Bashing Trinity

BASH

I am so annoyed with the art teacher who didn’t appreciate my watercolor painting. I hop out of the car without thanking my driver.

Sprinting inside the house with my backpack tightly grasp, I stomp my feet to our expansive living room. I was practicing the same concept last night over and over again until it looked satisfactory.

I admit I’m so bad at art, but it hurts my ego because I’m excellent at every subject. I can play the piano, cello, violin, and guitar with my eyes closed. I can solve math in just one look at the problem, but art? Ugh! I grimace at the thought of it.

I stop to halt when I notice mom and one of her best friends are laughing together. Their voices are echoing in the living room.

They abruptly stop when they notice me.

my eyes. Mom’s beautiful face lights up and smiles at me. Aunt

me on my lips and pinches my face in front of everyone—it’s annoying. Who do girls like a mama’s boy?

cool because everyone knows that I’m a good boy of

slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I almost bump into Kiara, whose standing in the middle of the stairs. Her right hand is gripping the rails, and the other is on her

she shrieks in

more or like ringlet red lacks is like she has jammed her finger to the electrical outlet—so messy. She reminds me

here, goldfish?” I

quiver. She doesn’t like the nickname I give her, but I like to annoy

meet my gaze as she grips her sketchpad to her chest. She didn’t meet

“Well, you look like goldfish, Trinity,” I say mockingly.

Kiara,” she says softly with a shaky

still look like a goldfish. You have orange hair with big eyes,” I say, demonstrating how big her eyes are. “And what’s in that sketchpad of yours?” I quickly snatch from her grip. “As if you knew how to draw,” I grunt as I flip through