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With a long drawn-out sigh, I finally give in and press send, deciding there’s nothing more I can do now. As soon as I hear the soft swoosh of my application being sent, I push my laptop close and pick up my bag, knowing if I stay in this apartment any longer I will be checking my email every two seconds.
Off to the art studio I go. There’s a huge end of the year project I haven’t even started on and Charlie said she’s bringing coffee. How could I possibly refuse free coffee? The apartment is quiet as I step through it. It’s been quiet ever since we got back from New York. Seth and Alex have been weird, which has become the new usual. Those boys, I think with a shake of my head, my gaze lingering on Seth’s door. Alex told me they talked about the kiss, but Seth has decided to swipe everything under the rug. Poor Alex seems confused about the whole thing. I suspect there’s more there, but I don’t want to press. From my experience, I turn into the bad guy and I prefer keeping as much drama as possible out of my life this semester.
As I push the door open, the wind gusts inside, blasting my face with a harsh chill that radiates from my face to my shoulders and then down my spine. The door slams shut behind me and I clench my teeth, stifling a groan while hugging my bag to me. Maybe it’s better to work at home, I think while stepping down the stairs, careful not to slip and fall to my death. There’s a large pile of snow at the very end of the staircase, which everyone has decided to ignore.
I’ll probably be the one to do it. The little thought has me groaning as I jump over the massive snow pile and land with a little slide onto the sidewalk. I’m so over winter. Looking up at the snow tipped peaks in the distance as the snow wafts down around me, I wonder how many more days until sunny spring returns to us. Given it’s mid-January, I have at least two more months of this.
This time I do groan and glancing over my shoulder, up at my apartment, I have to remind myself free coffee is waiting for me in the art studio. I just need to get there. Standing here, in the cold and the snow won’t do me any favors. I trudge through the snow, scrunching my shoulders all the way up to my ears as I go. Thinking of coffee reminds me of Lucas, and how hard he’s been working at The Cafe. Jason has been making him work more late shifts, which is kinda nice given the manager never trusted Lucas with so many duties before. However, I’m getting the sense that Lucas is over scrubbing toilets, making coffee, and getting paid minimum wage while getting treated like crap by the customers. I’m surprised he doesn’t seem so excited about getting published. He hasn’t even told me which of his work was chosen, which is suspicious. I figured he would be talking about every second of the day.
Something seems off.
I’m tempted to talk to him about it, but I’ll have to wait for the right time when I’m not freaking out about my own future. Who knows when that will be? I shove the door to the art school open with my shoulder, thankful for the wave of heat that soaks into my skin, melting the snow sticking to my hair. I stomp the snow off my boots and step carefully through the melting snow on the foyer. I’ve seen too many students slip and fall into the puddle standing near the door. I’m not going to be one of them.
As soon as I survive the moat covering the foyer, I practically skip down the hall towards the studio, already tasting the wonderful bitter taste of coffee on my tongue. The art school is quiet. Most classes have ended and everyone must either be at the library or home. I kick open the door to the studio, finding Charlie sitting in the back, no coffee on the table. Her arms are crossed and she’s busy scowling at the trash can next to her, filled with a very large bouquet of flowers.
“What happened there?” I ask while nodding at the flowers and throwing my bag into one of the empty seats.
Charlie rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Mike trying to buy me.”
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow and redirect my gaze to the flowers. They’re quite pretty—burgundy and pink roses. There’s at least a dozen of them and they’re tied with an extravagant red bow. Buying a bouquet at this time of year must be quite expensive. “What did he say?”
Charlie slams a fist onto the table, her face pinched, looking like she’s about to have fire shot out of her eyes. “He didn’t give them to me. He had one of his little freshman underlings deliver them.”
“Oh, Mike,” I say with a shake of my head. Charlie might be scary when she’s angry, but not being straight with her was just stirring the pot. And it makes it look like he doesn’t want to be around her, because he expects her to be scary. “Well, what did his underling say?”
“That he’s sorry and he hopes these make me feel better.” Charlie shakes her head. “I told the little twerp to inform Mike he can kindly fuck off and then I ran my ass in here.” She frowns at the flowers. “The worst part about it is, I really like the flowers!”
I clench my jaw to keep myself from laughing.
“Why does he have to be such an asshole with excellent taste.”
I shrug. “Sometimes these things happen.”
Charlie sniffs and presses a palm against her forehead. “And now they’re ruined and we don’t have any coffee. I’ve been alone in this room the past hour, fuming and thinking about Mike. He’s taken time from me, Rachel. No one has that kind of power over me!”
I plop myself next to her and rest a hand on her shoulder. Charlie wipes a stray tear. I’ve never seen her like this—never seen her crying. She’s usually the strong one. She was there for Lauren when Josh wouldn’t leave her alone, and she was there for me when I didn’t know what to do with the bros. I have no clue how to be there for her. I guess the only thing I can do is listen and offer my support.
“If you want, we can go teepee his house later tonight,” I offer, earning a chuckle from Charlie. “If it’s not too cold.”
Charlie shakes her head. “It’s probably already teepeed by now, or destroyed by the party of the night.” She groans and tilts her head back, looking up at the ceiling. Her eyes glimmer with unshed tears. “Can we talk about something else? I don’t want to think about Mike and his stupid face anymore.”
“Well, that I can do,” I say before clearing my throat and straightening. “I applied for the May Art Market.”
“Did you?” I smile at the genuine excitement I see splay across Charlie’s face. She’s such a good friend—so supportive and kind. I don’t know what I would do without her.
I bob my head and she throws an arm around me, pulling me close.
“That’s great,” she says, her voice getting louder, her sorrow dissipating. “They’ll email you before Spring Break.”
“It takes that long?”
Charlie shrugs. “They usually receive a lot of applicants and they look through the portfolios carefully.”
I groan. “Great.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get in.”
I give Charlie a look, letting her know I think she‘s lying. My inspiration has been lacking. Between my parents’ divorce and worrying about Hunter, I’ve been too busy to think about art. Even my projects are lacking. I’m surprised I can even finish them in time.
