[You Got My Soul]

11°

» "i'll be yo' muse, bring your easel and pencils, too..."

[one week later]

School;

With the school year coming to a close, finals, graduation and plans for the future were the main talk of the halls.

As Paris sat in her first period art class, she couldn't help but ponder on the future. She thought about what Bryson told her about the 'what if's.

It was ok that he didn't know what he wanted to do, it would ok if she changed her mind about a journalist and decided to do something else.

Paris thought about how well his words played into how she felt about him. As much as it was tempting; that was just a 'what if' she couldn't risk.

"Hello, my artists." Her teacher said once the bell had rang and everyone was in their seats.

"Today, we are going to talk about... wait for it, finals." He announced with a wild smile. Paris intensively rolled her eyes at the word.

"Now, as I told you earlier this semester, you will indeed have a final for me. Good news: it's extremely simple and it allows you to be as creative and free as you would like."

Paris sat up in her chair and listened carefully.

"You are allowed to draw, paint, sculpt, anything on Earth that you are passionate about. I am leaving that door completely open. Of course, I have minor specifications which you'll see on the rubric, but for most part, it's completely up to you."

It seemed simple enough to Paris. She already had in mind what— more like who— she would draw.

"Sleeping in class is bad, Bryson." Mya laughed, playfully hitting his chest.

"What do you expect? You kept me up all night on the phone." He said as he took her hand into his.

"I kept you up? No, sir. It was definitely the other way around." She smirked.

The two had gone out on the previous Wednesday and really enjoyed each other. Since then, they'd just bonded through phone conversations that usually lasted until 3 in the morning.

They had surface level conversations, being that they were still getting to know each other— or maybe it was the fact that Paris was the only person Bryson let venture into his deepest thoughts.

Paris went to find Bryson at his locker but when she saw the two conversing, tried to walk away.

"Hey, Paris." Mya greeted from the a few yards away. Paris sighed and walked to Bryson's locker anyway, mad that she didn't move faster.

"Heeeyyy, Mya." She breathed through her teeth, "how's it going?"

"I'm great, thanks. And you?" Mya asked politely. Paris simply nodded and the atmosphere quickly turned awkward.

"Well, I'm going to try to get to class a little early, bye guys. I love your shirt, by the way Paris."

"Thanks." Paris gave her a small smile and waited for her to leave down the hall.

"You don't really like Mya very much, do you?" Bryson asked, looking down at her with suspicious in his eyes.

"Why would say that?" She asked with a small laugh leaving her lips.

"Because she's clearing trying to be friends with you and you're clearly not having it." He said, a bit amused.

"I don't need someone being friends with me because they're with you." She informed him.

"First of all, we're not together. We're just talking. And second, maybe she just genuinely likes you. I mean, I'm crazy about you." He shrugged.

Paris couldn't help but blush at his words. She rolled her eyes and kept her response simple, "Whatever, Bryson."

"Yea, whatever." He mimicked her and took a book out of his locker before closing it.

"Hey, do you want to do me a big favor?" She asked with hopeful eyes.

"What?" He asked giving her an unsure look.

"Help me with my final." She replied.

"Hell no." He said simply, shaking his head, "I'm not even helping me with my finals."

Paris broke out into laughter, " You don't even know what I want you to do, boy."

"What do you want me to do?" He asked as the halls started to clear out.

"Just come to my house after school and you'll see, ok?"

"...Alright." He said hesitantly. She happily squealed and they did their special handshake.

Following orders, Bryson walked home with Paris to help her with final. When they got to her house, they passed her slumber-some stepdad and went to her bedroom. 

"Can you tell me now?" Bryson asked impatiently. Paris held up a finger and ran to her closet, digging in the far back for something.

She appeared back into Bryson's view holding a folded easel and a big smile.

"I'm going to draw you." She finally told him, unfolding the easel and setting the paper on it correctly.

"Oh for real, like some titanic shit? I need to get naked?" He asked, playfully tugging at his shirt.

"No, thank. Attire is required, sir." She said, making him laugh.

"So what I gotta do?" He asked laying on her bed, chewing his bottom lip.

"Uh, you can pose how you want to, just know you're going to be in that position for a while and it's going to take a couple days." She told him. He nodded and thought for a second.

"How about just my face?" He asked.

"That's fine." She shrugged, holding her pencil in her head. He sat on the edge of her bed and made a face that he always makes.

"That's perfect." She laughed.

Paris took a deep breath and pressed her pencil to the paper, drawing the outline of his face.

"Can I draw you after this?" Bryson asked.

"Can you draw?" Paris replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Nah, but I think it's the thought that counts. What's your final, anyway? Draw a person?"

"Uh, yea. Something like that." Paris cleared her throat and began drawing his features.

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Thanks for all the responses, guys. I'll continue to update. Make sure you comment.