Since I love chaos, I still gave the interview so you guys could get a preview about it .
Drop a comment down if you enjoyed it , so I would know if you really liked it or not .
Writing is really hard to do and I did the interview for you guys fun _ don't ghost me again
CHAPTER eleven : Test score reveal .
Studio 8 , Westvale University
Two days after .
The sunlight sliced through the wide windows of Studio 8, illuminating every canvas, paint smear, and broken ego like a spotlight.
The class had just settled in—half with coffee, half with fake enthusiasm—when Mrs. Hadley walked in, wearing all black like she was attending the funeral of hope.
She held a slim folder in one hand and a metallic tablet in the other.
"Results are in," she said, not bothering with a good morning. "Brace yourselves. Some of you delivered brilliance. Others delivered... colors."
Raye sat up straighter, trying not to let her nerves show.
She'd spent the last two nights spiraling between I nailed that test and what even is chaos, anyway?
Mrs. Hadley strolled to the center of the room, her heels clacking like they had something personal against everyone's GPA.
"I'm only reading the top three," she said, flipping the folder open with a perfectly timed dramatic pause.
Raye inhaled.
It had to be her.
Or close.
.
"Third place," Hadley began, "goes to Jasmine Fields. For understanding balance…eventually. Took you long enough to get there."
Jasmine let out a soft "yes!" under her breath while her friend patted her back.
Raye's heart skipped.
"Second," Mrs. Hadley continued, "goes to Raye Marlowe. Intense, ambitious, a little chaotic—appropriately so. You almost lost the thread, but that gold saved you."
Raye blinked. Second?
Almost lost the thread? That gold line was the thread.
She tried to smile but it felt tight.
Like her jaw forgot how to fake joy.
And then, of course:
"First place, again, goes to Evan Griggs. Clean. Controlled. Minimal yet loud. You made silence feel like it had shape. And unlike the rest of this class, you knew when to stop."
A few people groaned.
Someone clapped sarcastically.
Evan didn't even blink—he just gave the softest of nods, the kind of gesture that said obviously.
Raye turned slightly to glance at him.
He was already scribbling something in his sketchbook like the win meant nothing.
"Congratulations, Evan," Mrs. Hadley added. "You may now continue being pretentious with context."
A couple chuckles broke out, but Evan just smiled faintly, eyes still on his page.
Raye sank into her seat, crossing her arms.
So she was second. Not bad. But not first.
And of all people… him. Again.
Raye scoffed loudly warranting a stare from the whole class _ even Mrs Hadley glanced at her narrowed eyes before turning back to what ever she was doing on her desk .
Mrs Hadley liked her class to be very quiet _ wanna cross her just make an awful sound .
And get ready to fail art for the rest of the year !!!..
Raye muttered, "Next time I'm painting Evan's smug face into a storm cloud and watching her call it revolutionary."
Evan, as if blessed with spidey-senses for sarcasm, looked up from his sketchbook with a half-smirk.
"You're not far off. I am the storm cloud."
Raye was speechless as she tried to say something but ended up shutting her mouth back up .
She didn't even know why their seat was so close to each other ...
The seat were formed in a circle and Evan's seat was a two chairs away from her .
Coupled with the fact that the guy had vampire ears , the class was also so quiet so even a pin drop would be heard .
Mrs. Hadley didn't look up. "Griggs, save the metaphors for your thesis."
Raye rolled her eyes. The worst part wasn't that she didn't win.
It was that she kind of agreed with the results .
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above as Mrs. Hadley walked round lecture room with a stack of graded test papers handing it to the student .
She was now sharing the paper as she walked passed the student table slowly making too much eye contact than usual .
The click of her kitten heels was the unofficial cue for everyone to sit up straight and hold their breath.
She cleared her throat as she continue to speak again .
"Well," she said, with the gleam of quiet judgment only a seasoned university professor could pull off. "Some of you understood the difference between Impressionism and Post-Impressionism. Some of you think Monet and Manet are just a typo apart."
A wave of nervous laughter passed through the room.
Mrs. Hadley began handing out the papers one by one, giving each person a long glance like she could see right through their head .
Raye sat upright, crossing her legs with fake calm.
She already knew what she got ....but she still wanted to see it though .
