Olivia

  My artwork used to be in here, too.

  “Where are all my paintings?” I ask Mom when she arrives in the main room.

  “Some are in my office upstairs,” she says. “The rest are in Donna’s.”

  “Which ones?” I ask curiously.

  “You can look,” she says softly, touching my arm. I shake my head. “Where’s Jon?”

  “He’s running late.” She checks her watch. Since I was coming to run the class tonight, she had promised to take my brother to a movie with her free time. “I’ll be fine, Mom.”

  “I won’t leave you here alone.”

  “I’ll turn on some music. Jon will be here any minute,” I tell her bravely. “Don’t disappoint Trey. I know he was looking forward to your date.”

  She smiles at me and nods. “Your dad’s right down the street,” she says, giving me a hug. “If you need anything, he’ll come.”

  “I know. But Jon will be here.”

  “I’m just trying to give you options. There’s no one more reliable than your father.” Before she can even finish her sentence, Jon enters through the front door. He walks in like he belongs here; like he’s comfortable here. I like that my mom trusts him. “Hi, Jon,” she says as she pats him on the back on the way out. He barely acknowledges her, his eyes locked on mine and a huge smile on his face.

  “You made it,” he says in what sounds like a sigh of relief. My mom lets herself out, locking the door behind her.

  “I said I would.”

  “You’ve said it before,” he reminds me. “For weeks, in fact.”

  “I know. I’m sor–”

  “Hush,” he tells me. “You don’t need to apologize, Olivia. I’m just happy to see you.”

  “I’m happy to see you, too.” We meet each other behind the last row of work tables and kiss. “We’re alone, too,” I whisper in a moment’s hesitation when our lips are apart.

  “It’s been two and a half weeks since we were truly alone.” He wraps his arms around me and hugs me tightly. He feels so good, so close to me.

  “We might as well have my family here,” I tell him as I pull away and walk to one of the desks, picking up a couple of colored pencils that must have been left from the last class. “And the kids will be here in two hours.”

  “Plenty of time,” he says nonchalantly as he puts his bag down and pulls out his laptop.

  “For?”

  He has a mischievous grin when he looks up at me. “Setting up the class and finishing my Frontiers of Science assignment.” I frown at him. “You could do your homework, too.”

  “Is this your standard Thursday routine?” I ask.

  “It is,” he says, “because I’ve been able to go see you after class.”

  “But I’m here now.”

  “But I still want to spend some time with you after class to unwind. I don’t want to have my coursework on my mind.”

  “Okay, that’s not a bad idea.” I pull out my physics book and set up at the table touching Jon’s. “Hey, this is our old workbench,” I say with a smile.

  “I know.” He wraps his fingers around mine as he reads from a packet of papers held together with a red paperclip. I notice other packets that are secured with different color clips.

  “Is that, like, different colors for different courses?” I release his hand and tap on the paperclip.

  “It is,” he says, still not looking up.

  “You’re such a dork,” I tease him.

  “Someone has to be organized in this relationship,” he says with a smile. He starts using his index finger as he reads, and I can tell it’s his subtle way of telling me he’s trying to concentrate.

  I try to do some of my assignment, but one glance to the back of the room creates a pit in my stomach. I keep my attention focused there, remembering back to one of the classes I’d attended as a student a few years ago.

  I was showing Jon a brush technique, and I was standing and leaning over his shoulder, moving my wrist and trying to make his do the same. I remember a rush of chills when he touched my hand. I stood there, motionless, even though my heart was bursting to get out. I’d never had such a feeling before.

  “Livvy,” Granna had said, and I blushed when I turned around to see her in her normal seat, feeling as if she’d caught me doing something wrong. She was smiling, and she signaled for me to come to her. Jon breathed in quickly when I removed my hand from his, and I walked in her direction.

  “Yes?” I said, fidgeting with my hands clasped in front of me innocently.

  “Let’s keep the hands-on instruction to a minimum, okay?” she asked.

  “But Granna,” I’d argued, “I do this with the little kids all the time.” And it was true. I had.

  “I understand,” she responded. “Jon isn’t a little kid, though. He’s a young man who is quite astute. And I know for a fact he knows how to do that technique. I showed him years ago.”

  “Then why would he ask me to help him?”

  “You’re a beautiful young lady,” she answered. I had looked at her, perplexed.

  “Thank you, Granna, but you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Didn’t I?” she’d asked. My palms were suddenly clammy as I interpreted what she’d said.

  “Do you think he likes me?” I had tried to whisper it, but I had a feeling the whole class could hear my excited question.

  She asked me to follow her to her office at that point. As I walked down the hallway, I turned back and looked at Jon. His cheeks were blotchy as he quickly looked away.

  When Granna and I were alone, she was sober and serious. She’d told me I was far too young to be interested in boys, and she told me that he was far too old for me. She also explained that neither of us needed any distractions. I already knew that Nate’s Art Room was a special place for Jon. I knew that he went to a rough school. I knew his home life was turbulent. I knew he had to work odd jobs to help with his family’s bills. Regardless, Granna reminded me of all these things.

