Finn's second day at Dolving High Senior School began with a familiar quietness. The sun's early rays slanted through his bedroom window, casting long shadows over his packed bags and textbooks. He had stayed up late the previous night, reflecting on Monica-her confident demeanor and her sharp yet effortless focus in class.
The walk to school was uneventful. Jake had offered to meet him at the gates, but Finn declined, preferring the solitude to gather his thoughts. As he approached the sprawling school grounds, the rising chatter of students greeted him like a tide ebbing and flowing with energy he wasn't ready to face.
He stepped into the building just as the bell rang. The corridors emptied quickly, leaving him to navigate to Class B without distractions.
---
In Class B
The classroom hummed with the dull sound of students settling into their seats. Mrs. Carter, the no-nonsense teacher who had given them a surprise quiz on the first day, walked in holding a stack of freshly graded papers.
"Good morning, class," she began, her voice sharp. "Before we proceed with today's lesson, let's review the quiz results."
The students groaned collectively.
"It was a diagnostic test," she added, ignoring their complaints. "This will determine how much I need to whip this class into shape."
She began calling out names and scores, handing back papers with an unnerving calmness. When Finn's name was called, he hesitated before walking up to her desk.
"Not bad for a newcomer," Mrs. Carter said, handing him the paper. He glanced at it: 87%.
"Thanks," Finn mumbled, returning to his seat.
Jake leaned over, his eyes widening. "Dude, you beat most of us. Mrs. Carter is smiling-well, sort of. That's rare."
Finn gave a small shrug, pretending the score didn't matter much, but inwardly he felt a flicker of pride.
At the front of the class, Monica received her paper with the same calm composure she had shown the day before. She barely glanced at her score before tucking the paper into her notebook. Finn couldn't help but watch her, wondering what kind of person could remain so composed under pressure.
---
Lunch Break
Finn sat with Jake and Adrian again during lunch. The cafeteria was buzzing with activity, the clatter of trays and the hum of conversations creating a chaotic symphony.
"You're staring at her again," Jake said, smirking as he nudged Finn's elbow.
Finn nearly dropped his fork. "What? No, I'm not."
"Relax, man," Adrian chimed in, grinning. "She's Monica Nord. Everyone stares at her at some point."
"Not everyone," Finn muttered, though his cheeks flushed slightly.
"Sure," Jake said, dragging the word out. He leaned in conspiratorially. "You should talk to her. You've got the quiz score to back it up now. Brainy guys always have a shot."
"I'm not-" Finn began, but stopped when Monica walked past their table.
She paused briefly, glancing at him with an unreadable expression before continuing to her usual seat by the window. Finn felt his pulse quicken.
Jake raised an eyebrow. "See? She noticed you."
Finn shook his head, focusing on his food. "I'm not doing this."
"You're already doing it," Adrian said, chuckling.
---
The Art Room
During his free period, Finn wandered into the art room again, seeking a quiet place to draw. He hadn't planned on coming back so soon, but the room's stillness and the faint smell of paint and paper felt oddly comforting.
Settling at an empty table, Finn pulled out his notebook and pencil. He began sketching a simple landscape-rolling hills under a bright sun, the kind of scene he had drawn countless times before.
The door creaked open, and Finn looked up, startled. Monica stood in the doorway, her gaze sharp and curious.
"You're here again," she said, stepping inside.
Finn blinked. "Again?"
"I saw you near here yesterday," she explained, her tone matter-of-fact. She walked over, her eyes landing on his sketch. "You draw?"
"Sort of," Finn said, instinctively covering the paper with his hand.
Monica raised an eyebrow. "What are you drawing?"
"It's nothing special," he replied, hesitating.
"Let me see," she said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him.
Finn hesitated but eventually slid the sketch toward her. Monica studied it in silence, her expression unreadable.
"This is good," she said finally, setting it back down.
"Thanks," Finn said quietly, though he avoided her gaze.
Monica tilted her head slightly. "If you can draw like this, why did you say it's nothing special?"
Finn shrugged. "I don't think I'm that good."
Monica frowned, her brows knitting together. "Draw something else."
"What?"
"Anything," she said, her tone almost challenging. "Prove it wasn't a fluke."
Finn sighed, picking up his pencil. After a moment's hesitation, he began sketching again. His movements were quick but deliberate, the lines forming the shape of a bird perched on a branch.
Monica watched intently, leaning forward slightly. When Finn finished, he pushed the drawing toward her without a word.
"You're really talented," Monica said, her voice softer now.
Finn shook his head. "Not really."
Monica stared at him, her eyes narrowing. "Why do you keep saying that? You can draw."
Finn hesitated, his fingers tightening around the pencil. "I just... don't see it."
For a moment, Monica said nothing. She opened her mouth as if to ask something but closed it again, her gaze lingering on him.
"Alright," she said finally, standing up. "But if you're not good, then what does good look like?"
Finn didn't answer. He watched as she left the room, her footsteps echoing faintly in the hallway.
---
That Evening
Finn sat at his desk, the bird sketch lying in front of him. The lines were clean and precise, but all he could see were the flaws-the proportions that felt off, the shading that could have been smoother.
Why does she care so much what I think about my drawings? he wondered.
He flipped to a blank page in his notebook, his thoughts drifting back to Monica. There was something about her curiosity that unnerved him, as though she could see through the defenses he had carefully built around himself.
With a sigh, Finn picked up his pencil and began sketching again. This time, the lines formed a silhouette-a girl sitting by a window, her face turned toward the light.
He stared at the unfinished drawing, his chest tightening.
"I can't draw," he muttered under his breath, though the words rang hollow even to himself.
