesting. What style is it supposed to be in?”
“Realist,” I say between my gritted teeth.
“It looks rather… abstract,” he mutters.
“Let me see.” The second girl grabs my poor attempt at art and tilts her head back, considering it.
Then she tears it in half.
“Hey!” I jerk forward, an abortive movement.That bitch.
The first girl cackles.
“Well, that’s an improvement,” Sindri says, his grin widening, showing those strangely sexy sharp teeth of his.
My mind is running in loops. I sit there, frozen, as the girl who tore my drawing lets the two halves flutter to the floor.It doesn’t matter, I tell myself.It was a terrible drawing, that’s a fact. I don’t have any talent in art or anything much at all.
But it was Sindri’s amused voice that stole my voice, that stunned me into silence.
“An improvement,” he said.
That asshole.Tears prick my eyes andoh no, can’t have this, especially not in front of the bitchy girls. In front ofhim.
Grabbing my backpack, I start to get up. I need to go, get out of here. Where are my defenses? What’s happening to me? I can’t be this fragile girl who falls apart with every little jab. I need to reread Ophelia’s diary, recenter myself, remind myself why I’m here.
“Don’t you want to see my drawing?” Sindri says, snagging my wrist, keeping me down with seeming effortlessness.
“Let me go,” I hiss.
“I think it’s pretty damn good,” he says with infuriating calm and that amusement that still lurks in his voice, in his eyes. “If I say so myself.”