I grabbed one of the lapels of his blazer. “Would you settle for a kiss?”
He smiled as his lips descended onto mine.
The sound of Ms. Clark’s alarm made my fingers go still on my drawing.
The alarm was turned off and Ms. Clark’s voice filled the room. “All right, class, let’s wrap things up and I’ll come around.”
I eyed my strawberry. After having the sandwich Roe had made me, strawberries were the first thing that had popped into my head when the timed drawing challenge started. I couldn’t help but smile at it before I got up to go wash my hands.
On my way back, I spotted Ezra, my oil pastel drawing rival, standing by my easel staring at my drawing.
“Do I get to look over your drawing as well?” I asked as I stood next to him.
“Go ahead,” he said, flippantly waving toward his easel.
The corner of my mouth twitched. I didn’t need to go see it to know it was good. “What do you think?”
“You don’t need me to praise you. You know it’s good,” he said. “It’s different from what you normally draw.”
Maybe it was.
“How’s your final coming along?” he asked.
“I’ve been scrapping everything,” I answered honestly. “How about you?”
“I haven’t got a clue what to draw for mine,” he answered just as honestly. “Well, we have five weeks left. No rush, right?”
It had taken me two months to finish my motorcycle drawing. Who knew how long I would need once I figured out what to draw for this final? “Yeah, no rush,” I said just as facetiously.
He smiled. “Did you hear Stewart’s is hosting an event around Jane Fontaine, that famous charcoal artist? They’ll be displaying a few of her drawings along with works from four lesser-known charcoal artists. It’s this weekend.”
“No, I haven’t,” I said. “I’ll have to check it out.”
Ms. Clark approached and Ezra returned to his easel.
She gave me a tight smile. The last time I had seen her, I had stormed out of her classroom. As she looked over my drawing, her brows rose. “Why a strawberry?”
“I like strawberries and it’s what popped into my head.”
“I like that. This is a great drawing, Lottie. Well done.” She looked directly at me. “We should speak. Do you have time after class?”
Undoubtedly about what had happened last time I’d stayed after class. I nodded.
When she walked off to the next student’s easel, I cleaned and packed up my area until the final bell of the day rang. I sat on my stool until the class cleared out and waited for Ms. Clark to approach me.
“I want to apologize for how our conversation went last time we spoke,” she said. “If you would like me to change your final, I will.”
“What an ass-covering move on your part,” I said, beyond annoyed and disappointed. She was just like everyone else who had tried to help me in the past. “Did you think I or my mother would come for your job?”
“No,” she said quickly, sounding flustered. “I realized I was wrong for using your final as a way to get through to you on such a delicate and personal matter. It was the wrong approach.”
I mulled over her words for a moment, realizing I had jumped to the wrong conclusion. I sighed heavily, feeling like an asshole. “You were right to assume that I express my pain through my art. I do. I guess I wasn’t as good at hiding things as I thought, but I wouldn’t take back a single drawing.”
Her eyes went big, and I could see the questions forming.
“I don’t live with the source of my pain anymore,” I told her. “My life is complicated right now to say the least, but I’m somewhere safe and that is all I want to say on that. It might all come to light eventually, but for now, I want to keep things private for as long as possible.”
“I would never gossip about you, Lottie. I’ve only ever wished to help you,” she insisted.