  “What does that have to do with me?” I’d asked.

  “If something happened that ruined your friendship, Livvy, he would have nowhere to go that would offer him peace.”

  “I don’t think that would happen,” I told her, feeling suddenly confident in feelings I’d felt for the first time just five minutes before.

  “It won’t, Livvy. I won’t let it. Please don’t make me separate the two of you in class. I see that you are good for one another creatively, but that needs to be the extent of your relationship for now.”

  I’d frowned at her.

  “Don’t take away the one place he finds comfort, Livvy. You’re not that selfish.”

  Of course, at that age, I couldn’t really foreshadow what may have happened. All I understood was that she was threatening to move my friend to another desk in the room. At the time, it would have been like her taking away one of my arms.

  I wasn’t happy with Granna that night. I remember that I’d left the Art Room with my father after class without even telling her goodbye. The next time I saw her, she didn’t let it pass. She told me that it had hurt her. She had tears in her eyes when she said it.

  Granna was a strong woman. I’d rarely seen her emotional like that, and I’d felt horrible.

  The room seems to have shrunken in size, and that lone desk at the back of the room feels alive. “I’m going to go get a smoothie,” I tell Jon, feeling inundated with guilt about how I’d let Granna down then, and now. “Wanna come?”

  “No, I’ll stay.”

  “Do you want your own?” I ask.

  “If you get a large, I’ll share,” he says. “If that’s okay.” He looks up at me as I nod my head. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine.” I grab some cash and my phone, pocketing them both on my way out the door. I decide to call my best friend, wanting to get my mind off of that memory.

  “What do you want?” Finn asks.

/>   “Where’s Camille?”

  “Her parents are having a talk with her.”

  “What’d you do?” I ask.

  “We were making out when they got home. That’s all.”

  “Just making out?”

  “We’d just started,” he explains. “If they’d come home three minutes later, I don’t think I’d be sitting in her room right now.”

  I laugh a little. He always seems to get away with things. I feel like he’s just blessed with good luck.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Physics homework at the Art Room, but I had to get out of there for a bit.”

  “You went?” he asks, surprised.

  “I did... but now I’m wishing I hadn’t. I just feel her presence, and she’s still disappointed in me.”

  “I doubt that,” Finn says. “Can I copy your Physics homework tomorrow?” For a second, I’m annoyed that he’s changed the subject, but then remember why I’d called Camille. I want to forget about Granna.

  “How do you expect to get in to college?”

  “Soccer,” he says confidently.

  “They won’t take an idiot, no matter how well you can kick a ball around,” I tell him. “Meet me at 7:30 tomorrow morning and I’ll go over it with you.”

  “Cool.”

  “But can you try to do it on your own?”

  “Sure, Liv. Sure thing.” I’m positive he won’t. “Where’s your man?”

  “He’s in the Art Room. I just left to get a smoothie.”

  “And he can’t make you feel better about this whole Donna thing?”

  “I don’t want to bring it up to him,” I admit. “I don’t really want to talk about it at all.”

  “Well, hey,” he says. “I think it’s good you went.”

  “Thank you, Finn.” It makes me feel good to hear him recognize how difficult it was for me to come here. Most of the time, I don’t think he listens to me, so in the moments when I know he does, it makes me appreciate his friendship. “See you before school?”

  “I’ll be there. I’ll tell Camille you called, too.”

  I take my time getting a beverage at the smoothie shop. After perusing the entire menu, I finally settle on a concoction I’d never had before. Worried that Jon won’t like it, I get a more normal flavor for him.

  “I was about to come looking for you,” Jon says when I return. “I’m finished with my work.” He raises his eyebrows expectantly, and I hand him his drink.

  “What does that mean?” I ask him.

  “You finished with yours?”

  “No,” I laugh. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Let’s go out to the courtyard,” he says. “I’ll help you finish your homework after art class.”

  “Okay.” He takes my drink from me, tasting it. Handing it back, he tries to guess the ingredients.

  “Peach. Mango. I swear I taste squash.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t realize I got that one.” I crinkle my nose. I hate squash. Without asking, he switches smoothies with me.

  Once outside, Jon pushes aside some dead leaves and sits down against the brick wall. He clears the ground to his right, and I settle next to him.

  “Donna hardly ever came out here. Did you notice that?”

  I think about it, and he’s right. “This space is grossly underused,” I say. “You and I used to work out here all the time when you were teaching me to draw. And my parents and I liked having late-night picnics out here when my mom used to work late. Granna thought it was too closed in.”

  “It’s private,” Jon comments. “I can see why your family would like it. Fresh air with no threat of photographers. I bet most people don’t even realize it’s here.”

  “I’m sure they don’t.” The courtyard is completely enveloped by the building. Three trees stand tall, but from the street on either block, it just looks like there is a yard behind our building. The small patch of land gets sun only a couple of hours a day, so Dad has spent a lot of time maintaining the lawn–even if it means planting new grass a few times a year.

