Lauren

 

Determined to find my keys, I began organizing my room. Without furniture, I had to sort my things into piles. Clothes went on the floor of the closet, art supplies went in the back corner under the window, and blankets, pillows and towels went on the bed. Besides my laptop, cell phone, and school supplies, this was all I owned.

I grabbed a notebook and began making a list of things I needed to buy with the little hoard of money I still had in my bank account. A bed, a dresser, hangers, and a lamp were on the list, but before I could get anything, I needed to find my keys. Where were the stupid things?

A knock on my open door surprised me, and I swung around. Nick leaned against the door frame with supreme nonchalance. His well-defined muscles were made even more prominent than usual by a tight t-shirt and the shadows cast by the overhead light. His teeth gleamed in a wide smile when he noticed me checking him out. “Hey, babe. How was school?”

“Fine.” I went over and gave him a kiss, lingering to smell his cologne, which I loved. He rubbed his hand up and down my back and some of my tension eased away. I thought about asking why he hadn’t told me Jake was one of the art teachers at Slaytonville College, but stopped myself. The last thing I wanted to do right now was remind him about Jake. He’d been pretty ticked off after the pool incident, so I didn’t want him to know I’d seen Jake several times since then.

“What are you up to?” he asked when I stepped away from him.

I pulled my air mattress away from the wall as I said, “Looking for my keys.”

“Do you need them right now? My buddy is having a back to school party and I thought we could go.”

With that smile, he was hard to turn down. “Sure. Can you take me by a grocery store afterward?”

“Absolutely, babe.”

I straightened and brushed back my hair. “Okay. Give me five minutes to get ready.”

Soon, I was sitting in his truck, trying to pay attention to where we were going. I needed to learn my way around, and I preferred to do it while someone else was driving. The sun was setting on the horizon ahead of us, blinding me, so I held one hand up to shield my face and wished I’d remembered my sunglasses.

“You’re quiet,” Nick said, stroking his finger over my hand as it lay on my knee.

“You always say that.”

“I know, but more than usual. Are you doing okay?”

Not really, actually. But I didn’t want to talk about it. “I’m starving. Is there going to be any food at this thing?”

“They’re bringing in one of those party trays with sub sandwiches.”

“Awesome.”

Nick pulled his hand back. His eyebrows were drawn together over his nose and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he drove for a few minutes. After a while, he asked, “Are you glad you moved here, Lauren?”

Even though I was having some struggles, I didn’t want him to worry about it. “Yes. Absolutely. My drawing class was great today and I can’t wait for painting tomorrow. It seems like a great art program.” I bit my lip as I thought about one of the art teachers in particular. Then, determined to ignore that mental trail, I said, “And Beth is super nice. It’s so fun living with Natalie, of course. Once I get to know everybody, I’m sure I’ll have a good time.”

He let go of my hand. “Lauren, you didn’t even mention me once in all that.”

My face froze for a brief second. I hoped he didn’t notice. “But that’s obvious, right?”

“You know, sometimes I get the feeling that you didn’t move out here to be with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when I was trying to talk you into it, and you kept coming up with all these reasons not to? But then when I started talking up the art program, you finally started considering it.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

“Yeah. I’m just… Look, I’m trying to figure out where we’re at. I mean, if you really liked me, you wouldn’t have flirted with Jake the other day.”

Turning to look out my window again, I sighed. “For the hundredth time, I wasn’t flirting with him. And doesn’t the fact that I uprooted my whole life to be close to you tell you something?”

“I thought so, but now I’m not sure you did do it for me. Maybe you were stuck out in the middle of nowhere, wanting an excuse to escape.”

“You know what? I miss my family. Like crazy. And I don’t have much food or furniture or gas because I don’t have enough money. I don’t know where I’m going in this town, I barely know anyone, and one of my roommates hates my guts. So, I’m dealing with a lot to be here, okay?”

“Wait, what? Who hates your guts?”

“Renee.”

I expected him to be concerned or angry or sympathetic, but he laughed. He laughed.

“Actually, I probably should have thought of that. Renee and I went out a few times before I left for the summer. I think she took it more seriously than I did.”

Not knowing if I was more shocked or angry, I held up my hand. “Hold on. You dated Renee, left, and came back with me?” My voice rose in a crescendo with each word. “And then moved me into the same house she lives in?”

“Give me a break, Lauren. I didn’t even think about it. Natalie was pushing the idea so hard that I totally forgot about Renee living there.”

Overwhelmed, I leaned forward and covered my face with my hands. I just couldn’t deal with anything else right then.

“Don’t worry. She’ll get over it. And you probably won’t even see her much. She goes to school and works full time.”

Lowering my hands, I glared at him. “I’m sharing a bathroom with her, Nick. And she hates me.”

He reached his arm over to rub my shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Look, just forget about it and have fun. Or we can skip the whole thing and I’ll take you out somewhere.”

I was extremely annoyed, but Nick looked concerned so I said, “No, let’s go. At least I won’t be at the house where I might run into my mean-as-a-snake roommate.”

Nick sighed. “Look, I’ll talk to Renee. Maybe if she forgives me, she’ll chill out with you.”

“That would mean a lot to me. Thanks.”

“Anything for you, babe.”

 

***

 

Even with Nick’s promise to talk to Renee, I didn’t sleep that night from worrying. When I woke up, though, I was able to push it all to the back of my mind because the day felt like Christmas. Really, it was just the first day of painting class, but to me, that was even better.

I had an early history class that went late, so I slipped into the painting studio just as class started. My heart pounded and I kept crossing and uncrossing my arms as I stood with the other students in the middle of the room.

