10th ♀

I grimaced, my ears ringing with the steady sound of the rattling alarm clock. Pleading for five more minutes, I ignored it. Turning to my other side, I let my left arm suspend loosely in midair, with the rest of my body secured by the wooden railing of the bunk bed.

My alarm clock could go on forever, and it wouldn't matter. I was perfectly fine as it clattered noisily beside me. Taking a deep breath and tugging in place one dreamy smile, I sniffed something weird. Could it be possible to smell something in your dreams? I was now considering the vague possibility. The fresh scent of evergreen trees was intoxicating.

"Can you stop smelling me?"

Startled with the voice I'd heard, I forced my eyes open. The first thing I saw was nothing. Actually, the lights were off, so I really saw nothing aside from the complete darkness. In a moment, I felt something brushing my face. And then there was something hitting me lightly on the back of my head. Could that be an elbow?

Then I heard a familiar voice cuss.

"KN?" I said, sleepily. Reaching for my bedpost light (we had this one instead of the usual lampshade to conserve space), I disregarded whatever was rubbing the tip of my nose. I just needed some light around here to show me exactly what it was. I could almost bet that it was KN's shirt.

Evergreen.

When the light flickered open, I saw none other than KN. Of course, it was him. Any other person would be questionable. He was, as always, trying to find the rattling alarm clock, and was about to silence it for good. That was actually his mission in life.

Sliding below his stretched hand, I moved away from the alluring scent of evergreen that he had. "I'm on it. Go back to sleep."

"At four in the morning! What are you thinking?" he demanded.

Two sides of our bed were placed directly against the corners of the room: the headboard and the right side rail. Although KN was towering, the length of his arm didn't suffice, because my alarm clock was tied (with metal chain) around the right bedpost of the headboard.

If he really wanted to silence the thing, he had to climb up my bed. Of course, I didn't want that to happen. And gladly, it didn't happen yet. But putting my alarm elsewhere could endanger its existence. In fact, I was thinking that he might have had acquired a chain cutter by now and was only waiting for an opportunity to attack my poor alarm clock.

"Have to meet Mr. Crooge at six," I said, as I pressed the switch behind the alarm.

The scrutinized look on his face softened when the alarm went off. Although it was still fierce, it was now within the normal KN range. Letting out a yawn, he asked, "Why do you have to meet him?"

"Help around the preparation," I told him, tidying my bed. "He said that he needed help. I volunteered."

"Ah, right," he muttered before he collapsed on his bed. Another moment and he was off to dreamland once more. KN, I'd found out, was a light sleeper. The first ring of the alarm usually woke him up. The second, third, fourth, fifth, etc. annoyed him to the core.

I made my way down the bed, sliding my feet in my slippers. Walking around, I stretched my arms and yawned to my heart's content.

Yesterday, when I saw Mr. Crooge, the art teacher, walking around and asking if someone could help him place the paintings early this morning for the White Canvas Art Exhibit, I somewhat approached him and said that I would love to. The old man was dragging himself across the hall, hesitant to ask anyone out of the blue.

And the moment I saw it, my conscience crept up on me. 'Fiona, look at that poor old man. Don't you want to help him?'

And I did just that.

With a sore body, I cheered myself on. Almost two days after that gruesome PE class, my body was still aching everywhere. I already patched it up with pain relievers, but it was still aching. I had no idea how I'd survive more PE classes in this place. They were surely meant for boys, if not for professional athletes.

'Where are you, Finn?' Could I just scream that outside my window right now? Maybe if I'd do that, he would appear and respond, 'Here I am, Fiona! Let's go home!'

Finding Finn was getting insane now. And yes, I did talk to Grayson yesterday. Thank you to whoever told him to answer my text messages. Grayson had promised to keep my secret, after making me swear that I would leave this place as soon as I found my brother. He had stressed out that being here was unethical.

And I did ask him if he was my brother. After all, he was my primary Finn suspect. But after ten minutes of cruel interrogation, he had no idea how in the world did I ever formulate that suspicion. Well, he and Finn had the same facial features. I couldn't help it.

