[color=darkgray][right][sub]Timestamp: Between 7:00am and 7:30am
Location: BHHS Art Room ➜ Homeroom
Starring: [color=9182D9]Tatum Sterling[/color]
[/sub][/right][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/sQ2Z4G6.png[/img][/center][indent]The [url=https://penland.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/painting-1024x683.jpg]art room[/url] was hidden in the east wing of Beverly Hills High School, nestled away from the hustle and bustle of the main corridor. It was a secluded sanctuary for all who ventured there, tucked into the far end of the ground floor past the hum of everyday academic life. The walls were adorned with splashes of color, a tapestry of eclectic work from past and present students, and tall, wide windows filled the studio with natural exposure. Paintbrushes stood poised in jars, waiting to bring blank canvases to life and the scent of paint hung in the air, endless tubes of acrylics strewn across the brown paper covered benches. 

Mornings were Tatum’s favorite time to be in the studio, specifically when the rays of early light from the sunrise streamed in, illuminating the space in warm hues of yellow and orange. It also never hurt to have the room to herself so she could work in peace, most students not willing to wake up that early to make progress on their projects. The brunette sat pensively in front of her easel and canvas, her wavy hair held back from her eyes by a navy bandana. She gazed critically at her nearly completed [url=https://i.pinimg.com/564x/bf/41/63/bf4163b7b29a534ca18ae99bed231e03.jpg]painting[/url], nitpicking the smallest of details to ensure it was up to her high standards.

The piece showcased a girl’s reflection in a broken mirror. Painted fragments of glass covered the canvas, with different slivers of facial features scattered across the shards- lips, teeth, nose and freckled porcelain skin. Adding a few final brustrokes, Tate sighed, wiping her hands on her paint stained jeans. The girl looked deeply into the mirror she had positioned next to her station before turning it towards the wall, no longer needing the reference of her own face for the self portrait. She rarely made herself the subject of her paintings, preferring to choose her friends or family to base her work around. Recently though, she had been feeling some type of way, and she often found that the best way to cope and process was to look at her own inner turmoil from a creative lens.

In the simplest terms, it was an abstract depiction of the dilemma the teenager found herself in, but at its essence, the canvas detailed the fragmented nature of her identity and her struggle to reconcile external expectations with internal authenticity. She had always been torn between being the person her mother expected and told her to be and figuring out the person she truly wanted to be. It was a weight that was getting harder to bear each day. In her youth, it was easier to conform to the rigid standards imposed upon her, but as she approached adulthood it became much more challenging to control the dissonance between her perception of self and her actual reality. In the painting, she had utilized cooler toned shades- blues, teals, pinks, and taupes- to evoke the sense of detachment and melancholy she felt. 

The clicking of heels echoed on the linoleum tiles and bounced off of the walls of the empty room, indicating someone’s imminent approach. Tatum turned and made eye contact with [url=https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/michaelbaystransformers/images/0/09/Frances-mcdormand-1-768.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20170620200427]Mrs. Gibson[/url], the art teacher, offering her a warm smile. Mrs. Gibson was always polished and had a certain air of sophistication about her. Maybe it was the many years she had spent out east as an art curator for some of the top galleries in Manhattan that informed her poise. She held herself with pride, each step strong and deliberate.

[color=9182D9]“Morning, Mrs. Gibson,”[/color] Tate chimed, setting down her paintbrush on her palette, [color=9182D9]“Thanks for lending me the studio keys again so I could come in before homeroom,”[/color] The brunette reached down to open her backpack and fished around until she found the keychain that she was looking for, [color=9182D9]“I really appreciate it.”[/color] She expressed, extending her arm out to return it to the older woman. 

Shaking her head, Mrs. Gibson motioned for Tatum to take back her outstretched hand. [color=DBFCFF]“Please hold onto them, I insist.”[/color] She stated, [color=DBFCFF]“I had an extra set made so you could keep those, I’m not sure why I didn’t do it sooner given how often we do this dance.”[/color] The woman leaned up against one of the benches, eyes drifting towards the canvas propped on the easel.

