I shake my head trying to rid myself of such negative thoughts. I then hear the steady beat of R&B. I focus on the noises of my tenants under me. I scoot over to the side of the large bed. I then think maybe the platform of the bed was to prevent this very thing, spying on my neighbors.

Not that I even am, they�re makin� enough noise downstairs that I don�t even need to stick my ear to the floor�which I wouldn�t do of course. As I realize there really isn�t anything interesting to hear I lay back on my back. I yawn and plan my schedule for tomorrow.

I have orientation tomorrow at ten. I�m excited, really excited. Not scared at all. Well�

My thoughts are quickly swiped when I hear the laughter exit the room downstairs with a thud; I assume the door prejected the thud. I turn to my side again and listen being that I still hear commotion. I then hear a distinct shrill of a girls giggle and then laughter from a male counterpart. She�s giggling seductively and I can hear as they move to another side of the room. I hear some inaudible conversation. I pounce off the bed and sit on my knees pressing my ear to the floor.

�Oh shut up you know you would too.�

Still not being able to hear well I look around the room for a tool of some sort. My smile widens as I find even better. I quickly move to the vent on the side of my in table. I quite my breathing to hear what is going on. I hear silence and then�

"Stop, come on, not tonight, I�m too drunk to remember it."

She�s very quite but she says it loud enough that I can interpret it, no doubt her loudness is from her drunken state. I hear more mumbling from the male. Hearing so much about this guy, I�m surprised that this guy didn�t really resemble the description Byron gave me. Granted it was basically �good kid� but you know�

I hear her laugh. "Stop that."

Silence again�and movement. The silence draws on. No way�has she�did she? My thoughts are confirmed hearing her moan slightly. I laugh slightly at her self-control. Hearing the moaning getting loader I suddenly feel kinda dirty. I stand up from the vent and hop back in bed, shaking my head at myself. I can still hear the noises but at least now it�s not intentional. I suddenly realize how large this bed is, with only one occupant it feels a little too big, like I don�t belong in it, like single people like me have no right to sleep in it. I relish in my loneliness and close my eyes to block it out.

"Ohh Justin!"

My eyes shoot up at her sudden outburst of emotion. And then it registers�

Justin?


I wake up in the morning feeling completely invigorated. It�s a new day with all new possibilities. I try to ignore the events of last night, afraid that if I thought about it I might not stop. Pulling close out for the day I smile at the feeling of not having to put on that fucking outfit. I pull out a pair of boyfriend jeans and a plain T-shirt. Yeah I know, little old plain me.

I turn on the radio to 96.9 and begin to fix myself a cup a coffee. The light from the window illuminates through the window bringing light in the family room. My hair still wet from my shower�in MY shower, that was in MY bathroom, that was in MY house. Hurray for me!

I pour the coffee into my mug and sway to an oldie on the radio. Jane�s Addiction, one of my favorites. I move my hips in a confident matter, like I know what the fuck I�m doing. Sad to say, I have the moves, inherited by my mother, but never had the guts to show that she passed it on to me. I pull my hair into a sloppy ponytail and go to the bathroom to put on a light amount of makeup. I slip on some green converse my dad gave me. He said he wore those when he was twenty something, he said they made him feel professional but fun. *shakes head* That�s my dad.

I grab a black hoodie sweater and place it over my head as I grab my keys to my car. I push the button for the elevator to come up, as I begin to open the gate I realize I forgot my bag so I run in my room to get it. I grab it and just as I�m about to exit I hear that familiar female giggle. I close my eyes and put my head down smirking. I shake my head and head out to the elevator.



Driving to the school was an experience, let me tell ya. New York traffic is a bitch, another reason I won�t be using my car as much as I�d like. I grin at the Arabian cab driver that�s yelling at the other Jewish cab driver. One with a turban and one with that bowl shaped funny little hat; their two yellow cars in contact, bumper too bumper. By the time I finally found the school it was completely packed with kids as young as myself. Some looked experienced and confident and others looked like me�completely lost.

Walking down the halls my eyes scan the other students paintings. Other students are gawking, trying to figure out the painting meanings. I smile, finally people like me. I look down at my schedule glancing at the door numbers for my first class introduction. I went to class after class, with professor after professor. Every teacher making the same threats, same promises for a broad future. It got repetitive. They were all basically the same. Except one. Professor Lynn Burns.

"Alright guys and gals. Welcome to college. I�m Professor Burns. I�m not gonna tell you what is expected this year, because frankly I don�t have a clue. Your assignments are based on what I believe will be a growing experience for you. I�m not gonna make any lame promises that this will be the best class you�ll ever attend, or that I am the teacher that will teach you the be all and end all. Frankly I�m a bitch with a paintbrush. I�ll teach you, I�ll help you learn, that�s all I�ll promise that�s all I offer. You don�t like that, then leave, don�t waste my time cause I�m in no mood for it."

She looks around from face to face. As her eyes land on a student they subconsciously adjust their bodies making their chairs squeak. She smiles at the reaction of her students. She turns to her desk and stands behind it. She puts her glasses on and starts scanning through papers. I notice as student�s heads turn to each other with questioning looks on their faces. We all watch her�and wonder.

She looks up and moves her glasses to the middle of her nose. Staring at us.

"Class dismissed."

Heads turn again, even mine. We all wonder if it is joke, why it would be we don�t know but knowing this chick so far, she is as unpredictable as they come.

I watch as she looks back down at her papers. After a couple of seconds, people start moving from their chairs and out the door. She stays in her papers so I get up to and just as I�m about to exit the room�

"Britney Spears?"

