Chapter 10

Another Wednesday graced Grimstone Institute, a day eagerly anticipated by Dolores. Not just because it was a hump day, but because it meant another session in the vibrant world of art class. Relief filled her as she hadn't caught a glimpse of Axel since the previous week. Maybe, just maybe, the suspension rumors were true, a thought that brought a flicker of satisfaction. After all, his actions deserved some form of consequence. Besides, their separate wings – senior and junior – meant their paths wouldn't cross naturally.

The viral video, thankfully, had faded from the forefront of everyone's minds. Deleted and seemingly forgotten, it no longer subjected Dolores to curious stares or snickers. Her history project with Emmeline and Imogen was progressing well, with a new set of ideas burning a hole in her pocket. The library, their usual meeting spot on non-history days, beckoned, promising productive collaboration and lively discussions.

Dolores rummaged through her locker, her fingers brushing against the familiar smooth pages of the school rulebook and the crisp cover of her sketchbook. Art class called, and with a practiced swing, she slammed the locker shut-

Ahh!

A startled yelp tore from her throat as her heart lurched into overdrive. Her blood ran cold as her eyes landed on the figure leaning nonchalantly next to the locker beside hers. Axel. A smirk danced on his infuriatingly handsome face, a lollipop stick poking out from the corner of his mouth.

The air crackled with a sudden tension, thick and suffocating. Dolores gaped at him, momentarily speechless. What was he doing here? Didn't suspension exist in Grimstone's vocabulary, especially for students like him? Panic clawed at her throat, threatening to choke her. She had hoped to avoid him entirely, to spend the rest of her time in Grimstone in peaceful oblivion. Instead, he stood before her, an unwelcome reminder of the humiliation he'd inflicted. His smirk widened, tinged with a hint of amusement at her obvious shock.

"Torres," Axel drawled, his voice laced with mock concern, "I thought you'd spend an eternity admiring your locker. You seem pretty captivated by it."

Dolores tore her gaze away from his infuriatingly blue-gray eyes, the color that seemed to hold a glint of mischief – or worse, something akin to satisfaction. A quick scan of the hallway confirmed her worst fears. Several students, their faces filled with a mix of curiosity and amusement, had stopped to witness their exchange. The last thing she needed was more attention, more whispers and speculation. With a defeated sigh, she mumbled, "Look, Axel, I don't want trouble. Today's been good so far, and I'd like to keep it that way."

Axel's lips twitched into a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. He feigned a look of wounded innocence, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. "Oh," he whined, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you wound me. Here I thought we were having a moment of connection, and you...accuse me of being a troublemaker?"

Dolores gritted her teeth. 'You are!' she silently screamed in her mind, the words burning on the tip of her tongue but dying there. The power dynamic was clear – he was a wealthy brat, she a lowly orphan. Public confrontation wouldn't solve anything; it would only escalate the situation.

Axel's gaze dropped to her nose, the bandage barely noticeable compared to the angry redness of the previous day. He raised an eyebrow, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "Looking a bit better there, Nosebleed," he commented, his voice devoid of any genuine concern." Shame it had to happen in such an…unfortunate way."

Dolores' temper flared. The nerve of him! Here he was, mocking her injury, the very injury he'd caused. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Should she unleash a fiery retort? Should she march straight to the principal's office and demand action? But a voice of reason, honed by years of navigating difficult situations, held her back. An outburst wouldn't solve anything. In fact, it might just play into his hands.

Taking a deep breath, Dolores tried a different tactic. "Look, Axel," she said, her voice calm and measured, "what happened between us, it's done. Let's just move on, okay?"

" What'd you got there, Newbie?"

A booming voice echoed said behind her, shattering the tense standoff betwee Dolores and Axel. Dolores whipped around, she recognized the familiar sandy brown hair and easy grin of Elijah Croft. Beside him stood Malachi Thayer, she'd learned about them from Nadia and Chloe.

Great, Axel's entourage.