[color=9182D9]“Are you sure? I couldn’t take these… besides, I’m sure the administration would freak out if they knew a student had the keys to a classroom.”[/color] The voice of reason in Tatum’s head (and the avid rule follower in her) sounded an alarm, the girl letting those thoughts become words that fell from her lips. 

[color=DBFCFF]“Ms. Sterling, you are one of the most promising students to come through my studio in years. Nothing would bring me more happiness than to grant you the ability to come and go as you pleased. How else will you continue to hone your craft?”[/color] Mrs. Gibson affirmed before moving closer to inspect the painting more intentionally, [color=DBFCFF]“You’ve outdone yourself with this one, Tatum, it’s exquisite. Any specific meaning behind it?”[/color]

[color=9182D9]“It’s uh…”[/color] The brunette started, attempting to find the right words, unsure of how to explain the innermost workings of her psyche. [color=9182D9]“It’s personal, but I guess I could summarize-”[/color]

[color=DBFCFF]“No, no, dear. That’s quite alright.”[/color] The older woman could sense Tatum’s unease and dropped the question all together. With a sigh, Mrs. Gibson clasped her hands together behind her back, [color=DBFCFF]“Art is, in my opinion, a therapeutic outlet. I only hope that you were able to find some resolve for whatever this piece was based on.”[/color] 

Tatum cocked her head, looking at the painting, and then back to her teacher. [color=9182D9]“I think so, at least momentarily.”[/color] She replied, not sure if that was true, or just something she was saying to deviate the subject. Hoping for a reprieve, the girl tapped her phone to check the time, realizing she should probably start heading to class. Quickly and efficiently, she brought her brushes and palette over to the sink to rinse them off for the next student to use. [color=9182D9]“I better get going, the bell is going to ring in a few minutes and the last thing I need is Ms. Honeycutt to write me up again.”[/color] 

The brunette gathered her belongings before shifting the easel back towards the wall so no one would bump into it. [color=9182D9]“Thank you again, I’ll be back later. Between you and me, I might ditch the pep rally.”[/color] She laughed, [color=9182D9]“I’m not really the school spirit type, as you could probably guess.”[/color] Tate motioned to her lack of red and black clothes, not one to dress in theme like some of her peers.

Mrs. Gibson chuckled, but nodded, [color=DBFCFF]“Quite alright, but you might surprise yourself, maybe this year will be the year you find a reason to join in on the fun.”[/color] 

[color=9182D9]“Doubtful, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”[/color] The teenager smirked, turning on her heel and heading for the door. She wondered if that was possible, but shook off the notion and just took it as wishful thinking.

[color=DBFCFF]“And Tatum,”[/color] Mrs. Gibson called after the brunette, the girl stopping in her tracks and spinning around to face her, [color=DBFCFF]“I trust you and I know you’re responsible, so I know you wouldn’t do such a thing, but please don’t let anyone else use those keys. I shouldn’t need to say it, but you know that some students would abuse that kind of privilege.”[/color]

Tatum nodded sharply, understanding completely. [color=9182D9]“Of course, you have nothing to worry about Mrs. G.”[/color] The girl reassured her teacher before continuing out of the art room and towards her homeroom. She bobbed and weaved her own path through the busy hallways, giving most of her peers a wide berth and staying out of the way of more bold personalities. 

Within minutes she had arrived at Mr. Phoenix’s room, the clock reading 7:27am. She was on time without being the first one there, just how she liked it. Tatum took her usual seat on the left side, closest to the window; she tended to avoid the back of the class as well as the front, preferring to sit in the middle where eyes didn’t tend to linger. Getting situated, she reached down into her bag and grabbed her sketchbook and pencils, opening to a fresh page and beginning to draw whatever next crossed her mind.
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