Page 18 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Did what I said to you send you into a spiral?”

The sound of a police siren filled the quad, that wailing ee-oo-ee-oo tones that doubled down on the fact that I was far from home. As if I needed reminded.

“No, but—”

“Good, because an artist with skin like tulle will not make it far in this profession. We must develop hides, and tempers, like the rhinoceros. Tiny comments or hateful barbs cannot make us bleed and we do not tolerate interlopers into our world well. You must always be ready to lower your head to gore anyone who thinks they can poach what is yours.”

“Uhm sure, yeah, I can gore people.” I had no clue what Dante had to do with rhino horn poachers. “I’m sorry if I upset you but my mother and father raised me to be frank yet kind.”

His gaze settled on my face for the longest time, the softness I’d seen before when he looked at me reappearing.

“You’re a unique young man. Forthright, honorable, filled with empathy. Will you be able to survive the cutthroat world of high fashion I wonder.”

“If I survived coming out in my small town as a queer fashion designer I can survive anything the world of high fashion can fling my way.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Confident too. You shall need all of that confidence, trust me. Now, what did you wish of me? I enjoy my time out here under the tree. The peacefulness of a tiny forest amid the vibrant noise of Paris.”

“Your dog bit my cuff.”

He looked down at my ankle area. Then his clever brown-green eyes found mine. “Given the fact that patch denim is an abomination that should be hoed out of the garden of good taste and tossed into a compost bin alongside anything with visible bra straps or logos on every bit of material one wears, I would say Pamplemousse was doing you favor by trying to remove your pants.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “I read you dislike denim.”

“I do not dislike it; I just find it to be an unaccommodating base garment that does not adapt well to various body types. Seeing someone in stretch blends or tailored trousers is much more esthetically pleasing.”

“But no leggings.”

“God above no leggings.” This time it was him smiling. It was like watching the sun rise after a long, lonely, scary night.

“Noted.”

“I will discuss the infraction with my dog at my earliest convenience. You should return to your fellow designers. We will be leaving the school soon for a little trip.”

“Are you coming?” He nodded. “Cool. I’ll see you on the bus.”

“As if I would ever ride on a bus. You will see me there.”

I couldn’t wait. That was at once thrilling and terrifying.

***

Another six am wake up.

At this rate my jetlag would become a permanent part of me. I’d never get caught up on sleep if that was even really a thing. I rolled to my side to fine Mickey staring at the ceiling.

“Yo,” I groaned while rubbing at my bleary eyes with the heels of my hands. “How you today?”

“Feel like I got run over by a lorry,” he replied then farted. “Sorry. Ate too many of those avocado and bean dip tortillas for dinner last night.”

“Dude,” I chuckled before pushing to sit up, the duvet falling to my lap. “You’re from Europe,” I said then tossed a peek at my roomie.

“Mostly,” he replied then scratched his long nose.

“Why is there no top sheet?” I plucked at the duvet.

“A what now?”

“A top sheet. You know. Like a flat sheet that goes over top of the bottom sheet. The duvet is too warm and heavy but it’s too cold without it. A top sheet would be perfect.”