The Next Day
Finn sat at his desk in class, a bit distracted. His mind kept replaying yesterday's encounter in the art room. He wasn't used to being the center of anyone's attention, let alone Monica's. It felt strange, but also somehow comforting. He had always kept to himself, too scared to reveal his true thoughts, especially when it came to art. But Monica had been so straightforward, so curious. It wasn't like the usual teasing or mockery he was used to. She had genuinely asked him questions, listened to his answers.
But then, why had she offered to help him with the Impressionism assignment? He knew it wasn't because she liked him. She didn't. He was sure of it. Still, her offer lingered in his mind.
---
Later That Afternoon
The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, but Finn didn't feel like leaving just yet. The idea of working on the assignment felt like a chore, but at the same time, he couldn't shake the thought of Monica and her unexpected offer to work together.
As he was gathering his things, he heard footsteps approaching his desk. He looked up and saw Monica standing there, her arms crossed.
"You're still here?" she asked, sounding surprised but not annoyed.
"Yeah," Finn said with a shrug. "I was just thinking."
Monica raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
Finn hesitated. He didn't want to sound like he was overthinking it, but he couldn't help it. "I guess I was just wondering... why you offered to help me yesterday. You don't even like art that much, right?"
Monica looked at him, her expression unreadable. "I didn't say I didn't like art. I just said I'm not as good at it. I don't have a natural talent like some people. I don't know, I thought it would be interesting to see if I could help you figure out how to make your piece better."
Finn blinked. That was it? No hidden meaning? No ulterior motive?
"I see," he said, not quite sure how to respond. "Well, I guess I could use the help."
Monica grinned, though it wasn't a teasing grin. It was more of a curious smile, like she was trying to see what he would do next. "Good. So, are you ready to go? Or are you planning on staring at your paper some more?"
Finn chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I'm ready."
They made their way to the art room together, and as soon as they entered, Monica immediately began sorting through the supplies, her focus shifting to the task at hand. Finn watched her for a moment, feeling a little out of place. He wasn't used to someone else being so comfortable in the art room, even though this was where he usually thrived.
"So, what are you thinking for your piece?" Monica asked, looking over at him with a tilted head.
"I'm not sure," Finn admitted. "I've been thinking of doing something with a landscape, maybe a sunset or something."
Monica nodded, her gaze flicking back to the materials in front of her. "That could be interesting. You could play with light and color. Impressionism's all about capturing the moment, right?"
Finn's heart skipped a beat at how casually she talked about it. She wasn't an expert, but she was showing an interest in something he cared about. It felt... good. He hadn't expected her to understand, let alone offer ideas.
"I guess," Finn muttered, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I'm not great at the whole 'capturing the moment' thing. I always feel like my drawings are too stiff. They don't feel... real."
Monica glanced over at him, studying his face for a moment. "Why don't you think they feel real?"
Finn hesitated. This was the part he always avoided talking about. The self-doubt, the nagging voice in his head telling him he wasn't good enough. But Monica wasn't asking to dig deep into his personal struggles. She was genuinely curious.
"I don't know," Finn finally said, shrugging. "I guess I've just never been good at seeing things the way other people do. I look at my work, and all I see are the mistakes."
Monica was silent for a moment, her eyes softening as she considered his words. "Maybe that's your problem. You're so focused on the mistakes that you can't see the picture you're actually making."
Finn stared at her, feeling a little surprised. He hadn't expected her to understand. After all, she had never shown any interest in his art before.
"I guess," he murmured, "but it's hard to stop thinking that way. I've always been like this."
Monica didn't respond immediately. She just gave him a small, almost sympathetic smile. "I think you need to stop doubting yourself. No one's perfect, Finn. Not even the best artists."
Finn let out a quiet laugh. "You really think I'm any good?"
Monica's smile widened slightly. "I think you could be. If you stop putting limits on yourself."
The words hung in the air between them, and for a brief moment, Finn felt something shift. It wasn't love or affection-it was just a sense of recognition, like someone finally understood him in a way no one else had.
---
Later That Evening
Finn didn't go straight home after school. He stayed behind in the art room, working on his project. Monica was still there, but she was focused on her own piece, not paying too much attention to him.
As the hours passed, the two of them worked side by side in relative silence, the occasional sound of brushes against canvas or the scrape of a pencil the only noise in the room. Finn felt a strange sense of peace. For once, he wasn't thinking about his own doubts or fears. He was just drawing.
It was the first time in a long time that he didn't feel the need to hide. Monica's curiosity had given him a strange sense of permission-to be himself, to embrace his art without holding back. He wasn't trying to impress anyone. He was just creating, and it felt... good.
When they finally finished for the day, Monica looked over at Finn's work. "It looks good," she said, her tone more neutral than encouraging.
"Thanks," Finn replied, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. "You know, this is the first time I've really enjoyed working on an art project in a long time."
Monica looked at him curiously. "You don't enjoy art?"
Finn hesitated before answering. "I do, but... sometimes I just feel like I'm not good enough. Like everything I make isn't worth showing."
Monica didn't say anything for a long time. She just watched him, her expression unreadable. Then, with a shrug, she said, "You know, I think you're too hard on yourself."
Finn didn't have the words to respond. He wasn't used to hearing people say things like that to him. But for the first time, he felt like it might be true.
As they packed up their things and left the art room, Monica didn't linger to say goodbye. She was her usual self-casual, indifferent, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But for Finn, the encounter had meant something more. It wasn't love. It wasn't anything romantic. It was just... curiosity. A recognition of his art, his skills, and a glimpse of something he had long buried inside himself.