Chapter Five
XANDER TRIED TO explain to Zelda about the BFA exhibition, about Peterson and the Delta Eta Sigma vandalism turning into a public service project. But Zelda wouldn’t let him get through the sentence before they had their phone out again, flashing social media pages at Xander faster than he could register them.
“Do you understand who you just put your project in the hands of? Do you have any earthly idea? No, you don’t, because you’re so far offline you’re in 1989. Skylar Stone, Xan. His sophomore year, he was the youngest president of Delta Eta Sigma in the history of Benten. He’s been president of like seven different clubs. I think he has six majors or something.”
“He told me he had two.”
This earned him no points from Zelda, who waved their phone again. “A Greek, Xan. The Greek of Greeks. He’s dated half of the Tau-Kapps, though never for very long, and only the richest, prettiest members. I saw him with Carolyn Hawthorne, president of the Tau-Kapps, just a few weeks ago, when I was protesting an event. He was her fucking date to that shitshow. I’ve heard rumors he’s dated a few guys too, but even there only fellow Greeks, and only the prettiest gay Greeks. Disgusting.”
No, what was disgusting was how the thought that Skylar might be bisexual made Xander’s heart flutter with hope. He said nothing, though, because he did not have a death wish.
Zelda finally put the phone away. “Do you know where he’s from?”
The coffee shop conversation rewound in Xander’s mind. “Greenwich, Connecticut?” When Zelda’s eyes widened in cold fury, he held up his hands. “Sorry, I thought you were asking, I swear!”
They aimed a finger at him. “Are you attracted to this jerk, Xander?”
Oh, fucking hell. Xander shook his head and frantically filtered a full formal denial carefully. Zelda was a proud aromantic asexual, and while they of course didn’t object to other people having relationships or even pining for them, they absolutely did have strong views about people pining after Greeks. “No. No, Zelda, I swear, and if you’d let me explain—”
Zelda was not in the mood to let him explain. “Do you know what that means, when someone is from Greenwich? His part of Greenwich?”
Xander didn’t, but even if he’d done a research paper on the damn place, he’d have shaken his head and waited for the next part of the lecture.
Zelda put their hands on their hips and tipped up their chin in triumph. “He’s a one percenter. He’s a one percent of the one percent. His mother owns a company. His father is a partner in a Manhattan investment law firm. He wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth because silver spoons aren’t good enough for people like him. His was platinum.” They sneered and gestured vaguely in the direction of Greek Row. “He is a snake because he’s a smooth talker. They call him Silver Stone. He always gets what he wants. Everyone loves him. And if you tell me you do too, I’ll empty your drawer right now and smash every one of your brushes.”
As threats went, it would have been a terrible one, except Zelda had made it a thousand times before and had yet to carry it out. The only one worse would be if they promised harm to his nibs, though those he kept safely stored at his apartment. But if Zelda was threatening his supplies, it was code they were serious about something, so he took the situation seriously.
“I don’t love him, no. I find him annoying on the whole, to be honest. But the department saddled me with him, and he is giving me good ideas for the requirements for this stupid social media crap.”
Zelda folded their arms over their chest. “I would have helped you with the stupid social media crap. I can’t believe you didn’t ask me.”
Xander suppressed a shudder. This was the one blessing in Peterson’s dictate that Skylar help him, that Zelda wouldn’t have a chance to. Zelda loved social media far too much and was always trying to drag Xander kicking and screaming onto any and every platform they could manage. “Well, what’s done is done. This is his grade too now, so we’ll all make the best of it. I’m kind of hoping we can do it over the summer and have it locked and loaded by the time classes start in the fall.” He sighed. “I suppose he’ll go home, though, which means to do that I’ll need to learn Skype or something. Gross.”
“Oh, no. Skylar Stone famously never goes home over summer term. And I still think you’re wrong. He has to have more than two majors.”
