Art Class

By: Edna Baudelaire

Oneshot Number: 3

Note: Set during book 2, when the Flock attends school while they are staying with Anne. Iggy goes to art class and is a little lost. Thank goodness Tess is there to...ahem...show him the ropes ;D

Stupid art...

Stupid colors that I can't even see...

Why would they put a blind kid in an art class, you may ask?

Hell if I know.

All I know is that the overenthusiastic teacher wrapped an apron around my waist, tied it too-tight around my neck, and shoved me towards an easel, paint in hand. Light music playing in the background mixed in with the whispered murmurs of the other students.

And hey, what do you know, they were asking the same thing I was! Why the Hell was the blind kid in an art class?

Beats me.

I swallowed, training my sightless eyes forward, my fingers brushing along the canvas, completely lost. Fang didn't have this class with me. It was just me, myself and I, left to fend for ourselves.

And I wasn't doing too well.

"Children! Children! Pick up your brushes and begin!" The teacher swept about the room, looking over shoulders, occasionally criticizing, but mainly humming to the music. My fingers flooded over the drawer at the bottom of the easel and I took out a paintbrush, or at least, something that felt like a paintbrush. I held it in my hand, attempting to look like I was working.

"You have it upside down," A voice said from behind me. I jumped, a blush immediately creeping into my cheeks. I swiftly turned my paintbrush around, but didn't know where to go from there. I mumbled a small "thanks", expecting the girl to leave, but she edged closer.

"You're new." It wasn't a question. I just nodded, afraid to embarrass myself even more.

"Do you need help?" Hell yeah I do. I'm a blind kid in art class.

Instead I said: "I can take care of myself." Way to reach out to others, Ig. Great job being social.

"Are you sure about that?" she asked. She was standing right next to me, only a couple inches away. I could feel her breath on my neck.

"No," I said, letting out an exasperated sigh of irritation. "I have no idea what I'm even doing in this class. Even if I were to miraculously paint something, there's no way I would be able to see it."

She rested her hand on my shoulder. I almost shied away. Almost.

"Art's not about seeing what you've done. It's about feeling," she explained.

I grumbled. "I wouldn't even know where to begin, much less what color I'm using."

"I'll help you. I'll be your eyes. How about that?"

Are you serious? I would never let anybody help-

"Sure," I said, my throat dry. She repositioned herself, holding my hand in hers, guiding the brush towards the canvas. I thought my cheeks were on fire before, but that's nothing compared to now. It spread like wildfire, over my body. Her hand was warm against mine, adding to the fire.

"What color do you want first?" she asked, her breath tickling my ear. I swear, she was doing that one purpose. She could probably feel the trembles racing down my spine.

Oh well, I didn't mind.

"Uh...does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! What are you feeling? What color describes your mood?"

The words "red" and "fire" almost tumbled from my mouth. I quickly shut them back in, refraining from making a total fool of myself. Instead I said "blue" and mumbled something about being calm.

Which she totally didn't buy.

"Puh-lease," she said. "You're anything but calm. Tell the truth."

I sighed. "Red," I admitted, feeling the exact color plastered to my face.

She chuckled. "Red it is." Her hand guided mine, dipping the brush into the red paint. She directed me towards the canvas, and let me go.

The fire was gone.

"Now what?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Paint."

"Paint what?"

"What you're feeling."

I closed my eyes, wishing I could just leave. I was embarrassed as it was, listening to the other kids gossiping. They thought I couldn't hear. Sometimes, I wish I couldn't.

"So weird..."

"Why is she talking to him?"

"What a freak..."

"He's blind. Shouldn't he be with the special treatment kids?"

"What's he doing here?"

"He's ruining my inspiration."

I shut them out. I shut them all out.

And painted.

The entire time, I could feel her presence behind me. She watched me, the intensity of her gaze burning the back of my neck.

I had absolutely no idea what the Hell I was painting.

But I was painting.

"Good job," she said, edging closer.

"Thanks." I dipped my brush in another color, not even asking. "I never caught your name."

"Tess," she replied, her elbow brushing mine. "You?"

"Iggy."

"Well, Iggy. You are a marvelous painter."

I blinked. "Really?" I squinted at the canvas. "Doesn't look too good to me."

She giggled, lightly nudging my arm. "Of course it's good. It came from the heart, not from your sight. And that kind of artwork is the best."

I smiled, running my paintbrush over the canvas in random directions.

"Hey, you've got a spot of paint on your face," Tess commented.

My hand flew up towards my skin, not feeling anything. "Where?"

"Right there." She pointed it out with her paintbrush, which was full of paint. It felt wet and cold on my skin. I could hear her chuckling.

"Really?" I asked. "Because I see a spot on your face." Before she could comprehend what was happening, I ran my paintbrush through the air, miraculously catching her chin.

She froze. "You've got good aim. For a blind kid."

"Thanks."

"But now," she said, her voice touched with playful menace. "It's on."

Her paintbrush swiped across my arm, and mine ran across her apron. Paint flew everywhere, in every direction. Some kids backed up, murmuring with annoyed tones. Tess and I didn't care. We giggled-

No. She giggled.

I laughed. A manly laugh.

Ahem...For the first time all day, I was actually enjoying myself. I know, me, the blind kid, enjoying himself at school. Weird, huh?

And as Tess's paintbrush accidentally swiped across my teeth, I realized that if it weren't for her, I would still be staring at a blank canvas, silently seething and cursing under my breath. If it weren't for her, I would still be lost.

"Children! What is going on?"

Oops.

The teacher waltzed over, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"My, my-"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. C, I should have known better," Tess apologized.

"I'll start cleaning. I am so sorry-" I started.

"W-what? What are you talking about. I'm staring at the most beautiful piece of art these old eyes have ever seen."

Rewind. What?

"Mrs. C?" Tess asked.

"The colors, they are so simple. The brushstrokes, so true. And all these paint splatters, so free," Mrs. C exclaimed. "Children, gather around! This is something you should all learn from! You need to paint more like this young man!"

She rambled on, talking about the truth and beauty in the painting that I "accidentally" made. But I wasn't listening. All I could hear was Tess's light breathing, and the feeling of her soft, warm hand wrapped around mine.

I love art class.

Sorry this one took so long. I've been really busy lately, while still trying to update my other stories. I promise to try to update more :D

Review? Please?

Edna B.