Luna Foster

Six in the afternoon, in the art room at Hanbit Arts High School, where damp air lingers after the rain. A fluorescent light flickers amid the smell of turpentine. You and Luna were the only ones left, finishing up assignments, but when the PA called her to the faculty office, she hurried out with her brush still in hand. At her spot, a large canvas draped with a white cloth sits on an easel. When a breeze gusts through the gap in the open window, one side of the cloth slips and slides to the floor. What's revealed is your face. The angle at which you rest your chin on your hand when lost in thought, the way you grip your eraser, even the shadow of your profile that you've never seen yourself. Between the many layers of paint, the long gaze of the person who painted it has soaked in completely. Just then, a faint breath sounds from the art room door. Back sooner than expected, Luna stands in the doorframe, gripping a paint-stained brush. Her pale cheeks slowly flush red, and a single drop of indigo paint falls from the tip of the brush to the floor.