The Art Teacher

This is just part one of a story I care to add on to. Any feedback is more than welcome. All of the characters in this story belong to me and are not to be used without my permission. Thanks! Enjoy!

01)

“You wanna know what’s weird?” Chava said over her chewing as she struggled to speak and swallow the last of her apple cinnamon muffin simultaneously.

I smiled, “Sure.” I said, knowing she was probably going to inform me of some random fact which I didn’t, and never would, care about.

“I’ve always wondered how they got the apples soft inside the muffin, and not all…crunchy-like, you know?” she said as she pulled a napkin from her jacket.

“One of life’s wonders, isn’t it?” I said sarcastically, knowing that Chava was too sweet to take offense to it.

She nodded to herself, “I guess.” She said.

The only remnants of the warm breezes of summer were merely dregs whipping through the cool autumn air. Chava and I meandered slowly along the path between the ancient buildings of our all girls private school. We were finally seniors and to be quite frank, it felt good.

Chava patted her rosy freckled cheeks with her oily napkin, “I should definitely stop looking this far into things, dontcha think? How am I going to enjoy life if I’m always asking ‘why’?” she started to say, but was interrupted by the boom of the hourly gong.

I looked at my watch, “Are we late?” I asked her, “What time does class start?”

Chava shrugged, “Who cares! We’re seniors now; we can just take our time and wander in whenever we feel like it...the works.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. That didn’t sound right. Finally with our correct schedules, we had both been placed in a Foundations of Art class to fill our final art requirements before we graduated, “Oh Chava, come on.” I said and grabbed her Varsity Soccer Windbreaker sleeve as I quickened my pace to a jog and took off down the winding path.

“What-…?” she started to say but tripped over her words as her feet fell from under her.

We reached the studio and quietly pushed open the door. Chava peered eagerly around the corner.

“What are you being all sneaky for?” a voice from inside said, “It’s not like he’s going to be on time or anything.”

A group of sophomore girls sat at the long wooden art tables. They all seemed to share the same sullen stare and uninterested body position. I immediately recognized the one who had been talking to us as Mollie Black.

“Oh.” I said quietly and took a seat at the opposite side of the table.

Chava followed, “So I feel kind of stupid.” She whispered in my ear.

I crossed my legs and nodded, “So what time does class start?” I asked to the other side of the room.

“Two thirty.” Mollie replied with a snap of her chewing gum, “And it’s two thirty-five now, so he should be here within ten minutes.” She said flatly and managed a fake smile.

I tried to return the gesture, but my mouth felt plastered in an ungrateful grimace, “Thanks.” I said curtly.

“I’m so sorry.” A voice from the doorway said and soon a figure strode quickly through the threshold.

“Way to be late, Luke.” Mollie said.

I knew Luke Heyden. Being at the same school for four years, I knew all the staff including the cooks, custodians, and secretaries. I had avoided Luke thus far. Although he was an attractive man, I had heard stories of an eccentric personality. His features seemed as if they hadn’t matured a day passed twenty-five, but it was common knowledge that he was a single father of three in his mid thirties. I noticed I was staring, and shook my head shamefully.

“I had this dumb meeting I had to be at.” He said as he unzipped his tan corduroy jacket and draped it elegantly over the computer chair behind his desk, “I apologize.”

“And it’s another dumb meeting every week, isn’t it Luke?” another girl commented.

He chose not to answer, “Just because I’m late, doesn’t mean you can be.” He said to us as rolled the cuffs of his shirt back, “If you’re later than I am, you might as well not come to class.”

“We can do that?” Mollie asked.

“Sure.” He said with an obviously fake smile, “If you like Fs.”

Mollie rolled her eyes and sunk in her seat.

“So before we get started, let’s take roll.” He pulled a long blue book from a desk drawer and then took a seat in his chair, “I saw Mollie.” He said checking off her name, “Rebecca?”

“Here.”

“Chava?”

“Here.” Chava said, and her voice cracked.

