“You mean it does that when your laundry pile gets so big the door just gives up on life?”
“I’m busy.” He shrugs.
“Raff, you just got done telling me that you watched a nine-hourAncient Aliensmarathon last weekend!”
“Oh, fine. You and Vin are perfect for each other, by the way. You’re both the cops.”
“Finish eating and we’ll drag that crap to the laundromat before my art class.”
Which we do. Raff insists he wants to come with me to the art class to say hello to Lauro, but I force him to stay and do his laundry. I almost, almost remind him to fold it and not just jam it all back into the bag, but then I consider that maybe he’s right and I am the cops. So I don’t say anything and just hug him goodbye.
Lauro is leaning against the outside of Nine Five Four when I stroll up for class. He’s looking at his phone and frowning. He double-takes when he sees me and slides his phone away. “Hey, beautiful.”
He’s leaning forward, tiger smile, hands in his pockets.
I cross my arms. “Quit flirting.”
His eyebrows come up. “Really?”
“Yeah, we’re just friends. Art friends.” I hold out my hand for a shake but he gives me a little high-five slide-and-squeeze instead.
“Bo-ring.”
I laugh against my will. “And if we ever go out for drinks together again, don’t eat the cherry out of my glass. The cherry is the best part.”
“Oh, yes,” he agrees, with big solemn eyes. “The cherry is absolutely the best part.”
I roll my eyes, plant my pointer finger on his forehead, and forcibly remove him from my line of sight.
“Well, there’s no point in being a gentleman anymore, then,” he says, and jostles me as we both try to squeeze through the doorway of the building.
“Get a life!” I’m laughing and shoving him. This is the most physical contact Lauro and I have ever had, but he’skeeping his word, it’s not flirtatious. I wonder, for a brief second, if it ever really was genuinely flirtatious. I think come-ons might be his first language. Everything else is a translation.
“Excuse me,” a quiet voice says from the sidewalk behindus.
Lauro and I turn in unison to see Em waiting for entry to the building. Her eyes flick to us and then past us, down the hallway. We are not classmates, we are merely obstacles between her and class.
There’s an absence at my side and Lauro has turned into vapor. He’s stepping back out onto the sidewalk, holding the door wide open. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
I’m through first, Em follows me, and Lauro trails behind.
“Hi, kids. Hi, kids,” Daniel calls from his desk, feet up, nose inThe New Yorker.
I decide to take the easel next to Em’s. She’s quietly setting up her supplies and, oh, cool! Today she brought watercolors.
“I like your shirt,” I offer.
She’s wearing a long silk duster over bike shorts and a Haim concert tee.
“This is the sort of outfit tall, young people get to wear and look like runway models,” I say. “If I wore that, everyone would assume it was laundry day.”
To my great delight, she gives a surprised chuckle.
Across the circle of easels, Lauro glares at me.Quit flirting,he mouths.
I roll my eyes.
“What’re we working on today?” Daniel asks, hands in his pockets, strolling around toward Em and me. He’s talking to Em, of course.