“He only told me about the two.” Xander felt weird, knowing more about Skylar than Zelda, and he vowed to let them be right about the next fact, even if he’d heard differently from the source himself. “I’m glad he’ll be on campus. Saves me navigating tech, and I’ll be able to get the stupid social media requirement set up for sure. He’ll have his project done and so will I before we’re officially seniors.”
“You still have to actually do your show.” Zelda nudged his portfolio on the table. “Have you decided what you’re going to do? Painting or drawing?”
“Painting, probably. I don’t know what yet.” But he wasn’t worried about that. He never stressed about art projects. Those always seemed to come to him at the right moment.
“I figured. Speaking of drawing, though. You skipped the last Lucky 7 meeting, and you shouldn’t have, because some shit went down. I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to have the argument, but I thought you should know that Cory supports the move to digital. Be ready.”
Xander’s whole body went rigid. Cory was the layout and printing specialist for Lucky 7. If he had taken up the digital crusade, Xander was fucked. “I guess it was inevitable. I just hate the way it prints. I know you don’t notice the difference, but—”
“You misunderstood me. Cory wants to do a digital edition. No print.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit. “What the hell? This is the first I’ve heard of this. What the fucking shit—”
Zelda shut him down with a glare and an index finger. “I said, I don’t want to have the argument.”
“Jesus Christ, Zel! No print at all? It’s not the same. I assume this has to do with saving money—”
“—it does—”
“—but manga isn’t like a newspaper or regular magazine. It’s harder to follow when it’s digital. It doesn’t have the same look and feel, either. The saturation is different. The whole experience is different, both for the reader and the artist.”
“Hey, remind me again of the logline under Lucky 7’s masthead?”
Not this shit again. “Don’t get cute, not with this.”
“Forming new straight lines. Times change, Xan. And printing budgets get cut, especially when readership falls.”
This was ten thousand times worse than having to join social media. “So you’re telling me it’s already been decided?”
“Unless you can invent us a new budget for the fall semester, yes. I’m sorry. He’s run it by Jacob, and Sara’s on board too.”
Xander wanted to puke. “You know even less people will read us now. Lucky 7 is as good as dead. This is a new straight line right into the fucking garbage dump.”
Zelda looked as grim as he felt, but without the anger, only resignation. “Maybe you can get your brilliant new lab partner to save Lucky 7 when he’s done launching your BFA show.” When Zelda saw the thoughtful expression on Xander’s face, they leapt off the table. “I’m kidding. Jesus. Don’t scare me like that.”
“I care a lot more about that manga than I do my stupid show.”
“I know. And that’s messed up, by the way, those priorities. Which is your answer right there. You should do a manga show for your BFA.”
Xander laughed. “Good one.”
Zelda wasn’t laughing. “I’m serious. You can’t use Hotay or Moo, obviously, but it’s not like they’re the only characters in the world. Make up new ones.”
“It doesn’t work like that. Even if we assumed I could convince the art department to take manga art style seriously—highly doubtful, by the way—please remember I borrow Hotay and Moo. They arrived prepackaged. Do you even understand the history behind them? I couldn’t write something as awesome as them in a million years. I can’t write anything. I paint and draw things already there. I can draw them in realistic style or manga style, but I can’t make them up out of thin air.”
“Then find something that exists and make that into a manga and turn that into your project.”
“Oh my God, I’m not going to explain the creative process to a goddamned communications major. I’m fucking not.”
They threw up their hands. “Fine. All I’m saying is if you feel this passionately about it, the odds are good this is where you should put your efforts.”
Xander didn’t want to argue anymore. “Point taken. Can I go now? I have all these stupid forms I have to fill out for Mr. Greek, and I still want to paint.”
“Whatever. I have to catch the bus to the airport anyway. But you’re keeping me updated on this project stuff until I get back to town.”
Zelda was from Maine, and they had to go home to help with the family business until the second week in July, after which time they’d be back on campus to torment Xander with what passed for them as friendship. “I’m not joining social media just so you can stalk me.”
“No, you’re joining social media for your senior project.” Zelda patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll be sure to look for you and friend you right away.”
