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Chapter 14
ZEKE
Lindy’s first class is closest to mine, so I volunteered to walk her to the far end of the campus. Because she is working in clay, she dressed in baggy jeans that come just over her ankles, and a striped top that reminds me of a picture I once saw of Picasso, I think.
But much prettier.
With her hair piled high on top of her head, a freshly scrubbed face, and a significant amount of coffee, she seems like herself now. Yesterday, I guess she was kind of hungover. The first day, she was completely drunk. But I think this is the real Lindy, well-slept and properly caffeinated.
She smiles as we walk, clearly looking forward to the sculpture class. It is a tiny bit strange being next to her. I almost feel like I should be holding her hand or something. People that we walk past glance at us, taking us both in simultaneously, the way that you look at a couple.
On the narrow walkway, her elbow keeps jostling my elbow. It does seem sort of natural. But there are rules.
“Diego has a gig this morning,” I explain. “So you can expect him to swing by and pick you up after class. You have everybody’s cell phone number?”
“Yep,” she smiles. “This is also weird, though, isn’t it? Doesn’t it just seem a little bit tooMurder, She Wroteor something?”
I shrug. “Yeah, Spencer really goes over the top sometimes. All I can tell you is that he seems like a jerk, but really he’s kind of a softy. Like a mother hen.”
She raises her eyebrows and chokes back a gasp. “Mother hen? Is that how you see him?”
“Don’t tell him I said that,” I laugh. “He’s also the most macho mother hen you will ever meet. But, yeah, there’s something about him. Protective or whatever. He likes to get his arms around people he thinks are in trouble.”
She nods, thinking for a moment. “Like Trevor?” she asks softly.
“Yeah, he has a soft spot for Trevor, that’s for sure,” I agree.
“And what about you?” she asks shrewdly. “Are you a lost puppy too? Or, baby chicken? Is that the metaphor we are going with?”
“I’m not lost,” I reply gruffly.
But now that she says it, a voice at the back of my mind makes me wonder if Spencer sees me that way. My humble upbringing, my little brother who clearly needs more guidance… Does he think he’s fostering me or something?
Well, no matter, because I am fostering him right back. He needs us just as much as we need him.
The art building is like a warehouse, long and low with a round roof. The glassblowing and sculpture labs are in here, I remember from orientation. That stuff looks fun to me, not the more namby-pamby variety of art. Things with blowtorches, furnaces, and power tools. That’s the kind of art I think I could get my head around if I had to.
“So, can I just leave you here? I really want to make it to class on time. Jane Austen waits for no man!”
She raises her eyebrows. “No, she certainly doesn’t,” she reacts with a smirk.
Jane Austen impresses all the ladies. For some reason, they are always surprised that the female authors get as much time as we can give beyond the syllabus.
Lindy stares at me, bit awkwardly. We are close to each other again, within reach to hold hands or give a hug goodbye, or even kiss.
Her eyes are a deep, opaque brown, I notice. Like chocolate. Like something sweet. When she really looks at me, I could feel how intelligent and calculating her gaze is. She is absorbing more details than I could probably process in a million years.
With a challenging smirk, she steps a little bit closer, just a couple of inches away from my face. I can smell her sweet, minty breath and the old-fashioned soap she used in the shower this morning. She sucks her lower lip in a little bit, just enough so I can see the very edge of her teeth.
“Just what kind of stakes were you contemplating?” she challenges me.
I tighten up. I don’t want to show my hand.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I lie.
“Yes you do,” she counters.
People pass by us on either side, snickering, assuming something about us. Or maybe feeling the chemistry. I know that I can feel it.