Elijah's gaze landed on the sketchbook clutched in Dolores' hand, the inscription on the front momentarily catching his eye. "Dolores Torres, huh? Sounds fancy. Can I call you DeeT?" He flashed her a goofy grin, his usual charm on full display.

She stole a glance at Axel, his face now a mask of studied indifference.

Dolores shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny. Trapped between Axel's arrogance and Elijah's unwelcome attention, she felt a surge of claustrophobia. Regaining her composure, she forced her voice into a semblance of normalcy.

"Excuse me," she said politely but firmly. "I'm actually running a bit late for art class." She gestured towards the end of the hallway with a pointed look.

Just as Dolores began to weave past them, Elijah darted out a hand, snatching her sketchbook with lightning speed. He held it aloft, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Dolores' heart lurched into her throat. Panic surged through her as she lunged for the precious book, her shorter stature putting her at a disadvantage.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with a mixture of anger and desperation. "Give that back!"

Elijah held the sketchbook just out of reach, his laughter echoing in the hallway. "Whoa there, DeeT," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. "Let's see what artistic wonders you've been hiding in here."

Dolores glared at him, her frustration reaching a boiling point. She darted a quick glance at Axel, his smirk now replaced by a look of veiled amusement. This was exactly the kind of chaos he thrived on, and here she was, playing right into his hands.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her posture and met Elijah's gaze head-on. "That's none of your business, give it back" she said, her voice surprisingly firm. "And if you don't," she continued, tilting her head to stare at Axel, "I'll report you to the dean. Harassment and bullying are strictly prohibited at Grimstone, you know."

Axel smirk faltered for a moment, just when Dolores thought she got the upper hand, Axel spoke,

"Oh, I'm shaking in my boots." He said sarcastically his smirk returning "Please, be my guest and try to get me in trouble. I dare you."

Dolores' lips trembled, the retort she wanted to fire back dying in her throat. Her body tensed, a statue frozen in frustration. Axel's mocking smile felt like a branding iron, searing into her already frayed nerves.

Axel, in a voice dripping with feigned concern, spoke to Elijah. "Alright, alright," he drawled, "give it back before you make the Newbie cry. We wouldn't want that, would we?"

Dolores shot Axel a withering glare, her anger momentarily overshadowed by his manipulative act. He was toying with her, playing the hero while secretly enjoying her discomfort. Disgust churned in her stomach.

Ignoring Dolores' glare, Axel held out his hand to Elijah. Without a word, Elijah tossed the sketchbook towards him. Axel caught it easily, flipping through the pages with a practiced nonchalance. Her artwork, her private thoughts, all laid bare for his mocking eyes.

A shiver ran down Dolores' spine. She hated the feeling of vulnerability, of her personal space being invaded.

With a cruel smile that sent shivers down her spine, Axel shut the sketchbook and placed it back on top of her pile of books. "There you go, Newbie," he purred. "All safe and sound."

He smiled at her, a gesture devoid of any warmth, before turning on his heel and sauntering away. His entourage followed suit, leaving Dolores alone in the hallway, the weight of their stares feeling like a physical presence.

The bell announcing the start of class jolted Dolores from her thoughts. She hurried through the remaining stretch of hallway, the encounter with Axel and his posse leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Bursting into the art room, she found herself breathless and flustered.

The young female teacher, Ms. Ethans, didn't even bat an eyelid. Dolores mumbled a quick apology, receiving a curt nod in response. Slinking into the last available seat, she settled onto a stool in front of a pristine white canvas. A half-eaten apple sat on a table beside it, bathed in the warm glow of the overhead lights.

Dolores grabbed a brush, its smooth feel offering some comfort amidst the chaos in her head. Ms. Ethans had instructed them to create a still life painting of the apple, focusing on capturing its texture and form. Yet, Dolores found her hand hovering in the air, the brush a leaden weight in her grasp.

Her mind replayed the scene in the hallway, Axel's taunts echoing in her ears.

