The choice is yours, Nick. Be safe or don't.

His remark had wandered aimlessly throughout my mind until I fell asleep last night and once again when I awoke this morning. I loathed that he had a point but I was more pissed with myself because as soon as he left my sight, I marched straight to Target and bought the stupid pepper spray.

Who does he think he is?

Who was I kidding, he knew exactly who he was that much was certain. The sexy dorm mate who turned out to be an elaborately arranged marriage brought to you by none other than our mothers. It was a stupid question but it had been on my mind ever since he walked away from me on the street. His handsome arrogant face seared into my every waking thought.

That was three days ago and we hadn't spoken since then.

The first day I felt immense relief when I returned to an empty room, thankful no awkward conversation was necessary. The second night seemed almost natural. He had been asleep by the time I got in and yes, I planned it that way.

Night three? Words couldn't even begin to describe the level of uncomfortable night three brought upon us.

We sat in the room, not talking, pretending the other didn't exist.

No, "How are you liking school?" or "Can your mom send us some real oranges?" Nothing. I wanted to hide in our neighbor's room and forget I even had a roommate. Instead, I ended up hiding inside my sketch pad the entire evening. At least I finished my latest project.

I was officially stumped when it came to Clark. One minute he was relaxed and playful then he would unexpectedly change. It was as if two people fought for dominance inside him which was a bit unnerving.

Dear Lord! Is he the campus lunatic?

The thought was obscure and as far as I was convinced inaccurate. Despite being a very hot and chill type of guy, I couldn't imagine Clark hurting me. If I believed anything it was that.

My feet came to a stop just outside the Fine Arts Building. Under no circumstances did I want to give my tribe the same vibe I'd given my biology class. Hot mess Nick would be snuffed out because I wasn't that person. I knew what I wanted out of life and where I was going. Hell, my goals hadn't changed since I was fifteen years old. Attending college wasn't part of the future I'd envisioned for myself, though it had always been my mother's. In retrospect, it all made perfect sense now.

Great, now I'm angry about something else...

A few deep breaths later I forced myself into the building and down to classroom 1102.

Easels greeted me, along with about a dozen students as I stepped over the classroom threshold. They chatted quietly amongst themselves in small groups of three or four. Well, most of them did. There were a select few that had purposely sat in the seats placed away from the talkative ones.

At last, my tribe!

I didn't want to be the intrusive kind but it was either that or be friends with the PEP Club. So, without making eye contact I chose an easel next to a girl that looked to be of Asian descent on the far side of the room. Or at least that's what I thought. I wasn't very good at guessing people's ethnicity. Her glossy black hair was knotted tightly atop her head, which was bent down in a trance-like concentration.

Her hand worked quickly over the sketch pad she had balanced on her knee. I had only meant to glance at her work but as each stroke added to her drawing, my eyes refused to look away. Soon I found myself next to her watching, as she brought to life a large fish in a mass of swirling waters.

It had an elegant, almost feminine touch to it, something my work lacked even though we both used the same medium. There were no harsh lines or angles in her work. The fish seem to flow with the water almost as if she had been observing the fish as she drew. The drawing was absolutely stunning.

"Are you going to shade it in?" I asked, my internal voice slipping through my filter.

"Shading would just degrade it. The final piece will be in watercolor, no pencil needed. This is a rough draft at best."

Her response was precise, just like her whole appearance. For an artist like myself, it put me on guard. I primarily worked in grayscale so naturally, all my work was shaded. Portrait and street art were my jam. Our styles were polar opposites.

The girl looked up at me from her pad and deep brown eyes peered up into my own. For several seconds we stared at each other before she broke our eye contact to flip through her sketch pad.

"Watercolors are what I do," She explained flippantly. "They allow you to take a previously harsh image and morph it into something elegant."

She stopped on a page of her book, one with an image of a lily, and handed me the book. Much like the fish she had been sketching, it seemed fluid-like, despite the subject not being liquid. As I took the book she pulled out her phone, swiped a few times, and held it up.