“Chava you have a sister who goes here?” Luke asked looking up from his book.

Chava nodded slowly. Her sister was a freshman, and was already more popular than Chava would ever be.

“Sweet girl.” Luke commented, “She lives on my corridor.”

“Thanks.” Chava tried to sound energetic.

“Taylor?”

“Here.”

“Eden?” I heard him call my named and jumped in my seat.

“Uh, here.” I said uncertainly.

“Did I pronounce it right?” he asked and looked me in the eye from the opposite side of the table.

He had pronounced it perfectly. In fact, I hadn’t even thought about the pronunciation because it had seemed so normal. Usually, people, and teachers especially, butchered both my first name and last name, “Yeah. Perfectly.” I said finally.

“Simon? Eden Simon? You must be French.”

I nodded, “Yeah.”

“Est-ce que tu parles francais chez toi? (Do you speak French at your house?)” He asked.

“Un peu, mais, mon père est Americain. Mes parents ont divorcé. (Yes, but my dad is American. My parents divorced.)”

“C’est pas bon. Désolé. (That’s not good, I’m sorry.)”

“Ce n’fait rien. (It’s fine.)” I had barely noticed that we were having the conversation in French, until Mollie blatantly disrupted us.

“Je parle francais comme une vache espagnol. (I speak French like a Spanish cow.)” she said, “Can we finish this discussion in English please? Thanks.”

“Can you just…not talk for the rest of class, Mollie?” Luke asked blatantly with an agitated smile.

Mollie sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. She raised her eyebrows defiantly as if to say, ‘you won’t win.’ Once Luke had finished taking attendance, he passed out a list of guidelines and expectations to begin the class.

Rule #2: When the please excuse sign is on the door, please do not interrupt, even if you see me in the classroom.

I read through the sheet and slipped it into my designated art folder. As easy-going as he seemed, he hat a buttload of crappy rules.

***
The faint sound of the gong resonated throughout campus, and caught Luke in mid-sentence, “…which is why he-…oh.” He bit his lip, “That means you have to go doesn’t it?”

All he received were blank stares from the classroom. “Yes.” I said, breaking the eerie silence.

“Well at least I know you were paying attention.” He said lightheartedly, “Alright. Leave.” The atmosphere tightened as people began to close their books, and push their chairs out from under the table.

“Don’t forget! Two drawings for homework!” Luke called out over the din as he too began to pack up.

Chava tugged my sleeve, “Do you have class next?” she asked.

I shook my head, “I was going to go home. Do you want to do something?” I asked, but secretly hoped she’d have a conflict. I didn’t feel like it.

Chava looked up at the ceiling in thought, “There was something I had to do today. But can we take a rain check?” she asked hopefully with her genuine smile.

I couldn’t help but smile back, “Sure thing, Chava.”

“You may not care, but I lived in France.” I heard Luke say as Chava exited, leaving just the two of us in the studio.

“I care.” I said genuinely, “Whereabouts?”

“En provence. For two years or so; it was nice.”

I smiled, “It’s beautiful up there.”

“You’re telling me. Not even the stench could take away from that.” He bent over to pick up his bag off the floor.

I snorted at his comment, “You get used to it.”

“So you’d think.” He accidentally grabbed the wrong side of his bag, tipping it upside down and causing most of the contents to spill onto the wooden floor, “Oh fuc-…rosty the snowman was a jolly happy soul!” he recovered quickly as he broke into song.

“I’ll help you with that.” I said instinctively as I threw my own pack onto my chair and jogged to help him.

“No, it’s really fine.” He stopped his singing, “Maybe if I weren’t a complete space cadet, I’d remember which side is up.”

“Happen often?” I asked as I bent over to pile up scattered papers.

He looked at me blankly, “I’ve lost count.”

As I was sifting through the various receipts, papers, and notes, I came across a few pocket-sized, hand painted canvases of sleeping infants. Cautiously, I lifted them from the pile.

