Reaching for His Dreams

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  1. Corey parked his car, sighing softly as he took the key out of the ignition. Another semester, he thought. Then I'll be free for a couple months...In truth, he was immensely excited for this summer, already having plans on doing nothing but art-related things. Drawing, taking commissions, learning how to improve, anything to make him better. But first, I have to pass trig. Before the semester break, Corey's trigonometry grade had been dive-bombing, and he needed to get it back up to at least a C if he wanted to avoid having to take summer school, which could put a dash in his big plans.

    Getting out of his car, he grabbed his backpack before he began walking towards the entrance nearest him, which happened to be the one that the kids who rode the bus went in by. As a couple people came up to him, he nodded his hellos, too tired to talk. Last night he had forgotten about school in the morning, and was up until well past two on the internet. Adjusting his glasses, he smiled wryly at a joke one of his friends made, entering the door into the school. Waving bye to his friends, he leaned against one of the enormous columns in the commons area, waiting for the bell to ring.

    With five minutes left until the bell was due to ring, a tall, brown-haired senior approached him, a solemn look on his face. "Hey, Aaron" Corey said, his face immediately lighting up. Standing on the tips of his shoes, he made a move to kiss him, but the older student pushed him away. "What is it?" Corey asked, immediately sensing something was wrong.

    "I...I don't think we should be seeing each other anymore, Corey," Aaron said, frowning.

    "What? Aaron...I..."

    "I'm sorry," was all the senior said, before turning and walking away. Feeling pain, sadness, and an odd sense of betrayal fill him, Corey sank down to the ground, his knees against his chest. Forcing himself not to cry, knowing what everyone else would think of him, he remained in that position until the bell rang, and even then he was slow to move.

    Stepping inside Mr. Hardwell's class just before the late bell rang, he slunk over to his seat in the back, slumping forwards as he searched his hands for any indication on what he should do, a stricken look on his face. After a few moments, he took out his sketchbook, setting it on his desk before placing his head on it, not up for learning anything.
  2. Mr. Hardwell was a teenager at heart. Well, he liked to believe so. Lord knew that he would be acting like a teenager all winter break, that was the truth. He wouldn't do anything illegal- he had left all of that back in his college and highschool days. He had finished filling out a forum for a convention that his college wanted him to attend. He had been to a handful of them before, but this one was suppose to be the biggest one of the year. And that meant that rent wouldn't be an issue this month. It probably meant that he could afford to make a costume this year.

    Maybe not. Lord knew that if anyone saw him dressed as some character from a book, he would never hear the end of it. Maybe he would for the last day, but that would be a maybe. Vincent decided that he would have to wait to plan this all out. He had a test to hand out, and final assignments to grade! The teacher rubbed at his eyes, and took a sip of his coffee. He finished grading some trigonometry papers, and he put them in the collection box. The kids would take the papers later, and some would be asking for extra credit. Mr. Hardwell was always generous, and always kind. He gave out the credit freely, but he rarely saw a student pass with flying colors. Which disappointed him.

    Mr. Hardwell stood up as soon as the rest of the class walked in. " Alright class, " He started, with a booming voice. " We really have to buckle down if some of you, " He eyed the room, looking at a select few, " Wish to pass. This test is the last one of this quarter, and I expect you all to pass it with... Well, I would say flying colors, but it looks to me that it won't be the case. " Mr. Hardwell passed out the test, but he noticed something not completely out of the ordinary.

    It was him, one of his worst students. Worst, because he had one of the lowest grades in his class. One of the lowest grades Mr. Hardwall has ever seen. He tapped on Corey's desk, and look at him at eye-level. " I especially expect you to pass this, Mr. Lewis. " He then confiscated the boys sketch book. " I will give this back when you finish your test. " He said, and he walked back to his desk.

    That's about when he began to nose around in the book. He had to say, he had a real skill for art. But he made some mistakes here and there. Mr. Hardwell took a little sticky note, and began to write. " Arms lower- use correct anatomy. Eyebrows too high. More emotion. " He did that with almost every page. Almost every page, that was. Most of it was relatively good. He would cut the kid some slack, and give him some extra points for just entertaining him through the block. An extra five points would do him wonders. On the front of the sketch book, he wrote +5, and a little note.