Grumbling, Xander hiked his backpack onto his shoulder, grabbed his folio from the table, and hurried out of the building.
SKYLAR THOUGHT THE meeting with Xander had gone pretty well. Not quite as perfectly as he’d wanted, but that was okay. Room for improvement was just fine.
He’d fired the worksheets off to Xander before he left the coffee shop, pulling out his laptop and joining the Java House’s Wi-Fi to send the files to Xander. He’d also taken a moment to type up his notes from their meeting as well, filling out Xander’s postcard and fleshing out his own observations in his private notebook.
Reluctance regarding the project remains intense, and even my best efforts to show empathy and make connections barely penetrate. Repeated, more subtle connections essential for easing Xander’s barriers.
Thoughts about Xander lingered as Skylar drove back to Delta Sig. Reluctant had probably been the wrong adjective to describe Xander. Hostile was a lot closer. Skylar wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone so suspicious and pessimistic. He understood why, given what he’d dug up about the guy’s past, but… Well, he wanted to argue that no one bullied him here at Benten, but the truth was he couldn’t say that wasn’t happening with certainty. Having his mural spray-painted certainly didn’t help anything. Even if there hadn’t been any incidents here on campus, Skylar conceded Xander’s past might make him unwilling to let anyone get close enough to hurt him.
Years of resisting, with just cause or not, had to have made for some pretty thick walls. And now the art department wanted at least three social media holes in his battlements.
There had to be a way in, though, some topic or issue related to Xander he could use as a springboard for the social media campaign. Skylar just couldn’t find it. He’d almost brought up Hotay & Moo, and he felt ridiculous that he hadn’t been able to get over himself enough to do so. He’d actually choked at the thought. The rational part of his brain had formed the idea of bringing up the manga as an achievement, and the fanboy Skylar hadn’t known lurked inside him had squealed and tackled the rational brain, muzzling it quick before it could so much as bluster its way toward the subject. It unsettled him just thinking he had such an element in him, and he decided it would be best that he never bring up the manga at all. If Xander did, he’d deal with the subject when the time came.
Maybe Skylar should start hanging around the art department more often. If he was going to find an answer to unlock Xander, the odds were he’d find it there in the man’s home base, and Skylar had a great excuse with his project. It might not be a bad strategy to ask for office space. A shelf in a supply cupboard and a card table in a lounge would be more than adequate.
This idea percolated in Skylar’s head through the rest of that day, and on his way to an LSAT cram session the following day he swung by Dr. Peterson’s office to formally make the request.
He didn’t have to sell the idea very hard, because Peterson beamed and nodded as Skylar made the pitch, then fell over himself to fulfill it. “I’d be happy to find you some space. It won’t be much, but I can get you a drawer or two for supplies and put you on the rotation for office hours without any trouble.” His smile widened, lighting his gray eyes. “I must say, you’re an example to your fraternity, Mr. Stone.” His smile dimmed a bit as he continued. “And I’ll be honest, it’s a relief to hand Xander Fairchild off to you. He’s a gifted artist, but he’s reaching Van Gogh levels of antisocial temperament.”
“It’s my pleasure to help both him and the department. Though now that you bring it up, I’ve been meaning to ask—does he have some acquaintances here in the department? I’d like to begin by integrating his local network. Even if I have to reach out to people who have gone home for the summer—I thought I could start by hooking them up to his social media accounts, for example.”
Peterson grimaced. “This is what I’m trying to tell you. He doesn’t talk to anyone. There are a few individuals from the communications department he talks to because of Lucky 7, but that’s about it for students. It’s the only part of the college he participates in at all outside of classes. He barely speaks to the faculty. On the rare occasion there are group projects, he either does an alternate project himself or stands in the back of whatever group is asked to absorb him by the professor. He glowers at anyone who tries to connect with him, but he never gets in so much as an argument with his peers. He’s as skilled at staying out of the way as he is at painting and drawing. Though, he is known for giving good advice to fellow artists, when they can get him to give it. You have your work cut out for you, getting him to socialize enough to promote a show.”
