written right underneath it. I had been noticing that my mom had been having more and more “client dinners” lately. I was starting to think that maybe this was code for “my mom is going on dates but doesn’t want to bring a man back to the house because she just never knows what her daughter will look like from day to day.” I could accept this. It was a reasonable enough fear. But I was slightly upset that she didn’t think she could trust me enough to tell me that she was dating at all. I glared at the note for a moment before returning to my room and pulling a new outfit out for my “date” that night. I had some black leggings that almost looked like they were plastic. They grew tight at the ankles where a short zipper went from my anklebone to my mid-calf. I figured these pants were good for attracting the eye to my feet, where my expensive black heels now resided. They were strappy and edgy and exactly what I needed to snag Taylor. I finished the look off with an oversized white T-shirt that hung off one of my shoulders, showing enough collarbone to be alluring without being trashy.
Once I finally arrived at the coffee shop I ordered a raspberry hot chocolate, not really feeling in the mood to be injected with caffeine and over-priced coffee. I found a comfy love seat in a small secluded area of the coffee shop and watched the door like a hawk, hoping Taylor would get here quickly so I could get this over with and spend some quality painting time in my room that night. After about ten minutes I actually started to worry that I had overestimated my charm. Maybe he really didn’t want to come and meet me at the coffee shop. Maybe my shoes weren’t enough to attract him. Or maybe I had really slipped up when I told him I was going to prom with someone else, and he didn’t believe my pathetic attempt at reassuring him that it was a joke.
All of these thoughts swam around in my head, making me more and more panicked by the second. Now my gaze on the door became more intense, as if I could will him to walk through it if I stared at it long enough. Just as I was about to get up and admit defeat, Taylor walked in, looking as if he had spent way too much time trying to do his hair in a stylish way. I quickly regained my composure and tried to look interested in the magazine I had placed on my lap. I hoped that he hadn’t noticed me staring at the door like a maniac when he walked in, but he seemed unfazed which I took as a good sign.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said in his “cool boy” voice that told me he wasn’t really sorry.
“Are you late?” I asked nonchalantly, acting as if I had been so enthralled by the magazine in front of me that his presence hadn’t even fazed me. He looked worried for a moment by my less-than-enthusiastic reaction but quickly hid his disappointment and sat next to me on the squishy purple love seat. This was where I’d have to really work my magic.
I set the magazine and my hot chocolate down, turning my attention to him with a sly smile. He obviously didn’t know what I was smiling at, which wasn’t unexpected since I was simply doing it to throw him off base, but he returned it with his own grin, obviously understanding that something was about to happen in his favor. I laid my arm over the back of the chair so I could play with his hair while I talked to him.
“I’m really glad you came,” I said softly, keeping my gaze trained on his. I had to buy some time and look pretty close to him since his girlfriend should be walking in any minute. I had given her specific instructions to watch for him from the bookstore across the street and come in about five minutes after him. Taylor seemed to like my slim fingers running through his hair, which he demonstrated by placing a tentative hand on my leg. I was almost worried that he’d suddenly become enthralled with my shoes and forget what we were doing here, but much to my relief he continued to look at me. Well, not really at me. More at my lips, but I took that as a good sign too, so I didn’t try to bring his gaze back up to my eyes.
“I’m starting to think I’m pretty glad I came too,” he replied. His reply was about thirty seconds too late for normal conversation, but I pretended not to notice and simply went on smiling, trying not to look to the door for my escape route. Even if I had wanted to look at the door, my line of sight would have been blocked by the pillar of angry girlfriend that now appeared next to me.
It took Taylor a minute to realize that Heather was standing right next to him, but I didn’t hold that against him-the boy was effectively distracted, after all. Heather actually had to clear her throat to get his attention. Once she did this, however, the entire mood of the scene changed. Taylor went from looking like he was living in a state of ignorant bliss to looking like someone had just told him people were going to stop wearing shoes altogether-let alone stylish ones.
“Who’s she?” I asked in my best oblivious voice. Heather simply glared down at me, and I had to hand it to her, I was actually pretty scared.
“She’s just… um… wait, I thought you said she was your friend too?” he asked in a justifiably confused tone. All I could think in my head was, “Crap. There goes my career.” How had I managed to overlook that glaring detail? Normally I’d act guilty and acknowledge that my friend had every right to be mad that I was out with her boyfriend, but this time I had just let words spill out of my mouth. I was really losing my skill. I scrambled mentally to come up with some sort of explanation for my obvious mistake. Luckily I didn’t have to try to answer for my slip-up because Heather began yelling quite loudly at Taylor. Although I had asked my clients not to cause a scene, I was grateful for this one. Taylor was so shocked by her sudden outburst I didn’t think he’d ever have the chance to ask me to clarify my mistake.
Between Heather’s bouts of shouting, I somehow managed to slip in an apology and slip out the door, leaving them to scream at each other in peace. Some of my clients just loved the drama aspect of my job. I offered them a way to get out of their relationship drama free, but there were always those ones who wanted a good scream-fest to finish things off with a bang.
I walked quickly to my car, hoping that if I could get home fast enough, I wouldn’t even have to think about how badly I had been performing my job lately. I had never slipped up in the past, and now I seemed to be doing it with every client. I shook these thoughts from my mind and hurried home where I could change and concentrate on painting for a while.
Taking a few deep breaths and composing myself, I pulled my folding easel out from under my bed. I laid newspapers out all over my carpet and got everything ready to start painting.
My room was full of the other pieces I had painted, all of them different but with some unseen touch that made it evident they were mine. My favorite piece hung right above my bed. It had been a fun process to create this one, with its thick layers of paint that just made you want to touch it. The colors were mostly blues and greens, and I had used my fingers instead of brushes to give the surface that thick, worked up feel. It wasn’t really a painting of anything in particular, just lots of swirling colors and squiggling lines.
Today, however, I was in a red mood. I mixed reds and oranges and yellows into hot fiery colors, which I layered thickly onto the small canvas. I made a circular sun with a spiral in the center and a long expanse of yellow sand that eventually made contact with the distant red shadowy mountains. It wasn’t a masterpiece when I finished it about four hours later, but it was enough to exhaust me to the point that I fell asleep the moment my paint-covered face hit my clean pillow.
Chapter Seven
I opened my eyes the next morning and saw the sun streaming through my window, which was the first sign that something was wrong. That horrible sinking feeling instantly hit my stomach, and I looked at my clock with dread. It told me, with unnerving calm, that it was 9:00, which meant that I was already an hour late for school. I jumped out of bed too quickly, filling my vision with a white cloud that only hindered my already cramped “getting ready” time. I cursed myself under my breath because I hadn’t laid my clothes out the night before like I usually did.
Flinging open my closet, I looked over in my “punk” section for what I could wear that day. I yanked on some black cargo pants and a tight white tank top, deciding that with this boy, who was starting to look like a wild card, simple would be best. I pulled my short hair back into a little nub of a ponytail and quickly put some eyeliner on, scrubbing furiously at the paint on my cheek. The oversized black leather purse from yesterday wouldn’t really work with my outfit today, so I quickly shoved everything into a basic black backpack and sprinted out the door with half of an untoasted bagel in my mouth.
The drive to school had never seemed so long, but I used the extra time to think about what I had to do today.
