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Annie
I’m seated in Miss Talbert’s class staring down at my final assessment piece, the one I stayed up until 3:00 a.m. finishing.
The subject’s forehead rests on the horse’s, her eyes closed and fresh tears on her cheek. This version of joy is different to the one Hunter saw last time. This one is subtle. It’s the kind of joy that hurts a little when it rises to the surface.
This version is a fantasy.
Someone drops into the seat beside me. I assume it’s Tamsin, but when I look up, I see Hunter. He’s not looking at me, though. He’s staring at the drawing.
‘Are you lost?’ I ask, angling my head at him.
He meets my gaze. ‘Is this it? Your final piece?’
I nod.
His mouth turns up. ‘It’s good.’
The compliment catches me off guard. That’s high praise from him.
I look back at the piece. ‘I did it in one sitting last night.’
‘Well, you fucking nailed it.’
I wait for the backhanded remark, but it doesn’t come.
‘I finished mine last night too.’ He pulls a large piece of card from his art folio and drops it on the desk.
My eyes move over the pig carcass hanging from a hook drawn in black and red. It’s graphic and bloody and disturbing, but there’s one difference from the last time I saw it. Below the carcass is a single piglet, happy, oblivious to what’s hanging above him.
I look at Hunter. ‘You added hope.’
I see him swallow as he picks up the drawing and places it back in the folder.
Tamsin walks in, looks between us, smiles, then goes to sit at another table.
‘You gonna study art like your sister?’ Hunter asks me.
I put my pieces away also. ‘Art was Bridget’s thing, not mine.’
‘Then what’s your thing?’
I hesitate, then hold my wrist up so he can see the eight braided bands I’m wearing today. ‘I make jewellery.’
He reaches up to touch one of them. Tiny bumps appear on my arm when the tip of his finger brushes my skin. He must notice, because he immediately withdraws his hand. ‘You made those?’
I untie one and hand it to him. ‘I started when I was ten and haven’t really stopped since.’
‘You only make bracelets?’
‘Bracelets, necklaces, anklets.’
He inspects it closely, then surprises me by trying it on. ‘Leather?’
I nod. ‘Recycled.’ He goes to take it off. ‘You can keep it if you want. I have a drawer full of them and no one to give them to.’
He knots the leather, then shakes his sleeve down over it. Of course he doesn’t want anyone to see it. I’m not even sure why I told him to keep it.
‘It’s just a hobby,’ I say.