More facts on Grayson:

1. He was an only son. I didn't believe him at first, of course. But he made me talk to his mother on the phone and even his dad.

2. No twins, obviously.

3. A nerd. Okay, I was kind of getting repetitive about this one. I mean, how handsome could he be with those thick-rimmed glasses that he always wore and that bed hair that he always carried around? For a guy who didn't seem to know the meaning of having a nice hairdo, Grayson was definitely good-looking.

So with all that said and confirmed, did we, finally, have a chance to be together now? Just kidding. No mutual feeling was reciprocated.

But a girl could dream.

I could just imagine Grayson and I walking around this old lovely castle hand in hand. We'd be sitting on the balcony, telling each other about our day, about calculus and PE class, while looking at the setting sun.

Wait.

I shook my head, disappointed with myself. I was getting into that delusional thought again. Finding Finn would be my first and only priority right now. Dating Grayson would only be the second.

No, Fiona. No.

Okay, fine. As much as I wanted to kindle a fire with Grayson, I had to settle on staying as I was now. No love interest and all serious finding Finn mindset. But seriously, when did my mindset win over me? Most of the time, it was set aside.

But no, Fiona. No Grayson.

Checking that KN was still in deep slumber, particularly by placing my hand near his face and waving just above the tip of his nose, I grabbed a canvas from behind his bedpost. I actually resorted to doing this, after knowing that I'd be moving the artworks to be displayed at the exhibit this morning. But what was I thinking?

From my history of holding a paintbrush and smudging a white canvas, I had to admit that I had null talent for this one. Absolute zero.

Painting was not my expertise. But I liked it. No, I loved it. Just how amazing could those art works be? It was a thing I deeply admired.

However, some feelings were not meant to be mutual. Some hands were not coordinated. Some minds weren't creative. Sorry for falling in this category.

I did try. I looked at my artwork. It was blue (for the sky effect), the circles were supposed to be the crab cakes (it didn't show), and the plate itself where the circles were placed was the only coherent thing. Okay, so maybe the plate was looking awkward as well. It was something in between a crooked dish and a UFO. Perhaps, it was more like a UFO. Those things could be easily redefined according to the imagination. It could be crooked, but still, it would be a UFO.

I let out a long and heavy sigh.

No one would believe that this was the work of the masked guy. He, like what everyone had said, was exemplary talented. And I saw it for myself. When he had sketched me, his hands were unbelievable. If he'd turn that sketch into an oil painting, which I heard was the one he was so good at, I could only imagine how unbelievable it would be. I might appear as a goddess, even though I was far from being one in real life. After all, the praises given to him were astounding. He could make someone look even better than anything professional editing could ever do.

Theme for this year: Delight.

My theme started with something "d" as well, only that it ended with "—er". Disaster. No one would be delighted if they'd see this painting. No, this wasn't a painting. This was what you call as a child's doodle/fiddle/tinker/scribble. It showed nothing but my absolute lack of artistic skills. If only I was born from a different lineage, of famous painters maybe. They said that these things could be inherited. And really, my lowest grades were in art classes.

Enough said.

Draping a white cloth over my painting, I thought if I could really sabotage masked guy's entry with my own. Should I even try? Would anyone believe me if I would do so?

Nope, no one.

Sliding my arms inside my school uniform, still three-layered, I prepared my mind for the worst. There was only this slightest glint of hope that I wasn't the only one he had drawn in the last few days.

Maybe, after staring at my boring face, he'd decide to crumple the paper, where my face was nicely sketched, and say that it was a crap. I'd be offended. But if it was for everyone else's welfare, I'd let masked guy wrinkle that said paper without complain.

Hoping for whatever, I still picked up my painting. KN was still asleep at five in the morning, so he didn't see any of my drama, which included: staring at my painting, walking around the room while thinking, and that endless cycle of putting my painting to the trash and picking it up again. It was a long shot until I'd decided to make use of it anyhow and see if I'd be able to do something about masked guy's painting later.