They were absolutely gorgeous paintings, “Did you make these?” I slowly shuffled through them.

He looked up from what he was doing again, “Oh.” He said when he saw them, “Yeah, I did.”

“They’re fantastic.” I admired, “The colors are so perfect.”

He scratched the back of his neck and shifted his weight into a balanced squatting position, “Thanks.” He said simply.

“Are these your kids?” I examined the features of the life like babies.

“When they were smaller, yeah.” He looked upon his work with a reminiscent smile, “Mind if I take a look?” he reached out his hand.

I raised an eyebrow, “Are you kidding? They’re yours.” I placed the tiles gently into his palm, as not to harm them.

He looked at them, “Yeah…” he said softly, “These used to be part of bigger canvases though.” He explained as he stood up, never once taking his gaze off his handiwork.

I followed him, “What happened?”

“I cut them up.”

“What? Why?” I inquired.

He shrugged, “Because I felt like it.” He carefully stood the paintings against the wall on his desk.

“So do you ever leave anything…big?” I asked as I stuck my hands in my back pockets.

He looked at the ceiling, pondering the question, and then returned his gaze to me. He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it, “Do you have a minute?” he asked finally.

“Yeah, I’m done for the day.” I said truthfully.

He started off into another room; I quickly followed. We entered a small, dark and dusty closet like space with another door. Small shafts of light radiated through the window curtains which hung slightly ajar across the windowsill.

“Sketchy.” I said, almost silently.

“Gross, I hate that word.” I heard Luke say as he shoved his hand into his pocket to retrieve something.

“What? Sketchy?”

“You said it again.” His hand emerged with a ring of keys.

“What’s so bad about it?” I ask as I crossed my arms.

“I just hate the way it sounds.” He said simply as he flipped through the different shaped keys on the ring.

I shrugged silently.

He squeaked when he came across the correct key, “You want to know what other word I hate?” he asked as he pulled the door open.

“Sure.” I agreed quickly.

“Fondling.” He turned to me and scrunched his face with disgust, “It’s so nauseating; I hate it.”

“Fondling.” I repeated. It didn’t sound all that horrible to me.

“Fondling.” He said again and this time moved his hands simultaneously.

I was silent.

“See?” he prodded, “Gross, right?”

I nodded my agreement, “Absolutely.”

He smiled and then turned his attention to the closet and pulled out three very large canvases, “Here you go.” He said as he slid them in my direction.

The first one was obviously of him. It was terrifically done, but the position in which he had painted himself was perhaps the most unbecoming position I could imagine.

“Wow, that’s really great.” I said truthfully.

“That was when I was fat.” He informed me as he gestured to his many chins in the painting.

I noticed how loosely his clothes draped his thin, yet tall and broad-shouldered frame, “How did that happen?” I asked.

He rubbed his stomach, “Chocolate.” He said, “And a lot of it.”

I smiled and simultaneously, the phone rattled into existence with a shrill ring.

He groaned, “That would be my babysitter.” He lamented as he haphazardly slid his paintings back into the closet and locked it behind him.

The phone’s strident ringing was piercing enough to jangle my insides, “Want me to get it?” I asked, seeing as I was nearest to the phone.

His eyes deepened as he thought, “Okay. Say I’m working with a student.” He said finally.

I grabbed the phone, “…hello?” I asked hesitantly into the receiver.

“Hi?” a young voice answered back, “Is Luke there?”

I looked to him and pointed to the phone. He shook his ‘no’ head violently.

“He’s working with a student right now.” I lied, “Do you want him to give you a call back?”

There was a pause on the other end followed by an exasperated sigh, “No.” she said, “Just tell him whenever he’s done to come up.”

“Sure thing.” I responded cheerfully.

There was a click followed by a loud dial tone, “Thank you.” He breathed, his features relaxing in obvious relief.

“What’s the matter with your babysitter?” I asked curiously.

“Can I lie?”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” I said honestly.

“She hits on me.”

“She what?”