When Mrs. Hadley dropped the paper on her desk without a word, Raye flipped it over.
B+.
Not bad. Not great.
Raye turned and met the smug face of Evan ,casually reclining with his hands clasped behind his head like he'd just painted the Sistine Chapel with a crayon.
"Congratulations, Einstein. Top of the class again?" she said, trying not to grit her teeth.
"Of course," he replied coolly, holding up his paper with a big A+ scrawled in blue ink. "It's a simple matter of cognitive prioritization and cultural synthesis. You should try it sometime—though I assume abstract reasoning isn't your strong suit."
Raye gave him a tight smile. "I assume making friends isn't yours."
A few people nearby chuckled, including the girl next to Raye who peeked at her own C- and muttered,
"mhm at least it isn't D "
Evan, not one to be ignored, leaned forward, resting his elbow on the desk. "I wasn't aware self-pity was a new artistic movement. Are we painting in tears now?"
"Oh wow," Raye shot back, brows raised. "A whole monologue. You planning to submit that to a gallery or your diary?"
Mrs. Hadley, without even turning around, spoke up from the front, "Mr. Griggs, Miss Marlowe, if you're done with your drama, I'd like to begin the next topic, you already made your point , now I want peace ....," She trailed off eyes narrowed she looked day us before saying " last warning ".
"Yes, ma'am," they both replied in unison—Raye with venom, Evan with elegance.
But even as she faced forward, Raye caught Evan smirking out of the corner of her eye.
Smug little walking dictionary.
She thought huffing tiredly .
Later that day .....
Raye didn't expect it.
The second text.
The third.
The twelfth.
After that brutal cafeteria scene, Mystery texter — or "Phone Ghost" as she'd nicknamed him in her head — kept texting.
And texting.
And being weirdly good at making her forget she'd just been invisible to her crush.
Now it was 10:34 PM.
night fall . The weather was both calm and weirdly peaceful .
The one that made you want to sip hot coco under a blanket at home .
Home .....
Raye thought thinking about her aunt and uncle and her small cousin too .
It had been a very long time since she saw them and she had been totally busy too .
Either way , she was still going to visit them this holiday, after exams _ yes she would spend Christmas with them and all.
Her aunty , Mrs valentine always remember to call her at least twice a week but she hadn't been calling lately and Raye wonder why .
Snapping out from her thought she made a mental note to call her tomorrow morning anytime she was busy .
She was in bed, blanket over her head , a small light shone in the whole room coming from her phone as she typed with lightning speed .
Mystery Texter:
Tragic. You okay, cupcake?
Raye:
I'm eating cereal straight from the box. And yes am totally fine and cool about it
That answer your question?
And it was true indeed . It didn't hurt like the first time and maybe Jane was right it was just some silly infatuation that eventually died down.,.. eventually
Mystery Texter:
My kind of girl.
She paused, staring at that message.
My kind of girl.
What did he mean?
Why did it make her smile like an idiot?
She typed back.
Raye:
You're smooth for a mystery number.
Mystery Texter:
I've been called worse.
Mystery Texter:
But mostly I've been called Trouble.
Raye:
You gave yourself a nickname?
Mystery Texter:
Nope. You gave it to me. Just now.
Mystery Texter:
Since you started blushing and all.
She blinked.
How did he—??
Raye:
I did NOT blush.
Mystery Texter:
You totally did. Even now. You're blushing, Little Trouble.
Her hand flew to her cheek.
It was warm.
Oh no.
She was blushing.
For real.
In the dark. Under her blanket. Because of a boy she hadn't even officially met.
This was so not part of her life plan.
Raye:
"You're so full of yourself."
Mystery Texter:
Just full of Affection. For you.
Raye stared at her screen. Then laughed into her pillow like a deranged gremlin.
Raye:
Okay Trouble, calm down.
Mystery Texter:
You gave me a nickname. That's basically flirting.
She threw her phone across the bed, heart thudding.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
She wasn't supposed to like him.
But she did.
A little.
Like 0.0002%.
Fine. Maybe 40%.
She buried her face in her blanket.
"I hate my life," she whispered.
Her phone buzzed.
Mystery Texter:
Goodnight, Little Tragic. Dream about me.
She didn't reply.
But her smile said it all.