Fantasy | Short Story
Medium
“I’m doing acrylics,” said Meghna. “Because I’m done with freshman art class and I’ll never have to hear Dillman drone about watercolors ever again.”
“Subtlety is key,” I said, mimicking Mr. Dillman’s monotone. “Muted and dilute.”
“Open mouth and shoot,” said Meghna. Her imitation was better than mine. “I’m going to paint an entire canvas in shades of orange. I’ll call it ‘Dillman’s Heart Attack.’”
I laughed. “What if he sees it?”
Meghna took a bottle of orange paint off the shelf. We were in the craft store at the mall, browsing in the art supplies aisle. “Dillman wouldn’t do anything,” she said. “He’d just blink and mumble about sloppy technique.”
“Probably,” I admitted.
“The man needs a good cup of coffee. Maybe then he’d have the energy to open his eyes all the way.” Meghna put the orange paint back on the shelf. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
“For the project, you mean?” I took a sketchpad from a display rack, changed my mind, and put it back. “I was thinking of doing something with pastels,” I said. “Or maybe just an ink drawing.”
Meghna rolled her eyes. “Wow, a drawing. You’re really pushing your boundaries there, Jess. Just use one of the four thousand in that notebook of…