“I don’t usually have a Painting 101 on a Tuesday/Thursday schedule, but it just couldn’t be helped this time,” said Mr. Chavez, my painting teacher. “I don’t have an attendance policy, but I’ll warn you that with only two set studio days a week, you can quickly fall behind if you don’t come to class. You can come work in the studio anytime you want as long as the building is open. But coming in to paint when I am here will be helpful, and your classmates’ critiques will be important as well.”

We all chose a workstation next to a large built-in cubby on the wall, along with an easel, a small paint smeared table and a rickety rolling chair. Opening my backpack, I pulled out my ammo box of oil paints and a palette knife, then placed them on my table. I itched to pick them up and get started.

“In this class,” Mr. Chavez continued, “we will be studying color theory, specifically the relationship of color and light on different planes. Don’t expect to paint something you can hang over your couch. What we are going to do in here will be transformational, but not pretty. We’ll prep some boards with Gesso for you to paint on, and since they will need to dry, I will lecture for the rest of class—something I’ll do very little of, so pay attention. You will need everything I tell you for Thursday and throughout the rest of the semester. Follow me.”

I shuffled along with the rest of the class where we painted our boards with the white Gesso and washed our hands at a little paint splattered sink. It matched the floor where dry paint was plopped and smeared across the tiles so thick in places that you could see where past students had set up shop.

The florescent lights in the room turned everything a painful yellow shade, including the bleached spikes of one girl’s hair and the bad complexion of another. It was awkward standing so close to strangers.

“Go ahead and grab some props and set up an arrangement in your cubicle so you’re ready to go next time.” Mr. Chavez said. From the collection of junk in the back room, I selected a purple box, a yellow block, and a tall glass bottle. After I arranged them in my cubicle, I sat back in my chair, satisfied.

Mr. Chavez and one of the students were busy carrying out silver work lamps. They brought one to my workstation, and Mr. Chavez pointed out the electrical outlet in the floor next to me.

I plugged in my lamp and positioned it on my little display, but when I turned it on, there was only a faint glint of light reflecting off the glass bottle. The lights over me drowned it out.

When the whole class was settled and quiet again, Mr. Chavez turned off the lights and everything changed. Suddenly the square of my cubicle and the objects in it became a world, and my lamp was the sun. I saw the way the light and shadows bent around their forms and changed their colors.

“You will not be painting objects. You will be painting light and color. Using your palette knife, you are going to block in large areas of color without regard for the form of your subject or any of its details. You’ll work in ever increasing detail until the form emerges from the blocks of color. No sketching the objects first, and no painting with brushes.”

I could see them – the shapes of color. The rounded triangle of dark green against the blue rectangle. A distorted purple line stretched across the brown arc at the base. I wanted so bad to get my paints out and get to it, but class was over. The others hurried off, not caring that he’d let out early. I hung back, absorbing the atmosphere, until my lamp was the only one still lit. I could hear Mr. Chavez talking to someone in the foyer outside, but it was only a distant rumble.

I looked up to the sky light and breathed out a thank you to the heavenly being who had led me here. I found the switch on the lamp and turned off the golden beam with a click, plunging the room into a dim landscape with weird shapes and expectant, waiting silence.

Out in the hall, Mr. Chavez was talking to Jake. I paused, jolted by the sight of him, and then our eyes met. Sparks burst in my chest, and I forced myself to get moving again. Where did that come from? I mean, I had a boyfriend. A good looking, well-muscled, athletic, cool boyfriend. And while Nick wasn’t an art teacher or tall, or… charismatic, darn it, I really liked him.

Still trying to figure this out, it took a moment to realize Jake was walking behind me. When I did, I turned and asked, “What?”

So maybe that wasn’t my most polite moment ever.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted a ride home. I noticed you walking today.”

I shifted awkwardly, wanting to both run and stay. “My keys are lost.”

“Come on then. I’m about to go home and my car is right across the street.”

“No thanks.”

“I just think it’s stupid for you to walk when we’re going the same way.”

He strode down the hall towards where I knew his office was, and for some reason, I waited. He was back in no time, and a short walk later, we reached his old blue pick-up. Though rust spots dotted the paint job like freckles, it was built in a time when they made things to last. It would have looked right at home on the ranch.

“How’d your painting class go?” He asked, starting the engine.

“You don’t have to make small talk,” I said, then pressed my lips tightly, appalled at myself. But I couldn’t be friends with this guy.

“Whoa. Testy.”

“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Class was great. I just need to know once and for all if I’m good enough for this. I’ve given myself to the end of the semester to decide if I’m going to finish my art degree or change to something more practical.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself. And what will be the deciding factor? Grades? Because I can tell you this, grading art is a subjective thing.”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll figure it out at the end of the semester.”

“You know, my grandma is an incredible artist and she’s been at it for most of her life, but she still hates two out of every three paintings she starts.”

“Wow. Your grandma is an artist? Does it run in your family or something?”

He chuckled. “No. It’s just me and her out of the whole clan. It’s one of the reasons we’re so close.”

“I’d love to see her work.”

“Awesome. She wants to meet you.”

My mouth fell open. “You talked to her about me?”

Jake shifted his hands on the wheel as he made a right turn. “I may have mentioned you. Would you like to meet her sometime?”

And then a crystal-clear feeling of something falling into place swept over me. The cracked dashboard in front of me, the faint whiff of diesel, the way the sun glinted off Jake’s watch. All of it felt right, like this had all happened before. Chill bumps rushed over my arms. “I’d love to,” I said, hoping this had more to do with his grandma than with him.