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eft.”
“Jace!” Beth throws syrup-covered cereal at her brother. “I wanted you to make her feel better, not worse!”
He swats them away, but one manages to stick to his shirt. He plucks it from the fabric and pops it in his mouth. “The truth hurts, little sister. It’s better that she learns it now. If you see that guy again, don’t waste your time on him.” Jace gives me a sympathetic look and leaves our table.
CHAPTER 6
The rest of the day passes with no embarrassing incidents. I even manage to be in the art building without bumping into the bathroom guy. I was worried he went to school here, but he’s not around. Maybe it was a fluke. Thank God.
I choose a stool toward the back of my figure drawing class. A sloppily dressed guy wearing clothing three times his actual size takes the seat next to me. His jet-black hair hangs down, obscuring his face. He sighs, like he wishes he were somewhere else, then glances over at me. “Hey, I’m Carter.”
“Kerry. Are you an art major?” I haven’t seen him before, but then again I don’t have many upper level classes. When the department chair reviewed my portfolio, he let me skip ahead into a few advanced classes.
He smirks. “You’re a freshman. How’d you get in here? This is a junior level class.”
I shrug. “They thought I could handle it.”
He points at my sketchbook and says, “May I?”
It’s personal and I don’t show it to people, but I have a feeling that I’m going to be stuck next to this guy all semester and if he doesn’t think I should be here, well, things won’t go very well. I hand it over and stare straight ahead. I don’t suck. A New York City art school, one of the best in the world, offered me a full ride—all fees paid—if I enrolled there. So sitting in Drawing III isn’t really anything major.
Carter flips through slowly, his dark eyes scanning my work. The corners of his mouth twitch like he’s trying not to smile. He hands it back to me. “Not bad, freshman.”
“Well?” I say and reach out my hand.
“Well, what?”
“Nice try, Carter, but you know how this works. I only show you mine if you show me yours. Flash me. Dazzle me with your—” as I’m talking, he rolls his eyes and forks over the sketch book. When I flip it open, I can’t speak. My jaw drops when I see what he’s drawn. I forget that he’s watching me out of the corner of his eye for a second and just stare. My fingers are drawn like magnets to the page. It’s a drawing of him—Mystery Man.
I want to slip my fingers over his face and feel the life-like stubble under my fingertips. The drawing captures his somber mood perfectly. There’s a lostness in his eyes that’s impossible to hide. I saw it the other day when I slammed into him in the bathroom and then again at the hotel room. My heart flutters and I can’t hide the emotions that are coursing through my body. But embarrassment still lingers, fresh in my mind. Who walks out in the middle of sex?
I flip the page and study detailed drawings of old benches with splintering wood beams, broken fences, and page after page of beautifully captured destruction and deterioration. Carter breathes life into his drawings. They don’t just look like things. They look like they live and breathe. They look like they could jump off the page. Though the inanimate objects look as if they live and breathe, the only drawing of an actual living, breathing person in the entire sketchbook is that first one. For a split second I worry that he’s a friend of Bathroom Boy, or worse—that they’re roommates.
I force a smile that I hope looks normal. To me, it feels like a robot is pulling on my cheeks, forcing my lips to curve. “Impressive,” I say as I hand the pad back to him.
Carter lifts a dark brow at me. “Some people say that about him. You seem a little infatuated there, Kerry.”
“I am not.” Oh shit. I shouldn’t have said that. I glance at Carter, but he just laughs.
“It’s okay. A lot of people act like that, all star-struck and shit. It’s hysterical.”
A deep throaty nah-ah laugh comes from somewhere inside my chest. “I am not some lovesick idiot. I thought it was an amazing drawing, that’s all. You’ve got mad skills. Learn to take a compliment, Carter.” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and tuck my hair behind my ear.
Carter grins at me, folding his arms over his chest and slumps back in his seat. “Yeah, that explains it.”
Before I have a chance to reply, the professor walks in. Since I missed the first day, I have no idea what we’re doing. An awful sinking feeling creeps up my throat. I feel like I’m going to vomit until Carter hands me his syllabus. I mouth thank you, and look it over.
The teacher is an old guy that looks an awful lot like the sculpture professor. Maybe they’re brothers or something. He has snowy hair and a neatly trimmed white beard that covers his face. When he speaks, his bright green eyes sparkle like he’s still a young man.
“The critique process that you’ve done with other professors is moot. In this class, you will study the drawing, say one thing that you like and say one thing that would make it better. That’s it. We’ll start at this end of the room and work our way around to, uh…” he glances at the seating chart, and then back up at me, “to Carter and, I’m sorry, but who are you? You’re not listed here.”
Every set of eyes turns my way. I hate it when that happens. Swallowing hard, I say, “I’m Kerry Hill. I missed the first class. I’m probably not on your seating chart yet.”
The old man suddenly hates me. He cocks his head to the side and glances around the room. After a moment, he spreads his arms as he walks toward me, saying, “There is one thing I will not tolerate in my classroom and that is students who are not serious about being here. Miss Hill, please gather your things and leave.”
What the hell? The man looks like Santa Claus, but he’s Satan. I glance at Carter, but the ass turns away with a smile on his face. “I am serious about this class, sir.”
“Then prove it, Miss Hill.”