I turn abruptly, running into a few people on the way.

She looks at me and fingers me over then looks back down at the papers. I walk slowly towards her.

"Miss. Spears your art teacher Mr. Cradleman informed me of your arrival to New York. He also sent me some of your work�" She then pulls up some very familiar paintings of mine and sets them in front of me.

She removes her glasses and looks at me. No smile no nothing, just a look.

"You have a very broad point of view. Very well balance of reality in your paintings."

She looks down at my paintings while my fingers twiddle nervously.

"Although you have a lack of experience�" She eyes one of my paintings.

"As well as no depth whatsoever."

She looks up at me�for a response maybe?

"Uh huh." Good response fuck nut.

She nods her head and puts them back down. She takes a seat on her desk and pulls out a painting from her portfolio.

"What do you see?"

I look at the painting and feel somewhat at ease. This is the one thing I know, art�it�s something I�m confident in knowing.

I look at it closer and immediately spot a hidden meaning.

"It�s a girl."

"Uh huh and here." She points at a fire like ball in the picture.

"She�s running from it�something. Something that is faster and stronger then her."

I sneak a peak at her and see she smiles.

"What is she running from?"

"Could be anything."

"Anything is nothing. Narrow it down."

I shake my head, scared but invigorated at her challenges.

"Could be a feeling, could be an occurrence, could be a person�"

"What do you think she is running from?"

I look at the picture more focused and determined. Its color scheme is dark but relished with the color red, maybe implying blood or hell. You can only see eyes in the painting but I see a girl in pain. Her eyes reflect the colors of the painting, the red and the black.

"Herself. She�s running from herself."

She smiles and puts the painting back on her desk.

"Mr. Craddleman was right about you."

"What did he say?" I ask in curiosity.

"That you remind him of me at your age."

"You? I find that hard to believe."

"It isn�t trust me. Who you are now isn�t the be all and end all, didn�t you get that in my speech?"

"So you think I�m like you cause I figured out your painting."

"You didn�t figure out my painting."

"I didn�t?" Yes you did, she�s just yankin� your chain.

"No, you didn�t." She says matter-of-factly.

She picks up the painting.

"See your problem is you push your painting too much on what you want them to see when you should let them figure out their own idea about it."

"I don�t understand." Understatement.

"Paintings are feelings. When you look at a painting you instantly apply it to yourself, draw your own conclusions from it. Paintings are suppose to be an expression of yourself, whether they are yours or not. Your problem is, paint what you feel, but do it in a way that others can be touched themselves, so they can look at it and say this is what it means to ME. My painting, mine came from my heart, while your perception of it came from yours."

"So you�re saying that my idea of the painting came from within me?" I say cynically.

"Don�t be so cocky. Those eyes in the painting, in your eyes�they were yours. In mine they were my eyes."

"But their tormented, I know that much."

"Exactly�" She looks at me and I look in her eyes to find the torment within her eyes to find none, while mine I can spot out in seconds. "Told you were not so different."

I nod and laugh.

"I want you to paint me something�anything."

"Why?"

"Because I know you have depth. You�re just hiding it real well."

I look up to see her smile fade as she goes through her papers again. I turn around to leave.

"Oh and Spears�" I turn again. "Peep out of that shell a bit, you�ll come to find it isn�t so terrifying."

My eyes scan hers, looking for a reason to why the words from her mouth are so�right. She looks back down.

"Thanks."

She nods her head while it is still down.

I turn around and leave.

I smile a different smile now. It�s one of wonder. How in the world does she know me so well? And Mr. Craddleman�where the hell did that come from. I talk to him about four times and he showed no special interest, I mean yeah sure I noticed a weird stare from now and then but I thought he was just a pervert. Who knew he had this whole idea about me, this whole idea of who I was?

I get to the loft and decide to go to the back of the building to check up on Byron. He opens the door for me with a wide smile.

"Hello Miss. Spears."

"Byron you call me that again and I�m going to kick your ass."

He laughs a little old man laugh.

"What have you been up to Miss. Spears."

"Well Mr. Byron I am going to get my mail and start an�assignment."

"For school already?"

I look at him smiling knowingly and go to the mailbox. While looking through most of the junk I become curious about last night.

"Hey Mr. Byron�" I hear him chuckle. "What is that guys name, the one below me, the nice kid."

"Oh Justin�Justin Timberlake."

My head shoots up. I knew it!

The guy who made the masterpiece painting in the brochure and the horny bastard downstairs is one and the same. Ever since I saw that painting I�ve had a weird draw to the sophomore�now junior apparently.

"Is there a problem Miss. Spears?"

"Oh no Mr. Byron. Everything�s just fine."

I say my goodbye and begin the long narrow stairs. As I creep to his room a rush of curiosity runs over me.

I wonder what he looks like?

As I stand in front of his door I raise my hand to knock on it but draw it back quickly. This goes on for a while as well as some conversations to myself. I hold my hand up again and suddenly some words pop into my head.

�Peep out of that shell a bit, you�ll come to find it isn�t so terrifying�

With a sudden rush of confidence I knock on the door.

I hear quick footsteps and contemplate running, but before I put the old doorbell ditch into action the door flies open.

My eyes get a little big when I am revealed to a very flamboyant young man.

"Hey there."

His southern twang rings in my ears.

Is this a joke I ask myself�and no doubt you are too.

This guy that I�ve been obsessing over�he�s gay?

next