Skylar understood this truth more and more every day. “His work is incredible, though. I should think this more than makes up for an artistic temperament.”
“Twenty years ago? Maybe. But everyone has talent these days, and even exceptional people need a megaphone to be heard. I’ll be honest. I don’t think he’s going to be able to navigate a career in the visual arts. Maybe he’ll be able to sell his work on the side, but…” Peterson shrugged, then smiled. “Come on. Let me show you to your space.”
The area Peterson led Skylar to was a cubicle, Skylar’s assigned drawer the bottom slot of modular white shelving. He was introduced to the student secretary, who helped him schedule some office hours between his other cube mates’ claimed spaces and his own burgeoning calendar. Given that it was the summer, the place was mostly empty, though it seemed a number of art students lingered to work on their BFA projects, like Xander. They were eager to talk to Skylar and hear his ideas for implementing social media strategy and were grateful for his help.
Unlike Xander.
Skylar roamed the halls, quietly injecting himself into conversations, introducing himself as the liaison between Delta Eta Sigma and the art department. He passed out cards, explained his theories of social media navigation, and gave a few casual pointers to interested parties. And whenever he could maneuver it into conversation, he asked about Xander.
Almost no one knew him, and those who did had nothing much to say.
“He’s that junior, right? Well—senior now? Works in oils?” Deanna, a graphic design major, wrinkled her nose as she tried to dredge up more intel. “I’ve had a few classes with him, but I’ve never talked to him. He doesn’t seem to like people very much. Though he did help a friend of mine with the color scheme of her painting, and she said it saved her grade. And his mom makes the best cookies.”
Camden, a senior photography student, had a similar story. “Sat beside him in seminar last term. Let me borrow a pencil a few times, gave me some offhand advice about composition that made a huge difference in the way I approached my work. Impossible to deal with, but he’s a brilliant artist. Never comes to any department events unless he’s required, and he hangs out in the back, like he’s waiting for his sentence to be up.” His face lit up as he added, “The cookies, though.”
Camden was the fifth person to bring up Xander’s mother’s cookies, and Skylar decided he had to get more information. “I keep hearing about these cookies. I’m going to have to look out for one of those boxes, clearly.”
“They’re amazing. Xander’s mom makes them and mails them to him every few weeks in this huge box, and he brings them to the art department. It’s like, you can be having the worst day ever, and then you see that box coming and you know everything is going to be okay. She makes all different kinds of cookies, but they’re all good. I mean, I cried once when I had a snickerdoodle, because they reminded me of my grandmother.”
Skylar couldn’t believe this. Antisocial Xander brought cookies from his mother for the art department? Every two weeks? “Why does Xander give the cookies away?”
Camden held up his hands and shook his head. “Dude. I don’t know, but I don’t ask. He never eats them, that much I know. He doesn’t even open the box. He drops it off and leaves.”
This information gave Skylar more questions than answers, but it was certainly interesting.
The only real lead Sky got at all was from Eden, who’d done a group project with Xander sophomore year. “He’s super nice, once you get to know him, but it’s hard because he doesn’t let anyone in. I tried to get him to hang out with our class, but he always had an excuse why he couldn’t. It’s like the more you try to get him to join you, the harder he pushes you away. I think he’s probably the most antisocial person I’ve ever met.”
Antisocial. Over and over again, that was the word people used to describe Xander Fairchild. Some called him a snob, but most simply had no opinion. They thought his work was pretty good, but otherwise Xander might as well have been a ghost in his own building.
As if to prove this observation, Xander appeared. Clutching the strap of his backpack, hunched forward, hair in his eyes, Xander made no eye contact, but Sky could see his gaze flicking back and forth across his path. No one seemed moved by his appearance, however. The only acknowledgment of his presence came from a large group who had to shift to the side and narrow their spread across the traffic path, though Xander skulked as close to the rail overlooking the atrium as possible.