    " Have a great break. - Mr. Hardwell. "
  3. When Mr. Hardwell tapped on his desk, Corey pretended he hadn't heard it until the teacher looked at him at eye-level. Frowning at his words, he almost replied before his sketchbook was taken out from under him, his head hitting the desk with a thump, eliciting chuckles from a couple of the other students. Feeling like a limb had been taken from him as Hardwell walked away with his sketchbook, Corey blinked down at the test, the numbers seeming to swim before his eyes.

    Realizing that those were tears, he brought up a hand to rub them away, hating what Hardwell would say if he started crying. Probably something about his failing grades. Taking out a pencil and his trig notebook, filled with doodles rather than scrap paper and notes, he opened to a relatively clean page, ignoring the black crosshatches in the margins that he made when he was bored. Sighing softly, he focused on the first question while simultaneously getting his calculator out.

    Trying to remember what the formula was for cosine, he tried writing out the other two functions, but he couldn't remember those either. Frowning at the triangles on his paper, he thought to himself, When the hell am I going to use this? Unless I'm a mathematician or some engineer or something, I'll never use this. Sighing again, he gave it his best guess, filling in the answer with a number that seemed like it might work.

    Doing the same with the other questions, he set down his pencil after he had finished the test, gazing down at his bullshitted answers glumly. Almost definitely, Hardwell would have something to say about those when he got back from break. Corey couldn't have been more relieved when the bell rang, signalling that he could get out of there. Stuffing his things into his bag, he hung back while everyone else handed in their papers, needing to get his sketchbook before he did anything else.

    Setting his paper atop the others, whose answers looked more confident than his own, Corey said, "I need my sketchbook." Seeing the sticky note on the cover, he narrowed his eyes at it, reading upside down what it said. Clenching his hands into fists, he nearly shouted, "You went through my book?!? What the hell? Why...Don't you understand that it has a cover for a reason? Christ!" Grabbing his book off of the desk, he stormed out, immediately flipping through the pages and taking out all of the notes that his teacher had left, feeling violated by the thought of Hardwell going through his drawings.
  4. Well, of coarse he would go through his book! He WAS the teacher! Mr. Hardwell was going to say something, but he did know first had at what value drawings were to artists. He really shouldn't of, but he had a feel that he was going to help him out in the long run, if the boy ever wanted to become something in life. Taking a guess at it, he wanted to do something in the art category. Well, that would probably be a slap in his face as soon as he realizes how hard it is to get past being an artist, but hey, he could find out sooner or later.

    The next batch of kids came in, and the rest of the day was uneventful. When he got some down time, he ate his subway lunch and corrected the tests. Corey got a whole whopping 20 out of 40 on his final exam. Plus five, that was 25. Well, someone was signed up for summer school. Or, maybe not. He took a look at his grades, and it looked like he managed to get a C-. Technically, that was still passing. So technically, he was free this summer. Impressive. He was slightly proud of him. Only slightly.

    Mr. Hardwell packed up his suitcase, and left the room at the end of the day. He would pack his things, and get ready for the convention. That meant that he would wear something causal, and he would pack some things for the wait in line and the wait for his pay. Oh, he sure hoped that he got a good spot this year. Last time he went to a convention, his little table was set up at very BACK of the place. Oh, it was the worst. Vincent packed his things, and tightened the winter cap he kept on his head. He walked to his car, started it, and drove out of there.
  5. Corey went through the rest of the day in a daze, sometimes feeling angry at Hardwell for going through his sketchbook, sometimes feeling an overwhelming sadness fill him from Aaron's breaking up with him. All in all, he had a relatively nonproductive final day before break, wanting nothing more than to just skip the rest of the day. Of course, he couldn't do that. Most of his grades in his other classes were just above passing, save for AP Art III, Human Studies, and World History. In those, he seemed to excel, something that baffled most of his teachers and the guidance counselor.