  “Does the desk in the back bother you?”

  “Yeah,” I admit.

  “Want me to move it somewhere else?”

  “No, no. It’s silly.”

  “I want you to feel comfortable here, Liv. I want you to feel inspired again.”

  “I’m fine. I don’t want to cry,” I whisper before clearing my throat. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I look over at him, leaning up to kiss him. He sets his smoothie down so he can use both hands to angle my body and put his arms around me.

  “Two and a half weeks,” he reiterates when we part. He nudges some hair out of my face with his nose and kisses my cheek. “When do you think we’ll be able to be alone again?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

  “After last night...” he says, but stops. He doesn’t have to say anymore. For the past three Wednesdays, Jon and his brothers had been welcomed into our home for dinner. Last night was the first time the brothers and my parents left me and Jon alone in the basement. We heard the laughter upstairs while they played board games, and at times it was like they all forgot we were even there.

  The newfound freedom wasn’t wasted on us, but we also knew any one of them could come downstairs at a moment’s notice. Although we lay under a blanket–it was cold in the basement–we kept all of our clothes on. Hands and lips explored freely, and there were times when he had to cover my lips with his to keep me quiet.

  It was intense, and my body was weak and relaxed by the time he had to leave.

  “I want you, Olivia.” The way he looks at me gives me confidence to try something new. I kiss him again, but before we part, I decide to give him the sign I’d promised him. I want him to know, without a doubt, that I want him the same way. I suck gently on his bottom lip, scraping it lightly with my teeth before I pull away.

  I blush and can’t look at his response as I listen to the wind rustle in the tree limbs above us. “What was that?” he asks. I duck my head into my hands, embarrassed.

  “Nothing,” I mumble. “It was my sign to you. I read that guys like it–”

  “Wow, where are you reading such things?”

  “Online,” I admit, looking up at him from behind my lashes. “The girl said it drives men crazy,” I explain, shaking my head.

  “That girl knows what she’s talking about. That was sexy as hell, Olivia.”

  “Does it make you feel like I want you?” I ask him, grinning widely. “That I want to be with you?”

  He puts the palm of his hand against the back of my head and pulls me to him again. This time, it seems like he offers his lip to me. When he feels my teeth, he groans into my mouth and kisses me harder. He slides his other hand under my shirt, pressing it hard against my chest.

  I thought he might find it sexy, but I didn’t think it would be such a turn on. We’re both breathless this time when he pulls away, and the way my body feels is completely out of sync with my rational mind.

  “What if we brought blankets here–”

  “No,” I say.

  “I just had to ask.” He squints his eyes, looking apologetic. “What I was going to say is what if we brought drop cloths out here and painted in the courtyard tonight?”

  I laugh at his suggestion, knowing that wasn’t his original question. “We could turn the flood lights on.”

  “We could.”

  “No, I like this...” I wasn’t confident in our lesson plan for the night–mainly because I didn’t think Jon would be able to do the technique quite right–until this idea came up. “We can show them how colors look altered in different types of light.”

  “Great idea,” he says, looking at me proudly. “Will you demonstrate?”

  I take a sip of my smoothie and feel my hands start to tremble lightly. I shake my head, looking down at my feet.

  “It’s okay,” he assures me. “I’ve got this.” He squeezes my knee before drinking from his cup. H
e kisses me again, this time sweetly. It ends quickly.

  “You taste like squash,” I tease him.

  “Can’t get enough of it now, huh?”

  “Let’s just say if it was strawberries, I may have caved in at your request for blankets.”

  “Yeah, right,” he says as he stands. I grab the hand he holds out for me and pull myself up. “Let’s go get set up.”

  CHAPTER 9

  After the success of last week’s class, it was easier to go back to the Art Room this week. The kids had a fun time last Thursday, and tonight, we pulled out the paintings that they’d done and talked about the colors. As I suspected, the majority of them noticed the variations. The class was split, though. Half of them liked their work better last week in the courtyard, the other half liked it better under the fluorescents.

  When the main lesson began, I returned to the courtyard by myself until the parents showed up for their kids. I still don’t want to be confined in that space with no Granna–and apparently no talent, either.

  “So, tell me more about your show?” Jon asks as we clean off all the desks after class. He’d obviously seen my eyes lingering on her desk again. I can tell now that he’s just trying to keep my mind off Granna, and I don’t mind.

  “We’re going to have it three weeks from Friday at some studio in the design district. We’re showing twenty pieces, in hopes of selling one. I’m supposed to stay in the background, though,” I explain. “They want to see what the comments are without knowing the work was done by a sixteen-year-old.” I smile.

  “Well, you’ll be seventeen by then. But I guess technically, all the work was done by a sixteen-year-old. Fifteen, in some cases, right?”

  “A few,” I say proudly.

  “And just how are you going to blend in?” he says with a laugh.

  “I’m just going to pretend to be a patron there, with my daddy,” I tell him innocently. “How I’ll keep Dad from buying them, I don’t know.”