Seventh period.

Art.

I've tried to take on from my mom's painting skills.

I've done okay(ish).

I painted a blue sky today.

Nobody commented on it except for the teacher who stated plainly; "Very nice".

Amateurs.

Everyone else might as well be painting bowls of fruit.

Then something strange happened.

Not strange like; Emily got her period right in the middle of painting a deformed horse and had to run out when I told her it had sept through her gray sweats.

No, not like that (though it did happen).

No. A boy next to me who always wears this baseball cap glances over at my painting. (What Brett looks like is above). 

Then he looks at me.

I look at his painting of flowers (actually really good).

Then at him. 

He smiles at me.

And I smile back.

I hold out my hand for him to shake, which is covered in blue and white paint and he shakes it with his green, orange, and pink splattered hand.

"I'm Felicity, Felicity Sparrow" I say.

"Hey, I'm Brett. Brett Dawson," he says.

"Nice to meet you, I really like your painting," I blush.

"Thanks. You as well. To, um, meeting you, and I think your painting is super cool".

"My mom was an artist when we lived in LA".

"Really? Where do you live now"?

"It's known to be referred to as the Demon house".

"Wow. I thought nobody lived there. Guess I was wrong".

I'm taken aback by his reaction; "Woah, you're taking this way cooler than I thought you would".

"Let's just say, I have a way with taking shocking news surprisingly well, included with no obvious signs of reaction".

We both laugh.

Just then the bell rings, signaling the end of the school day, and the start of the weekend.

I pack up my stuff, scrawling my signature at the bottom right corner of my painting, and shoulder my backpack, as I head over to the door.

"Wait!" I hear a voice call from behind me.

I turn around to see Brett standing next to the easel nearest to the door, holding a piece of notebook paper in his left hand.

"Yeah?" I ask, flipping my hair over my shoulder.

"I wanted to give you this," he says, grinning.

"What is it?" I ask, taking the piece of paper neatly folded in squares from his hand.

Our fingers touch for a millisecond, and I feel a jolt of electricity go through my arm as I pull my hand away.

"Don't open it until you get back home. Or, to the Demon house," he says, winking.

"Okay," I say, unsure of what else to reply with.

"See you on Monday, Fee," he says and walks out the door.

I press the paper to my chest.

He called me Fee.

*Fifteen minutes after I leave school*...

I lay down on my bed and hold the paper in front of my face.

Slowly, I unfold it.

And what's inside makes me smile from ear to ear.