    When the final bell rang, he practically ran out the door, making his way to his car as quickly as he could. Pulling his jacket further around him as he got into the car, turning the heat up, he booked it out of the student's parking lot, desperate to get home where no one could see him break down. Sadness and desperation had been building up in him all day, from both Hardwell and Aaron, and he felt like he would explode if he held it in any longer. Making it home in record time, he ignored his mother as she greeted him, instead rushing up the stairs to his bedroom and locking the door behind him, practically throwing his bag down onto his bed.

    Landing next to it, he buried his face in the softness of his pillow, closing his eyes as he screamed into it, glad that no one was around to hear him. After a few hours, he had thoroughly calmed down, at least to the point where he could speak normally again, his emotions in check once more. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he found Hardwell's number on the school's website, deciding that he might as well call to see if he could get any extra credit to work on over break. He needed his grade to be passing, and anything above a C- would be a stroke of amazing luck.

    Calling Hardwell's phone, he waited for the teacher to pick up, sighing softly as the dialing tone sounded.
  6. Hardwell was at his apartment complex by the time that the boy rang. Vincent was working on something- some work from his other job. He was reading through a graphic novel; marking down all of the mistakes he saw and writing little notes on how he could possibly better himself from them. The thing was, the man who wrote this was... really bad. The title was even horrible. It was just so generic, and that wasn't even the start of it! The plot, the characters- EVERYTHING about it was just so bad! He couldn't help but feel bad for the other. He even wrote a note in the back of what he should do with the story, and where he should take it.

    That's when his phone rang. Without even looking at the caller ID, he picked it up, and read over a text in the book. He tried to keep from gagging. " Vincent Hardwell speaking. " He muttered into the phone, as he closed the book. Oh, thank GOD that was over. He stood upward, and awaited a reply on the other end. He held the phone with his shoulder, and put the book on a stack of other books he had finished. He didn't need to read any more. " What can I do for you, Corey? " He said, after Corey had spoke and introduced himself.

    He guessed it was about the extra credit. He did get a C- in his class. Should he just be an asshole about it and say that he isn't giving out extra credit? It would teach him not to curse at him for doing him a favor. But, he couldn't do that. He was far too nice. Vincent sighed, and he spoke again. " I want a commission. You can obviously do that. I want a picture of anything- anything at all, you can pick. And in the background, I need you to fill the entire thing with correct equations and solutions. If you can do that, I can give you fifty extra points. That would give you atleast a B+, maybe even an A if you did it perfectly. I expect it emailed to my personal email by... Well, before the end of break. I know how artists are. "

    With that, he hung up, and went back to his work. Oh, the secondhand embarrassment was terrible.
  7. Corey said as little as he possibly could to Hardwell on the phone, still angry about his stunt in class today. As if he knew anything about art in the first place. He was a Trigonometry teacher, for Christ sake. The only thing he probably knew about drawing was making a triangle. Frowning at the proposition Hardwell gave him, he couldn't deny his need to get fifty extra points. A B would be great, and in trig, too. Once Hardwell had hung up, Corey sat down on the edge of his bed, tapping his fingers on the cover of his sketchbook, thinking.

    After a few minutes, he got up, moving to his bookshelf, which was filled with his old sketchbooks, numbers one to seventy-seven. The bottom shelf was dedicated to his textbooks, and he grabbed the Trigonometry one off of it, opening it as he sat down at the desk next to his bookshelves. Glancing at the first page of problems, he frowned at the numbers, not making any sense of them. Grabbing his sketchbook and various pencils and markers from a box at the bottom of his bag, he sat down in front of the trig book, opening his sketching one to a blank page.

    Inspiration was hard to find at that moment. Flipping through a few of his other drawings, he tried to ignore the fact that Hardwell had looked through these very same pages, without his permission. Just the thought made him nervous. After nearly an hour of brainstorming, he had it, and was sketching down the outline of a person looking down at a three-point perspective.

    By that time, it was already getting late, and his parents were both wondering why Corey had holed himself in his room all afternoon. Slinking down the stairs, he winced at their expressions. They must have checked his grades. "Look, before you ask about that trig test, let me tell you that Hardwell has it out for me. He doesn't understand that I don't get it. But I am doing something to get extra credit, so it's fine. After break, I should have a B, hopefully." As his mother's expression softened slightly, he knew that she was okay with it for now, and he was asked to help with dinner preparations.
  8. Whilst Corey did what he was asked to do, Vincent did what he was forced to do. He read through a plethora of terrible and ill written and drawn manga, along with plenty of other novels and graphic novels alike, and he felt absolutely sick afterwards. While he teached, he was always nice and he sugar coated each critique and he never spoke ill of any of his students. But when it came to adults, and aspiring artists and writers, there was no sugar left.