“Hits on me. As in ‘flirting’?” he used air quotes, “I hate it when I do that…air quotes. It makes it look like I’m trying to be young and hip, but I’m really not.”

“I believe you.” I said with a smile.

“Where are you headed?” he changed the subject as he started back into the main studio.

I followed, “Um, I guess to get something to eat.” I said off the top of my head, “That is if whatever they have in the dining hall is edible.”

He grimaced, “I try to avoid the dining hall if at all possible.” He told me as he swung his messenger bag over his shoulder.

I retrieved my bag from the chair I had placed it on earlier, and then followed him out of the studio, “Not everything they serve in there was edible before they put it on the buffet.” I stated.

“It’s actually pretty pathetic that I’d honestly believe that.” He retorted as he held the door for me.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” He locked it behind him.

We started up the path. The sun which had been so brightly blaring not only two hours ago was slowly beginning to fade into the speckled peach horizon.

The gong sounded and simultaneously Luke brought his hands to his face, “Oh Gosh,” he said, sudden panic affecting the tone of his voice, “Hey it’s been really nice talking to you, Eden, but I have to go, I’m so late.” He started to jog up the path.

“You too!” I called out desperately, but my words felt small and faint as he ran further and further away.

* * *
I saw Luke again that night sitting at a table in the library with an unholy amount of stacked books precariously balancing beside him. He leafed through them slowly, stopping at certain pages to mark them with a ripped up piece of paper.

I pretended to go about my business as I dropped my books in the return slot and waved politely at the librarian who acknowledged me with no more than a nod of his head.

I turned back just in time to see Luke clumsily push his chair back from the table, shaking it unnecessarily and therefore sending the large pile of books toppling to the floor.

He looked around with guilty eyes before he clambered after his fallen books. Discreetly, I made my way to the table and bent over to help, “Hi.” I mouthed softly, as it was a library, and aided him in the pick-up.

He looked up and smiled warmly, “Hi Eden.” He whispered, “You don’t have to help me.” He continued softly.

I shook my head, “It’s no big deal.”

“I wouldn’t have helped you.” He said as he piled his books on top of the ones I had collected and grabbed the consolidated stack, brushing my bare arms slightly in the process.

I snorted softly, “Good to know.”

He smiled genuinely, “Thanks.”

I shrugged, “How was that thing you were late to?”

He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and swung it around his body before putting it on, “Oh. Funny you should ask about that.” He started, “Let’s just say I owe my son an hour at Emerald Pier Park.”

“Where’d you leave him?”

“I didn’t leave him anywhere.” He retorted defensively, “he just stayed where he was supposed to be a little bit longer.”

The librarian shushed us.

Luke waved apologetically through the glass panels that housed his office.

He zippered up his jacket and slowly picked up his books which were piled above his chin.

“Let me help you.” I said instinctively.

“Do you mind? I’m just bringing them up to my apartment.”

I halved the stack, “Not at all,” I said, “Besides, I’m sure you would do the same for me.”

“I wouldn’t.” he answered plainly as he started up the steps, “I can assure you.”

I giggled, which induced another hush from the increasingly agitated proctor.

Luke opened the door skillfully with his hip and held it as I passed through. The warmth of the library had in no way prepared us for the whipping cold of the September night, “Holy Moses.” Luke exclaimed, “It’s only September and I already feel my digits freezing.”

“It’s not that cold.” I answered.

“Well, you’re a girl.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I snapped playfully.

“Obviously something if you’re fine and I’m freezing.” We reached the door to the main building.

“I really don’t think that’s true.” I said as he bumped the door open with his side, but this time did not wait for me to follow before he closed it and leaned against it.

I couldn’t help but laugh as he made faces at me through the tiny parallel windows of the door. After a good twenty seconds of gloating, he opened it.

“How nice of you.” I said sarcastically.

“The only reason I let you in was because you’re carrying my books.”

“Do you ever think about what you’re going to say before it comes out?” I blurted.

