What to do?
I walk back outside. There’s only one other thing that might scratch this itch I’m feeling. If I can’t make art, I sure as hell can appreciate it. On autopilot, my body heads directly toward my favorite part of Lizbeth’s campus. To the Monet Building. To Phantom’s mural of the bird in perpetual flight.
When I get there, I grab the apple I snagged from the cafeteria the day before from the depths of my bag. As I eat, I plop down on a small patch of grass against the building opposite and stare up at one of my favorite paintings. I’m only there a couple of minutes before I feel a familiar weight fall upon my shoulders.
I whip my head around, searching, until I spot someone sitting on a bench a ways down the sidewalk. After they realize I’ve noticed them, they stand and stalk toward me.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to find you here,” Phantom says, dressed in a lilac hoodie and khaki pants. A dainty gold choker sparkles against their throat. “You did say this one was a favorite of yours.”
“Good morning.” I smile brightly at them. “What are you doing out here so early?”
They cock their head to the side, causing a wavy tuft of hair to fall into their eyes. “I could ask you the same question.”
“Well, my answer’s easy.” I sigh with disappointment. “I woke up in the mood to paint, so I rushed to the studios, but they’re all booked. So, this is the next best thing.” I gesture to the wall with my apple-free hand.
Phantom nods. “I like observing art too... when I know I can’t get my hands on a brush.” They peer up and down the sidewalk, like they’re on the lookout for other students heading our way.
“You know, I’ve never seen you on campus like this before.” I can’t believe it, honestly. Lizbeth’s campus, nor their total number of enrolled students, is that large. Statistically speaking, if they’rea student, I had to have seen them around here at some point over the last month.
“I’m good at staying invisible,” they reply simply.
“That’s important to you,” I state. It’s an informed observation, not a question.
They nod again, rubbing a hand against the back of their neck as their eyes flit from left to right once more.
My stomach twists. “Okay, then. Don’t feel like you have to hang around me on campus if you think it’d draw attention to you. We can always hang out off campus.”
Phantom stops searching the area to study me. A few beats pass before they speak again. “I have somewhere I’d like to show you. I think you’d enjoy it. Are you free this weekend?”
The apple posed in front of my face drops to the ground with a thud.
The knots in my stomach tighten. “Uh—um, yeah. Sure.”
Phantom looks from me to their mural. The moment they break eye contact, I find myself spewing off a mental list of ways I can try to reclaim it.
“I’m glad you like this one,” Phantom says softly, maybe more to themself than to me. “It’s one of my least popular pieces, but it’s also one of my most honest. Honesty isn’t always pleasant, is it?”
I watch their gaze grow sorrowful as I respond, “No. It’s not.”
Phantom starts to back away. “Text me later... you know, so I can stay invisible.” A single black eyebrow perks up mirthfully—almost as if they’re trying to taunt me.
Are they joking with me right now? Are they smirking under that mask?
I’d laugh if I wasn’t so stunned.
“Okay,” is all I say before they’re gone, vanishing around a corner.
I glance down at my half-eaten apple, now covered in dirt, before returning my gaze to the watchful bird.
I like this painting even more now.
“What are you giggling about?” Franco asks from his sketching desk.
This is the only class all five of us have together: Portfolio Prep. We have it on Fridays every other week. Some of us, like Iris and Zayne, have already started applying to graduate programs, while others––me included––are a bit behind the curve. This class is supposed to help us get our act together by forcing us to compile our art portfolios for job applications or grad school admissions.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, discarding my phone in my backpack next to my easel. It takes everything I have not to turn around in my seat and scan my surroundings. Phantom had been texting me, teasing Zayne for his latest addition to his portfolio: a shirtless, black-and-white photo of himself. Don’t get me wrong, he’s gorgeous and all, but to addthatspecific photo, out of the thousands he takes a week, to his professional portfolio is just downright hilarious.
But the harrowing part of our conversation is that I know, for an absolute fact, Phantom’s not in this classroom with us right now, so I have no idea how they’re seeing and hearing everything I am. A wave of goosebumps breaks across my skin, making me shudder. Maybe they’re peeking in through the windows, or they’re listening in with some kind of techie listening device?
