The art room at Westview High was tucked away behind the auditorium, smelling faintly of turpentine and dust—a forgotten corner where students with messy hands and loud imaginations came to breathe.
Vale sat alone at the last table, sketchpad open, pencil moving quietly across the page.
She didn't draw people. Not really. Faces were too dangerous, too telling.Today, it was a car—sleek, sharp, mid-drift across an invisible track. The graphite captured its speed. Its rebellion. Its freedom.
"You're going to smudge it if you lean in like that," a voice said behind her.
Vale didn't jump. She rarely did.She turned her head slightly, expecting Hanisha.
But it was Mr. Williams, the only teacher who knew she actually liked being here.
"I'm careful," she said softly.
"You're hiding," he replied just as softly, folding his arms. "Again."
Vale gave him a look. "That's a bold accusation."
He smiled. "A practiced one. You're not listed in my class this semester. But you keep showing up during your free period."
"I like the silence."
"I like the art," he said, glancing at the sketch. "You still haven't submitted a single piece for the senior portfolio."
"I told you. It's just a hobby."
Mr. Williams nodded, but not like he believed her. "When you're ready to stop pretending it's not a part of you, I'll be here."
And with that, he walked away.
Vale stared at the door after him for a long second before returning to the lines on her page. Her grip had tightened without her noticing.
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Later, as lunch swirled into noisy chaos in the open courtyard, Vale picked at her salad while Hanisha scrolled through her feed.
"Guess who's already made it to Kaley's story," Hanisha said, turning her screen. "Kian Adams. Two hours in and he's already circled by drama queens."
Vale didn't even look up. "That was fast."
"Did you ever meet him? Like… when you were younger?"
Vale hesitated. "Once. At some ridiculous garden party. I was ten. He was rude."
"Some things never change."
Vale gave a faint smile and let her gaze wander across the courtyard. Kian sat at a table near the fountain, Kaley tossing her hair beside him, Stella giggling, Victoria smirking. He looked unimpressed by all of them.
Then, for the briefest moment, his eyes flicked up and met hers.
She didn't look away.
Not immediately.
---------------------------------------------------
After school, Vale didn't go home.
She never went straight home.
Instead, she walked two blocks past her driver's usual pickup spot, turned the corner by the coffee shop no one cool went to, and slipped through the side door of a locked garage. She keyed in a code. The door rumbled open.
Inside: concrete, tools, grease, and her Mustang.
She exhaled, tension sliding off her shoulders like a coat she didn't want to wear anymore.
She opened the hood and ran her fingers across the engine.
Here, she wasn't Vale Black.She was just Vale.And she belonged.