“I could ask you the same question.” He smirked, “I live just up the stairs.”

“I know.”

We were silent for a moment until we reached the door to his apartment, conveniently down the hall from the day student lounge where all my stuff was dumped on a couch.

He stood in front of the door and exhaled forcefully, “Do you think you could open the door for me?” he asked.

“Why should I?” I shifted my weight to one side of my body as I raised my eyebrows.

“Because I’m your teacher.”

“You’re going to pull that lame excuse?”

“I’m a lame guy, what can I say? Some people just are what they are.” He paused, “So are you going to help me or not?”

“Only because you’re my teacher.” I mocked him.

His lips curled into a smile, “Alright woman, first you need to get my key.”

“Where is it?” I asked as I shifted the books so they were tucked under my armpit.

“In my pocket.”

I almost dropped them, “I’m sorry, where?”

“My pocket.” He repeated, “Trust me, it will be as thrilling for you as it will be for me.” He paused, “Just do it quick.”

I reached into his pocket and grabbed the key.

“Thanks so much! Not so bad, right?” he asked as I handed him the key.

I shook my head no.

His door creaked open and he unloaded both his and my books onto his sofa, “Thanks so much for everything, Eden.”

“Sure thing.”

“Do your homework! Good night.” And with that, he closed the door.

02)

“Can you all please take your best drawing and tack it to the bulletin board in the back of the studio, as quiet as possible.” Luke instructed the next afternoon as he sifted through papers at the head of the table.

We acted obediently, and to even my surprise, the ones who had not cooperated the day before willing brought their drawings to the back of the class and pinned them on the board.

The assignment had been: draw something that you are close to. It didn’t necessarily have to be a person, but it could have been an object or pet or idea (though that would have been hard). I had made my sister pose for me for an ungodly amount of time when I had arrived home the night before. I was relatively proud of my work.

After waiting for the first wave of eager students to post their drawings on the ‘best’ spot of the board, I grabbed four tacks and pressed my drawing into the corkboard in the upper left hand corner, one of the only spots left.

“Excuse me,” I heard Luke’s distinctive voice say as, brushing his hand unintentionally across my back, he made his way to the other side of the board.

“Yours looks so great, Edie.” Chava’s voice brought me back to the reality of the situation.

“Oh,” I managed, unsure of what to say, “Thanks, I like yours too.”

“You’re just saying that.” Chava sighed as she tacked hers up under mine.

“I’m really not.” I lied, “I like the shading.”

To be a hundred percent honest, I couldn’t even really tell what the drawing was of. It slightly resembled a giant marshmallow with eyes.

“You think so? It’s my bunny rabbit, Holly.”

I looked her straight in the eye, “You did a great job, Chava.” I said genuinely.

She smiled warmly, her eyes squinting in delight as she blushed, “Thanks.”

“Okay ladies, we’re going to start now.” Luke began as he removed his jacket.

He looked around quickly before his eyes settled on me, “Can you throw this on my desk?” he asked as he tossed his corduroy zip-up my way.

I caught it unexpectedly, “Surely.”

“Thank you.”

I nodded my response as I did as instructed.

“So,” Luke addressed the class as he rubbed his hands together maniacally, “I’m going to tell you all the truth, because I’m pretty sure most of you can take it.”

There were a few giggles.

“There’s a tissue box on my desk.” He continued as he pointed to the first drawing, “May I ask whose this is?”

A thin girl with flowing brown curls raised her hand hesitantly, “Me.” She whispered.

“Hannah.” Luke verified as he turned his attention back to the drawing, “It’s a good start…” he began, “However, I have no idea as to what the subject is.”

Hannah recoiled slightly, “It’s my nightstand.” She managed softly.

“You’ve captured something surrealistic. Oh! Good question!” Luke opened discussion to the class, “Who can name the artist famous for his surrealistic paintings of clocks?”

“Dali.” I said without hesitation, “Salvador Dali.”