When his scan took in Skylar, Xander faltered and slowed his walk, his focused expression morphing into a glower tinted with wariness.
Skylar smiled and offered a quiet wave.
Xander’s scowl deepened and he shifted closer to the rail.
Antisocial? Skylar was starting to think that was the understatement of the year.
Skylar was about to approach Xander when a girl came up to him. She had a Tau-Kapp pin on her bag, something Skylar noticed because she was holding it with clear intent to make sure he saw it. “Skylar?” Her smile widened and she tilted her head to the side. “Hi. It’s Amber. We met at Carolyn’s party?”
Oh, hell. Skylar saw Xander scuttle farther away. “It’s nice to see you again, Amber. I’m sorry, but I need to—”
She shifted to block his view of Xander, her expression going from hyper-friendly to slightly intense. “I was hoping we could get together sometime.”
Fuck. Skylar didn’t glare at her, but he was firm nearly to the point of curt as he replied, stepping around her to trail Xander. “Now’s not a good time,” he told her, and cut around a group of freshmen.
But by the time he got to the atrium railing, Xander was already gone.
WHEN IT WASN’T raining, Xander generally ate his lunch near the hospital behind Benten’s art campus. He sat on an old stone bench which was slightly sloped, as one end had settled into the ground over time and one had not. The tree the bench was beneath had a tendency to drop twigs and, for most of the fall, annoying little seed things that stuck to people’s hair. He wore a hoodie during seed season, propped the edge of his backpack under the side of his ass affected by the lopsided seat, and all his problems were solved. No one ever took his spot. No one ever asked to share it.
No one, that was, until the day Skylar Stone sauntered up the hill, perfect smile glinting, hand waving a greeting.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Skylar stopped in front of Xander, slipping his hands into the pockets of his chinos. He looked like an Abercrombie ad, oxford shirt untucked but not sloppy, brown chukkas rugged but not rough, an olive cardigan draped over his leather messenger bag.
In his three-year-old jeans, Keds knockoffs with flapping soles, ragged plaid shirt, and tee splattered with paint and stinking of turpentine, Xander looked like a reject from Goodwill. He grimaced at Skylar and nodded a greeting he hoped telegraphed he wanted to get back to eating his lunch in peace. “Hi.”
He wasn’t surprised Skylar perched on the downward slope of the bench, but he did resent him for it.
Skylar ignored Xander’s glare and glanced around. “Wow. This is an incredible view.”
It was, in fact. The trees framed the main campus buildings perfectly, with or without leaves, and the hill made a highly pleasing vista. The view was the other reason Xander sat here. But he didn’t want to make small talk. He wanted to get rid of Skylar.
“Yes,” Xander said, and went back to his sandwich.
“Takaketo is beautiful, especially the campus areas. I think the river helps a lot. Greenwich doesn’t have anything like that. It’s pretty enough, but I prefer Takeketo, I’ll admit.” He stared a few seconds more, sighed happily, and turned to Xander. “How’s the homework I gave you? You haven’t contacted me, so I assume everything’s going well. File open okay?”
Xander hadn’t so much as opened the email Skylar had sent him, let alone any files. He still had two days until they were supposed to meet. “Fine.” He took a larger bite of sandwich.
“I’ve started a preliminary proposal, making a list of social media sites for you to consider, as well as some general advertising schemes. I’ll tweak them, of course, once I get your information.”
Xander continued to chew, willing Skylar to say, Well, nice to see you, I have to get going, and leave. If he didn’t, Xander would have to come up with a different avoidance tactic. He was almost out of sandwich.
Skylar in fact said nothing at all, not for quite some time. He seemed content to sit and soak in the sights of the crisp, slightly muggy summer day. Xander squirmed a little beside him, annoyed at himself for enjoying the way Skylar’s scent mingled with the smell of earth and bark and tree. It wasn’t unusual for Xander to be mildly attracted to a hot guy, but they usually didn’t sit beside him and try to make small talk. It unnerved him, to the point he considered inventing an excuse to leave, except his lunch was still half-eaten and it would be obvious he was leaving to avoid Skylar.