    He had finished going through a few stacks, and he felt sick afterwards. He was paid atleast fifty dollars for each one he wrote about and what he told them- sometimes even more than that. Not because he was good at what he was doing. They tried to bribe him to give him a good review! But, he always took the money and wrote the truth. And first thing was first, and that was obviously the truth. The highest amount he was bribed with was atleast 400 dollars. Plus the extra pay. He had to read an entire 16 booked series, and he absolutely hated each moment of it.

    Vincent put down the book, and rubbed at his eyes. Oh, he was getting another headache. It might as well be supper time. Vincent put on his winter jacket, hat, and scarf, and braved the winter. He walked across the street to the all night Italian place. He ordered himself some spaghetti to go, along with a cheap bottle of badly-aged wine. As soon as he got that, he walked back home and up to his apartment building. It was placed at the top of the building, but it was worth it. The view was breath taking. Literally, he sometimes got light headed when he climbed all of those stairs.

    Vincent put the hot spaghetti at the table, and got himself one of his very few wine glasses. He poured himself some of the wine, and he walked towards a large bookshelf. It was adorned with plenty of books, aswell as old records. He had acquired all of them from his friends and family alike. He took one out; one by The Beatles, and he played it on the old record player. " Hey Jude.... Don't make it bad... " Hey Jude blasted softly through the tiny apartment, and Vincent went back over to his table. And to his cheap wine-and-spaghetti dinner.

    Vincent took a bite. It was alright. The same as usual, nothing special about it. The music was good. The wine was good. Everything was good. Vincent put down his fork, and wiped at his jaw. Vincent stopped from eating for a moment, and he looked at his plate. With Hey Jude blasting in the corner and his almost empty wine glass over at the edge of the table, Vincent got to thinking. He really needed to start dating again. But, then again, who would ever want to date a teacher who read too much comic books?

    The wine got to his head, and really didn't help with the headache. He put away the leftovers- it would be tomorrows lunch, and he downed the rest of the wine. He went to bed, half drunk and half sad at how uneventful his life really was.
  9. Dinner passed uneventfully, Corey remaining in an almost sullen silence while his mother and father spoke about their days. For them, it had been pretty normal, compared to Corey's, so he didn't want to outdo them with the drama of his day. As such, he kept quiet until he was excused, promptly retreating into his bedroom and opening his sketchbook once more.

    As he was drawing, an even better idea came to his mind, and he opened to a fresh blank page, sketching out the outlines of the three wise monkeys in a light pencil, already imagining what the finished product would look like. Amazing, he decided, as he drew out the large ears of the first one.

    Corey worked long into the night. As he had no previous knowledge of drawing monkeys, he had to search online for images of monkeys like he saw in his mental eye, and even then he filled a couple pages in his sketchbook with pictures of monkeys, trying to get them just right. In the end, he fell asleep on his desk, a pencil in his hands, Google Images opened on his laptop next to him, and the light on in his bedroom, the alarm clock next to his bed reading 3:21.

    When morning came, Corey was awoken by light streaming in through his windows, momentarily blinding him. Blinking against the light, he sighed softly before looking down at the drawings that had become his pillow for the night, a light, confident smile on his face.

    Working the stiffness from his muscles, he yawned, stretching his arms above his head before he changed into a t-shirt and comfy sweatpants. "Time to get back to work," he said to himself, sitting back down at his desk as he got his pencil in hand again and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
  10. Vincent had awaken that day with a mild hangover, and some pretty funky breath. He cringed at the light that crossing through his blinds, and he rolled over in bed. He shifted his tongue around his mouth, and once again, cringed. It tasted terrible. Like wine mixed with bad pizza and feet. He got up, stretched, and walked to his bathroom. He used the very last of his toothpaste to get the taste out, and even then it faintly tasted like alcohol. He took a swig of some mouth wash, and spat it out almost instantly. His head was pounding. He needed to stop drinking before bed.

