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5
Rissa
Dean dropped me off at my car and waited for me to crank it and pull away before he left after me. I think he may have followed me to make sure I made it home safe, but I can’t be sure. I was too busy in my own head, wondering if I should have stayed a bit later and painted for my senior project to pay much attention. What I really want to do is go back to school and paint some more, but I’m not sure I really want to be working on my finals project.
No, I have something completely different in mind.
“Hey Sweetie, how was school today?” my mom asks when I walk in the door. She doesn’t really care; she’s too busy watching whatever show she has on the television. At this rate, since I’m older now, I’m surprised they even acknowledge me at all. In a way, I can’t blame them since I’ve never been affectionate with them, but they are still my parents. They should at least care somewhat, but according to their body language and the facial expressions they have when they think I’m not looking, I know I’m just a burden.
“It was fine,” I say simply, heading up to my room before she can ask me anything else.
I close my bedroom door and pull out my sketchbook. I haven’t used this book in years. I used to draw all the time, but then I learned about painting, and the colors intrigued me more than the pencil did, so I kept doing that. It took up most of my time, so I didn’t need this, but now my hands are itching to draw. I sit on my bed for hours, knowing I need to get some sleep, but unable to stop.
I look up from my paper when it’s done and see the face staring back at me. It’s Dean’s, and it’s absolutely perfect. I’ve captured every bit of emotion in the lines of his face. It’s my favorite drawing yet. I flip to the next empty page and start drawing his motorcycle. I have this sudden urge to fill every page of this book with everything Dean. There’re so many layers to him and expressions I’m just beginning to glimpse, and I want to capture every single one of them. Dean has become my muse.
“Clarissa, honey, you're going to be late for school. You're never late, and you never miss breakfast with your father and me. Is everything okay? Do you feel sick?” my mother asks as she walks into my room.
For a minute, I pretend she cares, but I know that’s not true. She just wants me to leave so she can sneak her boyfriend in. Oh well, doesn’t affect me or my bother in any. Dad does the same thing but at his office. They both know I know because I’ve walked in on them both. Again, it’s none of my business what happens between the two of them, so it doesn’t faze me.
“No, I’m getting up to leave now,” I mumble, still looking at my drawing.
“Do you want me to fix you some breakfast?” she asks. I close the notebook, get up, and start getting ready.
“No, I’m fine,” I mumble and hear the door shut behind her.
Within the next ten minutes, I’m dressed and walking out the front door of my house before jumping into my car. I want to get to school in a hurry, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dean before I head to the art room. I don’t understand these feelings, but I’m not running away from the unknown for once. For some reason, even though I don’t understand the feelings, they scare me because of Dean. I never expected him to bring a calm over me, and I look forward to more of these feelings growing between us. All I know is I need to get to him as soon as possible.
By the time I’m pulling into the parking lot, though, I’m ten minutes late for school, and while I see Dean’s bike in his usual parking spot, there is no sign of him. I walk with my head down, looking at the floor until I’m pushing into the art room.
“Dang baby, ’bout time you got here. I was starting to worry something happened to you,” Dean says, sitting on the stool by the paint counter. I can see the ever-present frown on his face, but I also see the worry in his eyes. If I look closer… is that relief and happiness as well?
“Were you waiting for me?” I ask, setting my bag down by my apron.
“Of course. I wanted to see if you wanted to paint for a bit and then get out of here,” he says.
“What are you going to do while I paint?” I ask him, getting my station set up.
“Watch you,” he says with a grin and a shrug. I nod, not really caring one way or the other, only knowing I want him to stay.
“Okay. I just need to put in a few hours. Then we can leave,” I tell him, pulling my art piece over to the stand and getting to work.
While I’m ready to see how this one comes out, I really want to spend another day riding with Dean. I’ve been working for about three hours when someone pushes open the art room door and pokes their head inside.
“Uh, hey Dean, can I talk to you in the hall for a minute?” the guy asks, looking toward me apologetically. I duck my head, not meeting his eyes.
“No,” Dean answers plainly.
“Please. I need to talk to you,” the guy pleads as I return to my work. I don’t care what they do. I just need to get a bit more painting done today, so I can leave.
“What do you need, Landon? You can say it in front of Rissa,” Dean growls. The guy sighs but answers.
“I need you to cover for me. I need to get Ricky out of here for a bit. I might be gone a few days,” Landon says. Dean’s expression is blank, and he only nods before replying.
“I’ll let the brothers know,” Dean says simply.
“Thanks, brother,” Landon says before ducking back out.
“Who’s Ricky?” I ask curiously.
