Just Roll With It: a Just Us novel Read Free Page A

on canvas, though more recently I've enjoyed watercolor. In school, we're taught watercolor is done on a smaller scale. Painting small would drive me insane. I like to paint big. A big canvas takes me longer, and I can add as much detail—or not—as I see fit. I agree art has rules; the only rules I don't follow.
    Currently, I'm working on a piece of downtown Flint, in a double two-point perspective. The city our university is in. I love architecture and what a painting can do for it. You can do amazing things with the stroke of a brush. I finally find my peace as I finish up on the side of a building which was bugging the shit out of me.
    I put my brushes back in the water, change into my sweats, and decide to actually get some sleep. Except I can't. The black-haired, brown backpacked, hauntingly beautiful guy invades my mind as I'm about to fall asleep.
    For a split second, I think about doing what I caught Enzo doing. I give myself an evil grin and decide not tonight. Who knows when he'll be home from his date, and that's the last thing we both need to see again tonight. I laugh out loud to myself, remembering the look on his face when I walked in. Golden .
    I pray to Thor sometime soon he'll walk in on me with sexy, don't-know-if-he-has-a-girlfriend, will-probably-never-see-him-again, Roman. Who knows, he's probably a dick. Or worse, snores. Yeah, a girl can dream.  

The Desolation of Independence
Hello Fascination- Breathe Carolina
Rigbee
    Walking the distance to the poli-sci building, I can't help but peek around to look for Roman. I parked back at the art lot, like always, so I'm walking on the same sidewalk I met him on yesterday. A few people are walking in the opposite direction, but no Roman.
    I have to quickly side step a tall girl with blond hair and a side backpack. She almost shoulders me from looking down at her phone instead of paying attention to where she is walking. She doesn't even notice how she almost pummeled me. I can feel it already—it's going to be one of those days.
    I'm not looking forward to Tuesdays and Thursdays because I don't have any art classes. I have more general eds left to take, on account of me substituting them for more art related classes freshmen year. In hindsight, I might not have made the best choice. Being a senior and taking government is going to suck balls.
    It's unusually chilly outside for being late September, but that's Michigan for you. Trying to predict the weather is useless. I notice how hard the wind is blowing as a gust stings my skin. I'm going to have to consider another parking lot for Tuesdays when winter hits.
    I struggle to open the heavy-ass metal doors to the building, but once I do, I finally find relief from the wind. I step to the side of the stairwell to get out of the way of those who know where they are going. You know, because I am considerate like that.
    "Okay. Now, dreadful classroom, where are you located?" I look down at my schedule. "Three hundred forty-four."
    Wonderful. It's on the third floor. Guess I'm taking these stairs after all . I roll my eyes out of frustration and then take a deep breath in preparation of my ascent. I shouldn't care, I live on the third floor of my apartment building, but I would still rather avoid numerous flights of stairs when possible. My calves are surely going to be in shape by the end of the semester. See, I am an optimist after all.
    I smile to myself as I reach the top. Now, where to go from here? Right, or left? Well, when the world doesn't treat you right, go left. I choose left. I notice as I'm walking I should have went right. Figures. Regardless, I make my way around to where I am supposed to be.
    "Three forty-four, I found you."
    I glance at my phone for the time. Twenty-five minutes early. Would now be too early to go in? It is, isn't it? Only a freshman would be so early. I'm not your typical senior; I'm always way early. It's just one of my many quirks. I can't be late. Never be late. If I am