    The man got out of the bathroom, and got dressed for the day. Taking a shower, cleaning himself up some, and trying his best to get rid of the throbbing headache that was pounding against his skill, like a pair of silver hammers. He took some aspirin for that, and as he did, he faintly wondered what his students were doing for the holidays. Some had told him that they were going on vacation. The others never did. Then, his mind began toi wonder towards the thought of Corey. He needed grades in soon, but maybe he could meet up somewhere and they could swap.

    Vincent pulled the phone off of his nightstand, and he began to go through his recent calls. He called back Corey on the number he called him at, and he spoke. He did so quickly, because he really didn't want to talk to anyone right then. A little immature, yes, but his headache permitted it. " Hey hello, yes, Corey? It's Mr. Hardwell. I need grades in soon, and I wanted to know if you could meet me somewhere before I have to get them in. The last thing I want is to ask for a commission and not fulfill my end of it. " He said, as he ran a hand through his hair. Oh, looks like some conversing would be needed. Fantastic.
  11. Corey had just finished taking a shower and eating a breakfast of toaster waffles and clementines when he got the phone call on his cellphone. At first, he didn't remember the number from last night, and answered slightly suspisciously, not sure if it was a telemarketer or someone who actually knew him.

    "Hello...?" As the teacher introduced himself, he couldn't supress a frown from coming to his face, still not in the mood for talking with his trigonometry teacher. He also didn't like the idea of meeting Hardwell somewhere outside of school. For some reason, that just struck him as a bit creepy. Still, he needed the extra credit, and he wasn't about to lose it over something like that. "Fine, sure," he answered. "I'm free today, if you want...Al's Coffee Shoppe at two?" By Corey's figuring, meeting Hardwell at a neutral place, where there were sure to be plenty of people at, would be safest, in case his trigonometry teacher turned out to be some psychopathic serial killer who got off on watching kids in pain. "It's on Market Street...Um...see you then?"

    For some reason, Corey felt like he was arranging a time to go on a date with someone, a thought that made him grimace. It was too soon after Aaron to start thinking about things like that, especially where Hardwell was involved. Once he got the confirmation from his teacher, Corey hung up, running a hand through his unkempt hair, deciding that he could get in a couple hours of working on the drawing before he would need to start getting ready to go out.
  12. " Yeah, sure, fine, " Vincent said, as he then hung up. Two, was it? That was in a couple of hours. Vincent sighed. He would have to get some work done if he wanted to be there on time. Before he had to go to the coffee place, he had to drop off the critiques to his bosses, so that way they can critique them further and they can decide to publish them or not. Vincent walked over to his record player, and played some music. Not the best thing for a headache, but he needed something to keep his mind off of the throbbing pain that was pounding itself against his head.

    He managed to make himself a bowl of cereal and some orange juice- again, a bad idea when you have a headache and just brushed your teeth. After his quick breakfast, the aspirin began to kick in and he felt a little less irritable. Vincent checked the wall clock, and he figured he might as well leave. It was around 1:25 in the afternoon, and he had to stop and send some things out. He would probably be there a little before two.

    Vincent got dressed in his usual winter attire and packed a bag full of the books that he had read through, and soon, he was gone. He walked out of the door, and made sure to lock it before he did exit. He walked down the plethora of stairs, and checked the mail on his way out. Bills, bills, letters, and more bills. He sat them on the passenger seat of the car, and he was out of there.

    Vincent stopped over by the graphic art studio near the coffee place, and he talked to his bosses. They took the books, paid him well, and gave him some more to go through. It was a never ending cycle. Vincent was a little less than happy to take them, but he still did. It was to expensive to just be a teacher, and really, he needed something to fall back on if the day ever came that he got fired. He took the books, stacked them in the front seat above the mail, and rode to the coffee place. He was early, yes, but it was better that way. He walked in, holding one of the graphic novels he was to critique and a sharpie. He sat down, ordered a small plate of scones, and began his work.

