I leave her dorm feeling lighter than air, already thinking of when I’ll see her again so I can ask her out. I’ll have to question Dorien or Carter about planning a date—where should I take her?
Imagine. Cinna as my girlfriend.
That thought makes me so stupidly delirious.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JUNE
The coffee shop across from campus has oxblood walls and a ton of succulents on the windowsills, and the light through the front glass is the color of weak tea. It’s the kind of place that wants desperately to be cozy but overshoots into cluttered. I like it anyway. The espresso is decent and nobody from Alaria comes here because the Wi-Fi is unreliable, which means Cinna and I can sit in the corner booth and talk without recognizing anyone.
More and more I don’t want attention from others.
Cinna is stirring her vanilla latte with a tiny wooden stick, making slow circles. Her hair is down today, and she’s wearing a cream-colored cardigan that makes her look soft and approachable, which she is. She’s also, I don’t know. Something feels different. She gets lost in thought more.
She’s telling me about a film she wants to see this weekend, a French film with subtitles. I’m half-listening and half-watching the way the light pools on the table between our cups. Lately, I’m getting more and more lost in thoughts too.
“Oh, wait.” Cinna stops mid-sentence and points her wooden stir stick at me. “Did you ever go to the botanical garden with that guy? Tyler?”
“No.”
“He’s been asking for weeks.”
“I know. I just don’t have the bandwidth right now.” I trace a line on the table with my fingernail. “He texted me yesterday, actually. Asked if I wanted to grab coffee. I said I was busy.”
“Were you busy?”
“I was painting, so technically yes.”
Cinna gives me a look that says she sees right through me, but she lets it go and returns to the French film.
My phone buzzes against the table.
Cinna shrugs like she’s okay if I check it, so I pick it up and glance at the screen. It’s from Rachel, a girl from our Visual Studies class who I’m friendly with but don’t hang out with.
Rachel:Someone posted anon that Marcus Deleon plagiarized his exhibition piece from an obscure Canadian artist.
Her text is followed by screenshots of side-by-side comparisons going around, and even though the resemblance is barely there if you actually study the composition, it looks damning at first glance.
Rachel:Teachers are “looking into it.” Yeah right
I’m a little numb about it; here I thought I was going to have a chill, no-drama day for a change.
Nope.
I turn the screen toward Cinna.
She reads the texts and her stirring hand goes still. Her mouth pulls in tight at the corners. “I feel bad for whoever Marcus is, butgood,” she says, setting the wooden stick down on a napkin. “Maybe someone will finally stop the asshole spreading rumors.”
“Yeah.” I lock the screen and set the phone face-down. “Maybe.”
But my stomach hasn’t unclenched since I woke up this morning—hell, since I discovered flyers about me— and it’s not going to unclench now just because teachers are “aware.” The texts to me stopped about a week ago. Dorien hasn’t gotten any more either, which I’m relieved about even though I’d rather eat my own paintbrushes than admit I’ve been checking on him. The silence should feel like a good sign. Still… it feels like the pause between the first rumble of thunder and the part where your house gets hit.
No. Not thunder. It feels like waiting for results you already know are bad. Like I’m at the doctor and she’s about to tell me I have chlamydia.
I pick up my coffee and take a long sip. It’s lukewarm now. The taste is flat and slightly bitter.
“You ready?” Cinna asks, pulling her Saint Laurent Sac de Jour bag onto her shoulder. “I have Drawing in twenty and I refuse to be late again. I want a good spot for today’s model.”