Slipping out of the dormitory at five-thirty, I found my way to the art room in the school building. I spotted Mr. Crooge on one side, staring at a canvas. "Good morning, Mr. Crooge."

"You're right on time, Jules. Thank you, son, for helping me out." He beamed a smile, lines etching his wrinkled face. See? He was a sweet old man. How could I just let him rummage the halls, hesitating on asking anyone. I was so glad I helped out. I just knew it! He would be in need of some desperate assistance right now.

"So where should I start?"

"Come here for a second. Let me show you the piece that I think will be the main attraction today," Mr. Crooge told me instead.

Masked guy painting alarm! Masked guy painting alarm!

I stiffened on my spot upon reminder of the masked guy. With all necessary, and superfluous, hesitation, I dragged my feet to where Mr. Crooge was. By the time I successfully made three steps forward, I had already swallowed all the saliva in my mouth, as well as all the glands that produced it. My body was only functioning because I was technically alive. The presence of my mind was elsewhere, to nervous-wracked land, maybe.

That was my face. That painting had Fiona's face. The masked guy submitted my face as his entry. I would be exhibited. The whole school would know. My father would be cut off tomorrow, after they'd find out that he had made a compromise with my documents and my admission here. And then, after that, Finn would completely end his ties to our family.

Probably out of shame.

And it was all because of that masked guy. And Channing's party. And Clark's request. And Paige's insistence. And my ever-present helping hand.

I pulled a smile, forcefully, to my lips, the moment I was standing beside Mr. Crooge. Hesitant to look at the piece, I was still facing my art teacher, instead of looking at what he wanted me to check out. Understandably, it wasn't him. But he was still busy gawking at the piece, so he didn't really see my apprehension and nervousness that I was sure were painted all over my face.

"Isn't it a beauty?" Mr. Crooged quietly asked.

And once again, holding on to whatever, I deliberately, very, very slowly, turned to my left, where the painting was. Sweat was trickling on my whole body, nerves were already demolished a long time ago, and my mind was saying that this was goodbye.

However, from what I'd seen, it was... not?

What I was seeing was something beautiful. Astounding. Magnificent. Stunning. Aesthetic. Mind-blowing. Beautiful? Astounding? Err... I ran out of adjectives. To put it simply, it was beauty at its finest.

Yeah, I should forget all about sabotaging it and throw my doodle on canvas away. The painting was beyond magnificent. The lines of the center image were subtle, yet it blended well with the whole thing. Every stroke, depth, and hue that the painter had used made the image alive. It was speaking soundless words, telling one great story behind.

Delight.

For me, it wasn't the food that was emphasized. Although it was supposed to be the theme, the painter made the emphasis to it supplemental. Even for an ordinary spectator like myself, I had clearly seen what he meant.

The girl with a red apron loosely dangling around her neck, who was holding the silver tray in her hands, was happily looking at the boy who was running with a cellphone pressed to his ears. And it was the one that was showcased. Everything around her was blurred. The colored lights from the strobe were lightly pressed at some spots, a few reflected in her auburn hair. People around her were only silhouettes, like the boy she had helped. Everything around her was silenced. Only she was beaming endless bliss.

When I thought that at times, my helping around acts were a nuisance, here was one guy who had seen through it. He saw that this was what was making me feel that joy, contentment, and that throbbing in my heart when I knew that I was doing the right thing.

I didn't have to search the whole world anymore to find what it was that could make me happy, because here it was—exhibited.

"Do you know who made this?" Mr. Crooge asked, taking me out of my thoughts.

"The masked guy." The answer was simple. The girl, whoever that was, whom he had painted before, I could now relate to what she felt when her face was showcased in this event last year. When a painter did justice to you, you couldn't just say no.

Because I couldn't.