    Oh, he was already cringing.
  13. The time to leave came all too quickly. Within what seemed like a few minutes, it was already 1:43, and Corey still hadn't put on anything more than his pajamas. In a rush, he pulled on pulled on jeans and a clean shirt, running a comb through his hair so that he looked good enough to leave the house. Grabbing his coat and sketchbook on the way out the door, he called back to his mother, who was dusting off a couple of the medals that his father had recieved in the service, "I'm heading out. Do you want me to pick up anything?"

    "No, honey," she said back, waving him off. "Be back before it gets dark, okay?" Rolling his eyes at the typical, motherly thing she had said, he went out to his car, turning on the defroster as soon as he got in. Setting his sketchbook on the passenger seat, just in case any sort of inspiration hit him while he was out, he waited a couple minutes for his car to heat up before pulling out of the driveway, praying that the heater wouldn't give out before the end of the winter. That was unlikely, though, given the way it always sputtered and coughed before fully turning on in the mornings before school.

    The drive to the coffee shop was easy, and one that Corey could make in his sleep. He had been going there a lot since his family had moved there, and had found it to be a good place to find people to draw. Almost always there was someone who was wearing something interesting or said something funny that Corey just had to put down on paper.

    As soon as he got to the shop, he spotted Hardwell, and went over to him, sitting in the chair opposite him. Trying to create small talk, he asked, "What are you working on?" though the question came out painfully strained and awkward.
  14. Vincent didn't realize that he had come there so soon. Well, he was there, and he had what he wanted. " Oh, well hello, " He said, as he folded over a corner of the page. " I was just doing some.... work. " He shoved the book over to the side of the table. " Never be a part-time editor for aspiring manga artists. It is probably one of the slowest rewarding jobs I have ever gotten. It can be entertaining, but it's also traumatizing." He said, shaking his head.

    " Well, anyway, do you have the picture? " Vincent would be lying if he said that he wasn't excited. He wanted to see what Corey's young little enthusiastic mind came up with. Hopefully it would be a sight for sore eyes, unlike the books that he had been going through day after day. Oh, now those where the exact opposite of anything good in the world.
  15. Corey paled a little at the mention of his drawing. After yesterday's fiasco, he wasn't sure if he wanted Hardwell seeing his drawings anymore. Still, he clenched his hand under the table, and placed his sketchbook on the table, flipping through it to the page with the commission on it.

    It was the three wise monkeys, in truth, except that each one had blood pouring thorugh their fingers, the only color on the entire picture. In the background, he had drawn in a scratchy pen the three trigonometry functions he could ever remember the names of, cosine, sine, and tangent, around the monkeys, one for each of them and swarming around the orifice they covered. Even still, the functions were easy ones, the triangles all right and never paired with another one.

    Flipping the book around to show Hardwell, he crossed his arms over his chest before frowning and saying, "I followed the parameters of the assignment...The functions are correct..." What he didn't add was an unsure, "I think." With most of the functions, he hadn't understood what it was even asking for, though he could now identify what sort of function it was. Leaning back in his chair, he watched Hardwell's expression, wondering if his drawing was too...surrealistic?...and if he would be docked points for it.
  16. Vincent looked over the paper, and inspected it. Well, it was.... Better than anything else he has seen before. But there were some missing thing, such as some key details. Vincent picked up the sketchbook, and looked through it. He took off the cap of his sharpie, and circled a few things. Firstly, just some things he missed- let it be he solved a problem without the right work to go with it. Mostly he circled some things on the monkeys. " Alright, it wouldn't kill you to add some texture in the fur- they are monkeys. I don't know what you think the wise monkeys look like, but to me, these look a little ordinary. Some wrinkles, or something to indicate that they have a vast amount of knowledge would be alright. "

    " This is good, but really, you just need to try and let lose a little. Like, the blood. That's brilliant, really, but if you showed where the blood came from- such as a wound or something along the lines of that, it would also give the reader a better image as to what has happened and why the blood is there in the first place. I'll give you... 25 extra points. At least a B-. Congratulations. " Vincent said, as he set the picture down. He had ruined it slightly, with the pen marks and such.