A sigh escaped her lips as she glanced around the room. Only ten other students had chosen art as an elective, a mix of freshers, sophomores, juniors, and even a lone senior. Dolores recognized Ivan, across the room, a shock of copper hair caught her attention. Ivan sat hunched over his canvas, a deep furrow etched between his brows. Unlike his flamboyant sister, Ivan was quiet, brooding, and always handsome. His ginger eyes held a depth of emotion that intrigued Dolores. He glanced up briefly, his gaze locking with hers for a fleeting moment before returning to his work.

Ms. Ethans' high-heeled stilettos clicked a rhythmic counterpoint to the soft swish of brushes against canvas. Her fiery red hair seemed to emanate its own vibrant energy as she weaved between the easels, her keen eyes taking in the budding artwork of her students.

"Excellent perspective, Sarah," she chirped, stopping beside a young woman diligently capturing the apple's rounded form. "Don't be afraid to experiment with the shadows, let the darker hues dance alongside the highlights." Sarah, a nervous smile gracing her lips, nodded eagerly, her brushstrokes becoming more confident.

Ms. Ethans moved on, her gaze lingering on a canvas where a student had adopted a more abstract approach. Swirls of crimson and ochre hinted at the apple's form, a bold interpretation that elicited a thoughtful hum from the teacher. " You've captured the vibrancy of the apple beautifully. However, don't be afraid to experiment with textures. The apple isn't just smooth skin; it has a subtle roughness, a whisper of texture that your brush can translate."

Reaching Ivan's easel, Ms. Ethans paused, a look of genuine admiration etching itself onto her features. Ivan, ever the silent observer, remained focused on his work, his brow furrowed in concentration. Unlike the others who had opted to depict the apple in its entirety, Ivan's canvas showcased a different perspective. He had chosen to capture the half-eaten apple, its core exposed, a single bite revealing the juicy flesh within. The interplay of light and shadow on the bitten surface was masterful, a testament to Ivan's keen eye and skilled brushwork.

"Ivan," Ms. Ethans purred, her voice filled with a hint of awe, "this is phenomenal. You've captured the essence of the subject, its beauty and its vulnerability. Have you considered participating in the Founder's Day art exhibition?"

Ivan remained silent, his gaze unwavering as it traced the contours of his creation. Finally, after a long beat of silence, he muttered a barely audible, "Maybe."

Ms. Ethans chuckled softly. "Maybe should turn into definitely. Your piece would be a standout among the entries. Let me know, alright?" With a final encouraging pat on his shoulder, she continued her rounds.

A prickle of unease ran down Dolores' spine as Ms. Ethans' presence loomed behind her. She continued painting, her brushstrokes hesitant despite the newfound confidence she'd felt moments ago. The teacher's silence was somehow more unnerving than any criticism.

Suddenly, a voice whispered in the back of Dolores' mind, soft yet distinct. "The new student appears to be good," it said, the voice was Ms. Evans', tinged with amusement.

A smile formed on Dolores' face because of the conpliment. She whipped around, her gaze darting towards Ms. Evans. Ms. Ethans was simply gazing at Dolores' painting, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"Perhaps a little red is in order," Ms. Ethans' voice echoed in Dolores' mind again, the amusement replaced by a hint of suggestion.

Dolores' breath hitched. Ms. Ethans didn't move her lips.

Noticing Dolores' sudden distress, Ms. Ethans finally reached out, her touch gentle on Dolores' shoulder. "Is everything alright, Ms. Torres?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Dolores stared at the teacher, her mind a whirlwind of confusion. Was the stress of the day catching up on her

Taking a deep breath, Dolores forced a smile. "Yes, Ms. Ethans," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "Just... lost in thought."

A single, confident stroke of red arced across the canvas, a symbol not of decay, but of life's enduring resilience. The apple, once a solitary figure, now pulsed with a vibrant energy, a testament to the strength that bloomed even in the face of the unknown. Dolores continued painting, the voice in her head fading into the background as she poured her emotions onto the canvas.