My classmates were almost exclusively upperclassmen. I spent fall semester of senior year in AP classes devoid of freshmen. Art surprised me by how evenly distributed the classmates were. Sophomores, juniors, and seniors were the most common but there were also a decent number of freshmen in there painting and drawing with us. They were my favorite.

When I think back to freshmen year I can remember only feeling anxious, feeling like a dweeb, but now that I was a senior I didn't look down on these freshmen like I had been imagining the upperclassmen doing to me three years earlier. In fact the opposite. I imagined them judging me for being so poor of an artist; for being somebody who had passed high school focusing on superficial things like getting good grades in math, science, and English; for caring about what college I went to; for having spent so much of the four years caring about how popular I was.

These are the thoughts that filled my head when I was away from the class. When I was hanging out with Travis. In his Grand Prix Ms. Jasper's art class felt so far away. I could see images of myself in it talking to the freshmen boy sitting across from me, but never could feel like that that was me. Not while I was high and listening to whatever Travis was playing in his speakers and subwoofers. 

"What's wrong, babe? You don't like this song?"

"Nothing. I like it."

Travis didn't believe me, I could tell. 

"Let's go for something to eat?" I suggested.