He chuckles softly. “What I meant is...you said you have a solid following, and that people have paid you for commissions, and that you’ve been drawing consistently for years. The logicalconclusion is that you must have a modicum of talent at the very least.”
“I guess,” I say in a small voice.
“I think it’s cool you’re pursuing something you’re passionate about,” he continues. "Are your parents supportive?"
“Yeah,” I say. “They're the kind of parents who framed my drawings in primary school. They didn't just stick them to the fridge with a magnet — they actually framed them and hung them in the hallway, and now I have to look at them every time I enter the house.”
“That’s so cute.”
“Yeah. And for Christmas and birthdays, they always got me art supplies. A few years back, they were the ones who got me my drawing tablet. They said I should chase my dreams, but they told me if I ever change my mind, then I can work with them on the family business. So I guess that’s my back-up back-up plan if I don’t go to uni.”
“I think that’s a good plan,” he says.
“What about you? Let me guess — you’re going to study something super smart at university.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because you sound like a smart person. You talk so…sophisticated like.”
He’s silent for a beat. “I think I sometimes come across as pretentious.”
“No! Not at all. I think you’re…precise with your words, but you’re not condescending about it. You’re really nice,” I finish.
“Nice,” he echoes.
“What? Do you think being nice is a bad thing?”
“No. Not necessarily. Honestly, I know I should be more agreeable, but… I don’t think it’s part of my personality. A lot of the time, I’m aloof, even without trying. I guess being nice opens you up to rejection.”
“In my experience, people are usually kind back.”
“Right. I don’t know; sometimes there are people who are friendly, but it feels kind of shallow. I don’t want someone to pretend to be interested in me when they couldn’t care less. But at the same time...I don’t often get told I’m a good person.” He clears his throat. “So, thank you.”
“If you weren’t a good person, I wouldn’t spend time with you,” I say. I wish I could wrap my arms around him or touch his face. I bet his cheeks would be warm from blushing. “But I get what you’re saying,” I continue. “Being friendly is sometimes shallow, and if you’re too nice all the time, it’s exhausting, but I still think it’s a good habit. It makes the world more bearable to live in. Anyway, you didn’t tell me whether or not I was right about you going to uni.”
“I do want to study science,” he admits. “I’m not sure what major to take, and I’m not certain what my end goal is. Maybe medicine or dentistry, or even academia.”
“I knew it,” I say. “Are you excited for uni?”
“I can’t wait,” he murmurs.
I can’t wait either — not for uni, but for life after high school — but my stomach twists at F’s words. This thing between us, whatever it is, will have to end, maybe sooner than I realised. There’s term three, and then after that, term four is dedicated to exam preparation, and F will be too busy studying to waste precious time fooling around with me. Then we’ll be in a big city without a school’s storeroom to hookup in. Would there even be a way to continue meeting up without revealing our identities? And if so, would F even want to?
11
Jude: Phone Sex
"You're looking happy today," Aaron says, watching me from across the kitchen area.
I realise my lips are turned up at the corners and force a frown. “No, I'm not,” I say.
"Hey," he says. “It's a good thing. You've been looking kind of grumpy recently."
"Thanks," I say in a hard tone.
"No, I mean..." He shakes his head. "Never mind."
Now I feel guilty. He got me this job, after all.
