This morning, while the teacher drones on about techniques, I feel nervous, like I can’t sit still. As soon as everyone else goes to the stations to start to paint, I hang out in the front of the room. I want to see what’s going to happen to Quinn, but that doesn’t mean that I want to be anywhere near him when all hell breaks loose.
It takes thirty seconds.
Maybe. That might be generous.
“What the hell is this?” Quinn storms through the other students, cutting up past their art stations on his way to see Mr. Stanfield. I do my best to set my face so that I look calm and innocent, but really, I’m neither of those two things.
“What seems to be the problem?” Mr. Stanfield has his nose in a book and doesn’t even look up until Quinn waves his palette of paint under his nose. That gets his attention, however, and he reaches out and grabs it from Quinn.
“Do you smell that?” Quinn sounds like he’s gone off the rails, and he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “Do you smell that shit?!”
It’s not shit, but it might as well be. Trinity Prep doesn’t deep fry food very often, but they did a few weeks ago, and it was easy enough for me to get my hands on some of the rancid oil. Last night, late after everyone else had gone to bed, I snuck out of my room and mixed it into Quinn’s paints.
I know for a fact that he’d worked a long time to mix the perfect colors for his painting, and in under five minutes, I destroyed them all. They’re ruined, and if he accidentally painted with them at all, then his painting is ruined, too.
I can only hope.
“It smells like rancid oil. How were you storing your paints, Quinn? I thought that you knew better than this.”
Quinn’s face is bright red and he sputters at Mr. Stanfield. Of course, I know better! You think that I did this to my paints? Oh, no, sir, it wasn’t me.” He spins around and I know that he’s looking for me. As soon as his eyes land on me, he levels his finger at me. “It was Abigail. The cunt.”
Time freezes and I feel my breath catch in my throat. Of course, I knew that Quinn would quickly figure out that I was the one to sabotage his paints, but I hadn’t really thought beyond that. I step back, pressing my back against the wall and try to look as innocent as possible.
It doesn’t matter. Quinn crosses the room to me in a matter of seconds and pins me up against the wall, using his forearm to press into my throat so that I can’t breathe. Reaching up, I claw at it with my good hand, but he doesn’t relax or give me any breathing room.
“You fucking cunt,” he breathes, quiet enough that we’re the only two that hear him talking. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Quinn!” Mr. Stanfield is just a few steps behind Quinn and grabs his shoulder, roughly yanking him off of me and spinning him around. “What the hell do you think that you’re doing? Abigail does not belong here, and we can both agree on that, but that doesn’t mean that you can attack her after you ruined your paints.”
“I ruined? You think that I ruined my paints?” Quinn has positively lost it and he throws his hands up in the air. “How in the hell can you think that I ruined my own paints after all the time you’ve known me?”
Mr. Stanfield crosses his arms and stares at Quinn. “You have made your fair share of fuck-ups since I started teaching you, Quinn, lest you forget. This is just another in a long time of them and one more that I’m going to have to cover you for, no doubt.”
“No doubt.” Quinn spits the words at his teacher and then spins back to face me, dropping his voice and leaning close.
My body longs for him to reach out and touch me, but I know that any movement will only anger him, so I stand as still as I possibly can, ignoring the throbbing in my core.
I knew that it would feel amazing to bring him down a few notches, but something has happened that I didn’t count on.
I feel a tiny twinge of guilt.
“I don’t know why you thought that you could get away with this, little cunt, but I’m not going to let you. Why the hell did you think that it was okay to fuck up my art like this?” His voice sounds strangled, and his bright blue eyes search mine for help, but I have nothing to give him.
“You had it coming,” I tell him. His eyes grow wide at my words and he stumbles back, throwing out his arm like he’s trying to catch himself on something, but there’s nothing there to break his fall. At the last second, he catches himself and stands up, even though his legs are shaking.
“No. No…why did you do this?” He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it or shake out a bad thought. I think for a moment that I should feel bad, but I don’t. His voice sounds strangled, but I don’t care. I can’t feel bad for him.
Honestly, right now, I don’t feel anything.
I have to reach back to the wall behind me to steady myself. “Don’t you see, Quinn, that you had it coming? You didn’t think that you could just treat me like this and not expect me to fight back, did you?” Even though I try to keep my voice hard, I can’t help but notice that a hint of