He wouldn’t mind being rude in the abstract, but in the specific he couldn’t do it. Part of it was the old terror. He understood intellectually Skylar had no interest in bullying him, but his reptile brain kept whispering this was like the old days, when the popular kids would crowd him and pretend to be his friend, right before they stole his bag or his lunch or his gym clothes or dumped a trash can over his head.
He doesn’t stink like a magazine ad today, though. This observation eased Xander for reasons he couldn’t articulate.
Skylar shook his head, gazing across the river. “I don’t do this enough. Sit and absorb the world around me. I always mean to, and then I never do. That’s my biggest sin, not stopping to smell the roses. I think I should take lessons from you.”
Xander couldn’t help the snort of derision that escaped him. “That’s probably the worst idea anybody has ever had.”
He tensed, hating himself for saying that, hating Skylar in advance for the nosy, probing questions which were inevitable after such a comment. But Skylar laughed in the same self-deprecating manner, then went quiet for another minute. Xander was starting to relax into the silence when Skylar spoke again.
“I can’t stop staring at the painting you gave me.”
Xander was back on alert, but he couldn’t make himself say anything, dismissive or encouraging. He waited to see what else came after that comment.
There was plenty. “It changes every time I study it. It’s as if my mood affects it. Not just what I see in it, but how bright or dark the colors are. I worried at first that meant I was losing my mind, but I asked the other guy staying for the summer in the frat house, and he said the same thing. He wanted to know if you had another painting he could buy from you.”
Nothing on earth could have stopped the quiet wave of pleasure this remark gave Xander. “That’s what art does. Speaks to deep parts of us, usually ones we can’t access any other way.” He gripped his sandwich tighter as he ground the sticky gears of his manners. “I’m…glad you were able to see yourself in mine.” He ignored the part about the total stranger allegedly wanting to buy his art, assuming it was nothing more than a line.
Skylar smiled, not his ting but the gentler one that made something behind Xander’s balls tingle. “Me too.” The smile turned regretful as he rose. “I’m ashamed to admit that even though I should probably sit here for another hour and bleed off more tension with your beautiful view, I need to get back to the LSAT studying making me stressed out in the first place. I was taking a walk to clear my head and happened to see you. I’m glad I did.”
The comments about his painting and the way Skylar had managed to hint Xander was responsible for the beautiful view combined and made Xander a complete and utter idiot. “This bench is always open. Nobody sits here, because of the slope. But it’s fine if you sit on the edge of a book or a bag.”
Terror kept Xander’s blush at bay at his bold offer. Skylar didn’t notice his panic, only grinned. “I bet you sit here every day.”
Now the blush crept up, hot, awkward fingers stealing across Xander’s neck and cheeks until they reached his ears. “Pretty much. I’m here every day from quarter after noon until a little before one.”
Why did you tell him that, you moron?
Skylar’s smile widened, still no sign of that fake ting. “Like I said, I should be taking lessons. But I won’t show up unannounced and poach on your private time. You were here first, after all.”
“I don’t mind.” God, why can’t I shut up?
Skylar seemed as surprised as Xander at the comment. At the offer. Xander wanted to take it back, tamp it down at the very least, but he was so busy trying not to throw up his sandwich he could only stare.
Skylar didn’t laugh. He looked at Xander the way he had when he talked about Xander’s painting. “Well. In that case, I’ll try even harder to make the time.”
He did leave then, which, thank God, because Xander didn’t know what other kind of idiocy his brain would cook up. He simply watched Skylar leave, heart swelling like a fool’s. Which was ridiculous. Skylar wasn’t flirting with him. He was being friendly with the sad sack he’d been assigned to help, making the best of an awkward situation.
All the same, once Xander was home later that day, he inked out a panel of the view from his bench, which he’d done before. Except this time he added a man in the center, hands in his pockets, cardigan over his bag as he stared across the campus, a riot of emotion spilling like leaves around him.