"Urrghh!!" I growl as I look down to find my elbow covered in ultramarine blue paint. I sit back on my stool and stare up at the ceiling as I sigh my frustrations out, at least I'm alone in my misery, class has been out for the past couple hours. I swear it's the third time I've dunked my arm in a glob of paint today, and I know it won't be my last. I can never seem to leave the studio without looking like a freaking rainbow. I look back at my unfinished piece in front of me. I hate it. It's not that it's bad, it's actually pretty good, but I've just grown tired of painting the same things over, and over again.

Portraits. That's all it ever is these days. Portraits. Portraits of yourself, portraits of your friends, strangers on the street. It doesn't matter who it is. It all feels the same. Eyes, nose, mouth. Hair, no hair. Are they showing their ears? Their teeth? Working through dozens of colors just to create someone's skin tone.

I'm tired of it. Exhausted of it. These faces are boring. So boring, they could lull me to sleep. Maybe I just need a nap. Is twenty-two too old for naps? Screw it.

As much as I want to just toss my brushes in a bucket and walk out, I know I'd be kicking myself later for ruining them and end up having to buy new ones. So instead, I take all my brushes, along with my brush cleaner, to the sink for a thorough cleaning. After I pat them dry, I lay them in my tool box and clean up my work area. Unused paint gets covered to preserve it and placed in the cubby marked with a red "Tori" scrawled across the printed sticker that says "Victoria." I leave my painting on the easel, but roll it to a corner, no one should bother it while it dries. Now, at last, I can leave.

I clop down the stairs of the art building and round my way toward the front door. I have to side-step a couple other students as they carry a strange looking sculpture through the main entrance. I breathe in the fresh air once outside. It's always nice to smell grass and flowers after being surrounded by paint fumes for the better part of a day.

I'm halfway to my dorm when my phone buzzes and chimes in my pocket, alerting me to an incoming text. When I pull it out I notice the familiar name of my best friend Ferris. Being the weirdo he is, he has decided to send nothing but emojis.

Ferris: A coffee cup. A stack of books and a building. A hand pointing to a clock.

I shake my head as I smile and type my response.

Me: I'm assuming you want to get coffee at the library right now?

Ferris: A big smiley face.

Me: I'll be there in 5.

I guess caffeine will have to substitute my nap. I can't say I'm disappointed. Ferris is always good company and I'll never say no to coffee. I turn on my heel, changing my direction and head for the library.

Feeling slightly winded after climbing the stairs that lead to the library entrance, I take a stabilizing breath before pulling at the heavy wooden door. Why must the library be on a hill? For dramatic effect, surely. I walk through one of the large study rooms as I follow the bold aroma of coffee. Not too many people are in the library right now. Seeing as it's nearly 6 o'clock in the evening, most students are probably in the dining halls, gorging on all kinds of greasy deliciousness.

I inhale deeply as I enter the small coffee shop in the front corner of the library. I see Ferris before he sees me. I always feel like he could be my long lost brother with our matching brown hair and blue eyes. Though he hides his baby blues behind dark rimmed frames, which I don't entirely believe are prescription. I'm almost positive he just wears them for the look, but I've never bothered to ask him. He pulls off the artsy hipster look way better than I ever have, and he's not even in the art program, though he is taking a ceramics class with me to fill his elective spot on his schedule. He tried to convince me it was just so we could have a class in common, but I'm pretty sure he spends most of the class fantasizing about Patrick Swayze's ghost sliding his arms around him on the pottery wheel. Plus I've caught him humming Unchained Melody on more than one occasion.

Today he's wearing black skinny jeans, sliced at the knees, and a yellow plaid shirt. I swear, anyone else would look like a bumble bee, but somehow he figured out how to make it work.

After giving my order to the student worker behind the counter, I step closer to Ferris. I can hear a strong beat pulsing from the headphones he's wearing. His head bobs along as he stares intently at his laptop screen, not even noticing me when I pull out the stool next to him. I inch my head down low until my face is right next to his screen, which I notice has far too many internet tabs open. How does he keep track of them all? He finally notices me and pulls his headphones down, letting them hang around his neck. The music is beating more quickly now and I hear strange screeching mixed with bass.

"What in the world are you listening to?" I ask.

"Skrillex." He says with a bright smile.

"It just sounds like a lot of noise."

"Oh come on, it's party music. It's perfect for setting a mood." Ferris pops the lid off his drained iced coffee, raises it to his lips and tilts his head back to catch some ice in his mouth.

"And what mood is that exactly?" I ask.

"This kind of mood!"

Ferris took this moment to hop off his stool and begins dancing in place in a way I can only describe as a mix between a grind and vogue, very "Ferris." I laugh and shake my head at him and beg him to stop as the barista begins to stare.

"You look like you're having a seizure." I say between my bits of laughter. "How is that a mood? And what would you need to do that for?"

"For Saturday night, the big party! Remember, you said you'd go, don't flake out on me now. I need my wing woman."

I rolled my eyes, "Of course, how could I forget?"

Ferris and his parties. It was quite a thing to witness. I've almost gotten used to it. The instant he hears about a party happening, it's game time for Ferris. I swear he spends at least an hour getting ready, maybe longer. He always has to find the perfect outfit, make sure his shoes are scuff free, and his hair sits just right. Not a strand is allowed to be out of place. Personally, I'd be fine going in whatever clothes I'm wearing that day, but Ferris would never let that happen. It doesn't matter who he goes home with--and it's usually someone different each time--if he shows up with me, I have to pass his evaluation. Entrance is everything, he'd say.

"So tell me, what makes this party the 'big' party?" I ask him.

"Well, for one," Ferris starts his explanation, "it's open invite. So literally everyone will be there."

"Everyone?" I ask doubtfully.

"Everyone." He confirms with a serious face.

I rolled my eyes with a smile. Ferris could be such an attention whore. He liked to be seen. He wanted to have a grand entrance at parties, as well as an exit if he could manage it. I, on the other hand, just wanted to have a little fun with my friend and get back to my dorm at a decent hour. Ferris may be one to party the night away, but I was no good to anyone past midnight. It was like some kind of Cinderella sleep complex. Once the clock strikes twelve my eyelids start to droop and all I want is to be curled up in my bed with my favorite fuzzy, plush blanket.

But what Ferris wants, Ferris gets. Come Saturday night, I was sure we'd be howling at the moon as long as it shown above us. Secretly, I hoped for cloud coverage.

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Author Note:

Welcome to Phase! I hope you enjoyed this intro to our MFC and her BFF. There is so much to come for this story. It's been so long since I've posted anything, but I'm ready to get things going again. You can look forward to romance and drama and even a little comedy along the way, got to keep a balance! Don't be shy to vote and comment your thoughts.

Hope you enjoy!

-D