I take a sip of the lukewarm punch and watch, across the dance floor, where Nate is talking with a group of students. He looks happy, relaxed, exactly where he belongs.
I wish I belonged there, too.
Nate
Before
Coach has me dropping off handouts for Ms. Price.
I don’t usually walk this way, past the art wing, haven’t even been down here since I had to take art as a sophomore. My drawings were shit, but Ms. Price still passed me. She said I was alright for a jock.
Whatever that means.
I stroll into her room, waving the papers in her direction. She’s across the room with a student, so she points at her desk. I drop the stack and turn to head back out, but something stops me.
There’s this painting.
It’s propped up on an easel near the windows, half-finished, but freakin’ awesome.
Like, stop-you-in-your-tracks good.
And I don’t know shit about art, but this thing looks like it belongs in a museum.
The student painting is scrawny with brown skin and black hair hanging down into his face. I think he’s one of the freshmen that the guys on the team mess with. Quiet kid, mostly a ‘keeps to himself’ type.
Think his name’s K-something?
I almost felt bad for the kid the other day when the guys were messing with him, tearing up his drawings.
I ain’t like that.
Never saw the point of making somebody feel bad, especially the freshmen.
Low hanging fruit, if you ask me.
“Dude, that is fuckin’ sweet!” I say, walking over to get a better look.
Ms. Price shoots me a look, all disapproving, but I ignore it, still focused on the painting.
It looks straight out of a picture. Better even, with clouds, dark and stormy, and rays of sunlight shining through.
I’ve never seen anything like it, especially not in real life.
The kid looks up at me, eyes wide behind huge glasses. “Um… t-thanks.”
“No joke. You got real talent,” I tell him with a pat on the back, right as Ms. Price steps in, ushering me out with a stern warning not to bother her kids.
But man, I’m thinking about that damn painting for the rest of the day.
Now
It’s way too early to be leaning against the counter with my mug that says number one coach, but I couldn’t sleep.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Iris.
My mind kept replaying her in that green dress, looking up at me with her lip between her teeth, my tie wrapped around her fingers.
She wanted me then, I know it.
