Art Class

Ella POV

Angela took Sophia out of school second block today so now the stool next to mine was empty and I'm sitting alone in front of my easel listening to some loud rock group on my ipod hoping maybe it would lift my spirits because it usually did, but today I think it's going to take a lot more than listening to Paramore to make my lips form some sort of a smile.

Boys that took this class – only so they could stare at me for an hour – all gawked at me. This is the only class I really enjoy and instead of looking at them giving them flirtatious smiles and laughing it up with Sophia and painting another piece that was worth much more than just an A , I let my unhappiness be seen not caring enough to hide it. I don't care what these people thought.

Although, the stares of pity were freaking aggravating me right now. What the hell is their problem why can't they pay attention to something other than me, just for today or better yet just for this class – at least?

I picked up my brush and set out all the paint I'd be using all variations of black, gray, and blue – anything remotely happy didn't interest me this moment. Then fucking Matt Newton came over and pulled out one of my ear phones – he better leave before I do something I won't regret, not even a little bit. I held my paint brush it was in danger of being snapped in half as I looked up into Matt's eyes and glared.

"What's the matter sunshine," he asked me condescendingly. "Fuck you," I whispered and glared at my blank canvas holding my brush so tightly I could feel if I held it any tighter it would snap in half. Before I was just upset now I was pissed off and angry – I hate Matt Newton – the stupid little rich boy didn't know how to back off and I was really close to breaking his beloved face – distorting it just before the soccer team's and football team's picture for the yearbook.

I dipped my brush in some charcoal grey paint drawing my brush across the canvas seeing the picture of a moonlit landscape in my mind. I closed my eyes and began to move my brush over the canvas listening to the music finally relaxing for the first time in about in over ten hours and a small smile lifting the corners of my full lips. But it wasn't there for long.

Someone spun my stool around and I was facing the opposite direction my eyes flashed open, but it wasn't fast enough. Matt's lips were crushing mine in a kiss that was more like violence – if this is what girls like about him then they have terrible taste. I sat there like a statue for a couple seconds in shock until his hand reached up and squeezed my breast and the shock was all gone by this point. There is no way anyone is ever going to get away with touching me like this – unless I want them to. I could have just pushed him but to make things a little bit sweeter on my end I jerked my knee forward into the place no man wants to get hit – not hard enough to do any permanent damage but to make him think twice before doing that to anyone else.

Ms. Claremont came running to me to see if I was alright and ignored the swearing, crying – like a baby – heap on the floor. I pressed my lips together – ew, I could taste his wet kiss still on my lips – in an effort to hide my second smile. The smile didn't last long I wasn't lost in my world of art and reality crashed back down on me, but I'm still glad Matt Newton knows that I'm not what he wants – actually, just that I hate him.

"Miss Cullen, are you alright? Do you want to go to the nurse's office? I'm so sorry I didn't notice sooner!" She looked down at Matt and frowned. "Please, Ms. Claremont, call me Ella and I think I just need some fresh air and don't be sorry it wasn't your fault Matt is such a…" I was lost for words I could actually say to a teacher and she just smiled really, really glad I was alright and said, "I know what you wanted to say. You don't need to say another word to convey your feelings."

Ms. Claremont is the youngest teacher on staff, in her mid-twenties, she is also my favorite teacher eccentric and since this is an art class she just assigns us to paint, sculpt or do something productive – something to do with art – in this class. She could have been a curator at a museum but she chose to be a high school art teacher because she wanted to 'sculpt young minds to love art'. I loved it already and having her class helped me appreciate my talent, most people – in this class – can't even color within the lines in a coloring book.

I walked out of class taking deep breaths trying to keep my nerve. I can't break down even though I'm way past breaking point; I'm actually pretty surprised I held up the whole day without crying.

The he came out of class and started walking towards me. He finally looked me in the eyes; his eyes honey-brown eyes melted me. My heart rated broke into a sprint when he was looking at me. If I wasn't so gloomy, I would have responded with a blush and a sweet smile.