"Ranjana Ma'am!" Aksh called out, his voice rising above the quiet chatter of the quadrangle. She looked up, clearly startled out of her thoughts. Must be busy with her concerns for the event. She was the Head Art teacher afterall.
"Yes?" Her tone was flat but polite enough.
We exchanged a quick glance. Aksh had the words; I had the face for intimidation, the usual division of labour. We stepped closer while Shruti trailed behind like a shy shadow. Aksh cleared his throat, instantly switching to that soft, sincere tone he reserved for adults, mostly for favors and when he got in trouble.
"Ma'am, we've run into a bit of a problem. Could you help us out?"
A flicker of concern softened her face. "Of course. What's the matter?"
Aksh gestured gently to Shruti, who was busy examining her own shoes.
"Our friend Shruti here — she's been really unwell but still dragged herself to school just for the competition today. Her artwork and the whole script are ready, but her throat's giving her trouble. She's scared it'll ruin the presentation. So… we were wondering if you'd let us read the script for her, just this once. Please?"
He made it sound so reasonable that even I almost believed we were being noble heroes instead of two slackers eyeing an excuse to bunk class. Miss Ranjana frowned, the conflict clear on her face. Rules were absolute— but so was Shruti's reputation for diligence and never causing trouble.
She bent down a little to Shruti's level. "Is that true, Shruti? You should've told me earlier, dear. You always overwork yourself." I sensed a soft spot in her for Shruti.
Shruti just nodded quickly, shoulders drawn up to her ears, like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. Poor thing, I thought. What would she have done without us here today? We were so noble that I could cry.
Ranjana Ma'am sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Alright, let me run this by the panel. It's not exactly by the book, you know that. But I'll see what I can do."
She turned to leave, and the three of us watched her go — Shruti still pale as chalk, clutching her file like it was a life jacket. "What's really so hard about a simple speech?"I wondered. Meanwhile, I caught Aksh's eye. His smirk said it before he did.. 'Two free periods, easy.'
Freedom, fun, and a favour to a friend. A great way to kick off the week.
Miss Ranjana walked briskly over to the jury's table, where nearly every teacher was already seated. It was almost time for the principal's arrival, so the usual chatter dulled to a hush. Moments later, we heard the familiar click of heels on the tiled floor.
"Good morning, Principal Ma'am!" we all chorused, more out of obligation than respect, honestly.
Mrs. Pratha, our "beloved" (and slightly terrifying) principal, broke into her practiced smile. "Good morning, everyone!" she called back, her voice clear and crisp in the small quadrangle.
She settled herself into her special chair at the centre — the throne, basically — while a line of nervous-looking students and teachers shuffled forward with bouquets and greetings. Every year, I thought, they roll this out like she's royalty. But well, she did technically own the place and all our teachers' paychecks — so, fair enough.
Once the little flower parade ended, the real chaos returned, just better disguised. Teachers barked soft instructions; students rushed to pin up labels, fix fallen charts, adjust easels. Meanwhile, Miss Ranjana leaned in to whisper something to the panel. I caught snippets from their moving lips— Shruti… throat infection… request permission… — while Shruti clutched her sleeve like her life depended on it.
A few teachers glanced our way, then back at Ms. Ranjana. They didn't look too convinced at first — until one of them spotted Shruti's panicked face and looked with pitiful eyes. The principal looked over and saw us while Aksh gleamed like a maniac. Wait , did I just see her sigh? I guess sympathy wins over rules this time. Or was it Aksh's face?
"All participants, please begin final arrangements and continue working on unfinished pieces," announced the event coordinator into the mic, startling every student who wasn't prepared yet, including us.
The judges planned on roaming around while students finished their work. They will probably score the existing pieces one by one and at the end a speech was waiting for everybody, regardless of their craft. This saves a lot of time, good for them, bad for us though.
I nudged Aksh, who raised an eyebrow and muttered, "It's showtime, buddy."
We walked over to Shruti's station and finally decided to lift the cloth hiding her mysterious paintings. She bent forward and, with a surprising grace, pulled the fabric towards herself — revealing the portraits she'd so carefully conjured on canvas.
"Beautiful," I blurted out, without thinking. And I meant it. I don't even have a speck of interest in art, but these were… unreal. The color palette wasn't the typical bland skin tones or plain backgrounds — she'd picked shades as if she'd dipped her brush into the entire hex chart. The skin was painted in deep vermillion, the shadows and wrinkles in every shade of black, while the hair was an untamed burst of every hue possible. The backgrounds melted and clashed together in a chaotic but mesmerizing mess. I had no idea how someone could paint like that — or why it even worked — but it did. And the most surprising part? Seeing this kind of boldness dripping from her art. She might even win this with flying colors.
"That's so, so, so beautiful, Shruti!" Aksh burst out beside me, his excitement louder than mine.
Shruti turned to us, a small but genuine smile breaking through her usual quiet. "Thanks!" she said, softer than the colors behind her.
We'd been given one easel and two desks — one for each finished portrait. I picked up the painting of Rekha Ma'am, our school's Head Art teacher, while Aksh carefully lifted Nitin Sir's portrait — the one notorious for being way too frank with students. We carried them over and placed them gently on the desks, making sure they faced forward just right.
Meanwhile, Shruti was already bent over her final canvas, adding careful strokes to her incomplete portrait of Principal Ma'am — the centerpiece of her display.
"Done," I said, brushing my hands off as we stepped back from Shruti's booth.
I turned around to take in the whole scene — the maze of easels, half-finished canvases, teachers drifting around like patrol guards. The chaos felt heavier now that we were technically responsible for someone else's marks.
"Aksh… do you realize what we've signed up for?" I muttered, nudging his arm. "We were supposed to sneak around, not babysit in the middle of teacher central. If they change their mind, we're toast."
He shot me that infuriating grin — the one that said he'd already decided none of my worries mattered.
"Relax. They won't, we're fine. Probably"
Then he leaned closer, voice dipping into pure mischief.
"Anyway — let's go check out the other stalls. Kanishka Didi's first, obviously."
Of course. He knew my one fatal weakness. I should've kept my stupid admiration to myself instead of blurting it out to this menace of a tease. I tried to look unimpressed … but failed.
"Fine… but before we do your sightseeing tour — we should practise what you're going to say for Shruti's piece? If you mess this up, she's gonna hate us. We can't make her regret it."
He scoffed, flicking invisible dust off his shoulder , putting his hands over my shoulders and lunging me forward along with him. "Ayan, my girl, have I ever disappointed you?"
I stared him down for a beat. He stared right back, all spark and overconfidence. God help me — this idiot was my best friend. And we were about to wing it in front of the entire faculty.