    Vincent also pulled out his wallet. " Let's see... " He pulled out a wrinkled twenty. " Here, that's the usual price that they charge for sketches now-a-days, right? " He said, placing the twenty on the sketchbook. He has taken many-a-commission, so he knew the ropes. He felt as if he had rushed the artist slightly, but hey, it was for points.
  17. Corey didn't like that Hardwell had critiqued him. After all, it was a commission and not a critique. Still, as he looked over the places that he had marked, he could see what his teacher had meant. Besides, given more time, he would have been able to find those small oversights and it would have been perfect. And, a B- was tons better than the measely C- he had scraped by with. Even art schools required you to have all the credits to graduate highschool, after all, and he was certain that any school he wanted to go to would accept him for his artwork and not his grades. He was smart, anyways, but math was one of the things that he couldn't get, no matter how many times it had been drilled into him.

    Blinking at the twenty set down on his book, he nodded at Hardwell's words, though he was still questioning the money. He wasn't one to say no to an extra twenty dollars in his pockets, but Hardwell had already given him a B-. Surely that had been enough? But, apparently not, and Corey accepted the money without pause.

    "If that's it," he said, pushing himself to his feet, "I'll be leaving." Looking down at his teacher, he wondered if Hardwell had expected him to sit down and have a cup of coffee with him, like they were friends or something.
  18. He figured that he might as well be leaving, but he then got a thought. Vincent had been hard on him, yes, but he may have been too hard. He did just draw on a sketchbook with a sharpie. And on a commission, too. Well, he did seem like an asshole. Vincent thought momentarily, and he then pulled another thing out of his pocket. He wanted to give a free pass to his friend, but it seemed like that wouldn't be the case. He had already got his own, which left Vincent with a free VIP pass to the convention.

    " Take this, too. " He said, as he tossed it on the table. " It for an anime convention. You're into that, right? Your art style resembles it. You can go if you want, I'm not begging you. If you did go, I bet you could still get a little booth to take commissions. " He shrugged. " I'm just there to sell some things. " He said, as he then stood up and put the rest of the scones that he didn't eat into a doggy bag, that the coffee place provided him with. " Just say you're with Vincent and company, and they'll let you in. "

    With that, he took the book he had before, and he walked out of the place, and to his car.
  19. Looking down at the pass, Corey tried to be grudging as he picked it up, though inside he was doing a victory dance. This particular convention had been one that he had wanted to go to, but had no money to get a pass for. Besides, there had been no way that his parents would buy him a pass, given that the holidays were so close to it, so Corey had been left on his own to figure out how to get one. And a VIP pass at that! He would be able to sell his artwork, too, and maybe get some money to fix his air conditioner when it broke.

    Before Hardwell could leave, he allowed a smile to spread across his face before he said, "Thank you. i"ll see if I can be there..." Letting his teacher leave first, he followed a couple moments later, going to his car. Leaving, he drove home before immediately announcing to his mother that he would be spending the greater part of a weekend at a convention. Of course, his mother was rather disappointed, as Corey's older brother would be coming that weekend from college, but she eventually conceded to letting him go, as it was only for the weekend.

    Returning to his bedroom, he pulled the ticket from his pocket, smiling at it as he imagined all that would happen at the convention.
  20. Vincent had finished off the scones he got as he drove home. Oh, he really couldn't wait to go and have a break from all of his work. As soon as he drove home, he checked his mail- again, and he then braved the stairs. Once he got up them, he raced through all of the books that he was assigned to do- which was significantly less than what he usual. Must be because it's the holiday. He was able to finish going through them in record time- only because he was a fast reader, and there really was not that much that he should circle. The others would do that for him.

    As he finished that, he placed them on the table and packed for the convention. He packed some clothes- casual. Anime t-shirts, and shirts from other things that would catch the eyes of others. Doctor Who, Super Natural, Welcome To Night Vale, Homestuck. The kind of shirts that would make any teenager gaze in awe, or jealousy. He also got some boxes full of the things that he would be selling, along with tapestries and other art pieces. It was a good thing he got the hotel registration before hand, or else he would have to pay plenty for gas.

    It wasn't long till he was done packing, and he was in bed. He had forgotten to eat dinner, he was so excited. He would just have to have a big breakfast that morning.
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