Chapter 7: Chapter 1

“You have to come to this party, otherwise you’re not getting into this frat,” David spoke while he carefully stroked oil paints onto his canvas. 

“I don’t get how going to a party decides whether I’m accepted into a fraternity or not,” I responded while mixing my acrylics with a simple pallet knife. “I put in my application and talked with the head.”

“The head isn’t the only one that decides Cameron.” I noticed David exhaled and lowered his brush. “The entire group decides these things, it’s what groups do.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my finest paint brush at my right. I dipped the gentle hairs into my purple paint and began detailing the background of my midnight forest painting. 

“Some days, I regret college,” I muttered. 

“I know dude,” David sighed in agreement. “But it is what it is, we gotta do it in order to get scholarships to pay our dues.”

“Art degrees don’t even go that far realistically.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Parents.”

“So? It’s your life, do what you want to do man.”

“Not that easy dude,” I said and leaned back. 

Sometimes, staring too close at your artwork becomes a problem with detail and appearance. The viewer won’t be too close to the artwork as the artist is during the making. As long as it looks well from afar, it’s good enough for me. I scooch my stool back in the studio room. It echoed loudly, but David and I were the only ones here at ten at night on a Sunday. 

I note that my shade of purple was too dark for the night horizon since the moon was close enough to light the area. I then grab some light blue and add it to the shade of purple, as opposed to white which would be too harsh of a light color. 

“Looks like shit dude,” David laughed as he admired my painting.

“Thanks,” I return coldly and shake my head. 

“What are you bringing to the party?”

“Myself?”

“You can’t just show up to a party with nothing dude, you have to make an impression.”

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“Maybe I’ll stop by the grocery store and bring some cookies or soda.”

“Typical.”

“The hell are you bringing?”

“I got an uncle that’s gonna get me some beers to bring to the party.”

“Liquor at eighteen, really?”

“Fuck yeah dude!”

“You’re gonna get kicked out.”

“Of what? It’s a fraternity, they’re always chugging kegs and -”
“It’s an art based fraternity,” I objected and faced David. He was sounding ridiculous.

“Frats are frats dude. Just because they’re all art based dudes doesn’t mean they don’t like to party. If anything, you’re the odd one out of them all.”

I fell silent and focused on my painting. David did the same.

I finished my work before midnight, when the art studio closed for the day. I set all my supplies down at the entrance of my dorm room. It’s one of the smallest rooms on the floor as it’s a one person room they reserve for those who can apply fast enough and qualify. I’m one of those people. No way was I sharing a space with some stranger or friend. Luckily for me, at the right of my entrance is a bathroom I have to myself. I would say it's worth having a private bathroom and small room that can only fit one mattress, a desk, and a large dresser. It’s enough for me. 

I take maybe five steps in before I reach my lofted bed. I climb up into it and look out the window to my right. I sighed as stress released through my bloodstream. It’s only been a few months since college started and already it was too much for me to handle. David already gives me enough shit for being stressed over nothing, I have to hold all my worries back and look strong to him too.

I pull out my iPhone and glance over my art pieces for my studio art class, one of the requirements to take first year before I get into my actual profession which is graphic design. My professor told the class that the final was going to be a full set portfolio we do outside of our homework assignments, and that we have the entire semester to work on it. 

I frowned over each homework assignment that has been graded with low B’s and close to C’s. My professor left notes on my online posts commenting that my pieces were very simple, there was no character to them, no personal story. They said the art itself was skillful, but the meaning behind them was dull. I guess I can’t blame him as I learned how to paint from good old Bob Ross. All of my paintings I do are from my camera roll from the walks I’ve taken or the few vacations I’ve had with my parents. I guess that’s not personal enough…

My professor arranged a meeting with me this upcoming Tuesday with me to go over things, especially the final portfolio in which I haven’t started. I guess that’s a good thing. 

I tuck myself under my weighted blanket and face the window. I begin scrolling through my social media for the night before sleeping. I had a long week ahead of me.

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