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Soft music plays in the background as Rebecca shows us how to blend the colors in the sky, leaving us once again as she slowly looks over everyone’s work around the room.

I glance at Ansel’s canvas again. “Painting really isn’t your thing, is it?”

One side of his lips tip up, appearing amused. “What was your first clue?”

Clocking Rebecca giving one of the other women some tips, I lean toward Ansel. “I can understand why you weren’t Rebecca’s favorite student now.”

Ansel chuckles. “Honestly? I only took that class because everyone knew it was stacked with girls.”

My eyes widen.

“Don’t judge. I was a hot-blooded teenage boy.”

“I’ll bet you three were a force to be reckoned with in high school. Did you guys ever like the same girl?”

Caleb told me a few stories about him, Ansel, and Fowler, and they always made me yearn for long-term friendships. Moving around all the time didn’t allow a lot of connections. Sure, there were always promises to write or call, but it all slowly died off. I was too busy trying to fit in at my new school, and they were trying to fill my hole in the friendship. To have not only one but two people who have known you through all the stages of your life and accept you without prejudices? I always envied that.

He shakes his head. “Surprisingly, no. Though we had a failsafe plan in case it ever did happen.”

I tilt my head, waiting for him to enlighten me.

“Whoever called dibs first got the girl.”

“Dibs?” My mouth drops open, and I playfully smack his arm. Unfortunately, I do so with the hand holding my paintbrush, and yellow paint flicks all over his dark jeans.

I’m stunned momentarily and afraid he’ll be upset, but he just laughs, staring down at the paint. A few of the other women look over their shoulders at us, and he purses his lips to try to stifle it.

“I’m so sorry.” My cheeks heat.

“I should’ve known you’d be trouble.” Rebecca’s voice makes both of us look up like misbehaved kindergarteners. She gives Ansel an exasperated expression.

Once a teacher, always a teacher, I guess.

“Actually, it’s my fault. I had a mishap with a paintbrush.” I point at Ansel’s lap and the yellow paint that appears nearly neon against his dark jeans.

“Ah, I see.” She walks behind us to peek at our paintings. “Collins, you’re doing a great job. Just keep working the paint while it’s wet to blend it some more.” She points at a part on the canvas that could use some work before stepping to the side to get a better look at Ansel’s painting. “Fifteen years, and it’s like nothing changed.”

She pats him on the shoulder before walking back to the front of the class to demonstrate the next step.

I lean toward Ansel. “I don’t think she likes you any better now.”

He grins at me conspiratorially. “Like she said, nothing’s changed.” He winks.

My stomach does something, but I’m not sure what. Before I can put too much thought into it, Rebecca is clapping to get our attention for the next step.

We’re quiet for the next little bit as we work on our paintings. I find myself concentrating, really wanting to do a good job, and Ansel seems to respect it because he doesn’t interrupt my work, but he’s barely doing much to his.

In fact, I’m the one who breaks the silence. “I… I went through some of Caleb’s clothes a few days ago. I couldn’t do it until now.” Nina is the only other person I’ve told.

“That’s great, Collins.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m sure that was difficult, though.”

I nod, biting my lower lip. “It was. I haven’t been able to bring myself to drop off the donation bags at the church yet though.”

His forehead wrinkles. “Hey, that’s okay. Progress is progress. At least you’re moving in the right direction.”

The words sting a bit—the thought that moving away from the few scraps of Caleb’s life I’m holding onto is the right direction. Ansel doesn’t mean it like that, but I think it’s a me thing.

Furthermore, he’s right. This needs to happen in order for me to move through the grief stages.