BOOM! New cover image. Not great, not a huge fan of the white background, but I did my best with what I had.
.
"You're a talented artist," she said, offhandedly.
The pencil abruptly stopped its scribbling and a pair of green eyes shot up to look pointedly at her.
"It's not art," he scoffed, "they're blueprints."
She made a face of acknowledgement and nodded, ignoring the fact that he was looking at her like she was an idiot for even insinuating such a thing. She kept her attention toward her own work, typing rapidly on her keyboard before replying.
"Then, you're a talented draftsman...and from what I've seen, a skilled engineer."
"Yeah, well, what you've seen doesn't even scratch the surface of my capabilities."
She sighed, knowing exactly where the conversation was headed, "I know, the establishment is a 'prison of restricted potential and happily drowns free-thinking'."
"And that's coming from me, who lives in an actual prison," he gestured with the end of his pencil, "It's not my fault the school you're running can't handle a little risk."
Another shot. It was an unfortunate circumstance that many of the things he built tended to be on the not-so-innocent side of the spectrum. During his first year, he jumped at the opportunity to add one of their CTE programs to his schedule. That program, naturally, being mechanical engineering. He'd been on a longer leash back then and had yet to start frequenting her space, but the speed at which he surpassed the coursework nevertheless caught her attention. It was impressive, to say the least; even her brightest students struggled with these programs. Of course, it wasn't long after advancing him that certain...issues began popping up. There was no doubting he was brilliant, but he had trouble with his filters, as shown through the near daily arguments he had with his instructors about the material they were teaching.
"It's just a matter of safety. It pays to see things from different perspectives; such as the panic you would incite waltzing around here with guns and DNA scramblers."
Syx fell back in his seat, throwing up his hands in exasperation, "She said she wanted blue eyes!"
She pursed her lips, looking hard in his direction, "That doesn't mean you take it upon yourself to make it happen. Now she's nearsighted!"
"Statistically, she would have needed optical correction at some point regardless," he pouted, crossing his arms, "I'd hardly call it a high price to pay."
"But that lawsuit I managed to talk her family out of would have been."
He didn't say anything after that. What was the point? He was stuck in an institution made for stifling creativity and unorthodox thinking and here she was at the helm talking about perspective when she never bothered to see his! He hadn't done anything wrong...it was everyone else that couldn't see the good in it. Morons.
His eyes skimmed over the work he'd forgotten on her desk, issues he hadn't seen before popping up the longer he looked at it. He felt...odd, in this moment. Out of place, out of control of the situation.
"You should eat something before the bell rings," she said, offhandedly, motioning over to his forgotten lunch.
With 15 minutes still on the clock, he took back control.
"No."
I've neglected this work and it's only chapter 2. Hopefully this tides over those of you who have been waiting while I figure out how to write a wholesome yet believable relationship between a delinquent and his principal! Thanks for reading.