There on the phone screen, the original version vibrated with brilliant pinks and greens. The image had to be a high-definition one with how clean and crisp it looked. My eyes fell from the screen to her pad and it was exactly as she explained. The colors in her painting were soft, fluid, and dainty, unlike the picture where every angle seemed jagged, each color too bright to be genuine. It assaulted my vision when placed next to her interpretation.

Once again I felt inadequate. My work couldn't compete.

"It's gorgeous."

The girl snorted as she took her sketchpad back.

"I bet it pales in comparison to yours." She scoffed with a slight eye roll.

She shoved her drawing book into her bag before extending her hand to motion for my own book. Without hesitation, I swung my bag around to my front to pull it out.

"It's just a bunch of portraits and streets," I warned with a small shrug. "No color. All pencil or ink."

The girl flipped through my notebook quietly, her hands pausing on almost every page. I could feel my pulse shoot through my veins as my heart hammered under my rib cage. For some reason, I wanted her to like my work and was nervous she wouldn't.

Her eyes darted from a drawing in my sketchbook to my arm and then back a few times.

"You tattooed your own work on your body?"

I chuckled sheepishly and nodded. "Yeah, I figured what better way to advertise myself," I admitted with a small gesture towards my forearm.

She nodded while her eyes scanned my original drawing once more.

"Wicked cool," She mumbled before she continued to study my sketches.

Wicked cool?

The phrase seemed odd coming from her lips like she shouldn't use the word cool let alone wicked. On the outside, she seemed poised and well-read. Certainly, she had a larger vocabulary to draw from.

"I'm Kas," She said offering my pad back to me.

"Nick." I smiled.

Kas did a head-bob in acknowledgment once again. "Edgy."

I slipped my sketchbook back into my bag and took the seat next to her.

"Well, when your mother names you Nicollet you don't have many options."

Kas laughed loudly, drawing attention to the place we sat.

"I suppose that's true. So you're a tattoo artist?" She asked with an intrigued tone now in her voice.

I shrugged rather than nodding. I wanted to be but no one trusted an eighteen-year-old old enough to let them permanently mark their body. With more knowledge and a wider talent range, I knew that would change. For now, though, I would waste away at college biding my time.

"Aspiring," I sighed in defeat.

Kas nodded her eyes a shade lighter now.

"You'll get there. Probably make it bigger than most of us here."

I couldn't help but smile at her kind words. My dad was the closest thing I had to a cheerleader and even then he never expressed being thrilled with my dreams. It was far better than my mother though, all I heard from her was how illogical and sketchy it was. She wanted me to get a 'proper' education and a 'respectable' career.

Jokes on her.

"I want to be better, more flexible. I could never paint the way you do. I have next to no talent or experience with color. Not exactly the best thing to put on a tattoo artist resume," I laughed.

Kas smiled and her eyes glittered with excitement.

"I like you, Nick. You're my kind of girl. How about we make a deal?"

I raised a single eyebrow with curiosity. She too seemed like the type of person I could spend time around. Truth be told I could use a friend on campus, especially if I needed to avoid Clark for the next four years. "Continue."

Kas squared her shoulders before she spoke.

"I'll help you learn the art of watercolor if you help me piss my mother off by designing me a tattoo and tattooing it on me."

She really was my type of girl!

I stuck my hand out to shake hers.

It didn't matter what she wanted or that it was a lot of pressure on my end. It didn't even matter the amount of exposure I'd get from it. no, there was only one reason I stuck out my hand and agreed to her proposal.

"You had me at piss your mom off," I smiled.

Kas returned my smile as she shook my hand firmly.

"Nick this is the start of a beautiful partnership."

I shook her hand and offered a nod. "I couldn't agree more."

You know that moment when you realize your main character needs a friend because they talk to themselves too much?

No? 😅

Question for the Chapter:

Be honest, what is the funniest conversation you've had with yourself?