Even if that was Fiona in Clark's red apron, I wanted it to be included in the exhibit. It would be a shame if many wouldn't see this piece of work. I couldn't find the heart to be selfish this time around. They had to see this. Everyone who would attend the exhibit had to see this one.

And though she still resembled me, the painter did not define my features that fully. I just blended with the whole thing. You couldn't fully make out the girl's identity with just this painting. It was only now mine, Clark's, and masked guy's secret to keep.

"So what can you say?" asked Mr. Crooge.

"He's expected to be the main piece of the day. Everyone's certain that he'll end up in the center spot." I shrugged.

"Unfortunately, no. He didn't get the main spot. Andrew, a sophomore, got it. This year's theme was delight, with correlation to foods. And I'm sure you can tell that he was showing something else," Mr. Crooge replied.

"This is... not... the main piece?" I asked with absolute astonishment.

"That boy is protecting something in this piece. He knows how to abide by the theme. He never did this before," Mr. Crooge replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Protecting?"

"That's just my guess. I have a feeling it's because of the girl. Last year, all the boys have searched for her to the ends of the earth, just because of one painting." Mr. Crooge smiled wearily.

"So I heard."

"However, I made sure that he gets a good spot nonetheless. It's his last year here in Corner Stone, after all. I had already chosen their places, so be sure to put it correctly. There are twenty-seven pieces in all. I'll go ahead and check the place. Just bring everything there, and hang it nicely according to their spot."

I nodded.

Taking one last glance at masked guy's work, I'd decided to start with the others first. The exhibit would be held in the gymnasium, talk about where I got all the aches in my body right now. Everything was already set up, thanks to the student body. All that was needed was for these art pieces to be moved there. Thankfully, they could all be hand-carried by one person. It was part of the guidelines.

White Canvas Art Exhibit had been a traditional event of this school. The owner of this castle was a famous painter, whose name I forgot. It was held upon his honor. And that was also why everyone was required to have an art class for four years, one class that I'd probably flunk again.

And saving the best for last, I finally held the masked guy's painting in my arms. Walking across the corridors, I acted like one happy child carrying her favorite toy to show to all. My face was not defined that much and my hair was auburn in this one. So I definitely wouldn't be recognized by anyone. I was hardly perceptible. And I was certain that even Finn wouldn't recognize that the girl in the painting was his sister, Fiona.

On the way to the gym, there was this hall that had burnt out light bulbs. I guessed they were all placed at the same time and died at the same time as well. Too bad for them. The whole length of the hall was as dark as it could possibly be. This old castle could really be creepy at times.

So like what I had been doing while bringing all the artworks from the art room to the gym, I picked up my pace and readied myself to get to the other end of the hall in haste. There was the slightest light coming from the other end, since I'd left the door open. Swallowing my fears, I prepared myself for a quick run.

But halfway along, I felt the white cover cloth drop to the ground. Right now? I groaned. But I had no choice. I had to stop. And trying to find the cloth in the complete darkness, I placed the painting beside the wall.

Why of all places should it fall right here?

Moving from one place to another, while searching with my hand, I noticed something in the painting. I thought my imagination was playing games with me. Or I was being haunted. There was nothing like that in there before.

But as I looked at it closely, I realized that it wasn't just my thoughts. They were real. I choked on my breath at the words written in green luminous paint: Clark, what are you doing here in Corner Stone?!

There was one thing I was forgetting here, I realized. With me acting so happy about not being showcased, there was one important thing that I had forgotten. And here was where I ended up, blindly believing that masked guy didn't know where 'Clark' or Fiona was nowadays. That he didn't realize who I was. That he just changed his mind and was only rebelling about the theme for some reason.

But no, he did. He knew.

Aside from Grayson, someone else was aware of my secret. There was someone out there in this school who had known it all along. Hiding in the shadows, he was watching me. He had recognized 'Clark' from Channing's party. He knew that I was a girl dressing up as a boy. And the thing was, he was someone whose identity I knew nothing about. 

FINDING FINN JOURNAL NO. 10

He knows! That guy knows who I am!! 😳