The corner of his mouth turned into a smile, “Correct.” He said slowly, “But I hate Dali, so we’ll never talk about him in my class.”

“Nineteen oh four to nineteen eighty nine.” I rattled off.

“Excuse me?” Luke urged.

“His date of birth and death, I believe.”

“Thank you for that.” Luke said genuinely, looking straight into my eyes with a piercing stare.

I smiled.

* * *
“It looks like a marshmallow with eyes.” Luke mused as he crossed his arms and furrowed his brow in concentration.

Chava blushed, “It’s my rabbit.”

“Oh I see it now.” He turned his head frantically for the best view, “May I suggest more than just an outline? Really sketch in the fur. And I don’t mean little lines…look for where shadows end and begin.” He paused to check in with Chava who at any given moment looked as though she could burst into tears.

She nodded slowly.

“Chava, it’s a start. You have to start somewhere.” Luke improv-ed quickly when he saw her present state.

Another nod as she bit her lip.

“I want to help you. Will you see me for conference?”

She looked down, and then nodded a third time.

“Good.” Luke said as he put a hand lightly on her shoulder, “You’re doing fine.”

He turned back to the board, “Oh wow.” he pointed to my drawing, “Whose is this?”

“Mine.” I responded with a quick wave of my hand.

“Well, first of all; this is extremely well done. Didn’t she do a good job?” he asked the class who all nodded in agreement, some more reluctantly than others.

“Secondly, can we take a moment to notice the composition? Her subject isn’t BAM!” he hit the board, causing a few girls to jump, “Right in the center.

“It’s gorgeous.” He continued, “Eden, would you mind staying a few minutes after class?”

“Not at all.” I said truthfully.

He smiled, “Great.”

* * *
“So Chava, after lunch on Friday, okay?” Luke said as he penciled her name in capitals in his black book.

Chava nodded, “Thanks.” She responded, hugging her books close to her chest as the other students filed out of the studio.

“I’ll see you?” she asked me as she began to follow them.

I nodded swiftly, “Of course.”

She smiled, and hustled after her classmates.

Luke was busy packing his things, “So, Mademoiselle Simon…” he started as he closed his book and placed it into his messenger bag, “It appears you are quite good.”

I felt my face flush, “What am I supposed to say to that?”

He looked to the ceiling, “You could agree?” he suggested as he swung his bag over his shoulder.

I smiled, “Okay.”

“Walk with me.” He said as he started for the door, “I can’t be late for my boys again.”

“I understand.” I said truthfully as I began to follow.

“What I’m trying to say is that someone of your talent and commitment doesn’t have to take an introductory course such as the one you’re in.” he pulled the door open.

“So…this would mean?”

A young girl was running down the path, her blonde ponytail flopping behind her, “Luke! Luke, wait! Are you leaving?” her voice rattled with her movement.

“Hi Taylor.” He said calmly.

“You’re going somewhere, aren’t you?” she breathed as she stopped in front of the door.

I hadn’t recognized her immediately. Taylor, the exceptionally artistic junior, was without a doubt one of the most talented people on campus. She carried herself well, always looked nice while trying effortlessly, and most of all was known to be friendly to pretty much everybody.

He nodded, “I’ll probably be back later tonight. Are you actually going to work?”

She rolled her eyes, “I was actually going to eat all of your food and toast myself with your heater for about three hours. I hope that’s okay with you.”

Luke smiled, “What do you need me for then?”

“For serious? I started that drawing I was telling you about, and I need an honest opinion.” She said as she stuck her hands in her back pockets.

“I can give one of those.” He smirked, “Stick around, I’ll be back.” He began to walk up the path.

“But I kind of want to go home and do other work.” She whined.

“No, you don’t.” he called back to her.

She groaned, “See you later then?”

“You bet.” He whipped out a pair of aviator shades from his pocket and balanced them on his nose.

“Nice shades.” I commented.

He smiled broadly, “They’re not too girly?”

“Not in the least.” I said truthfully to my reflection in the sunglasses.

“Awesome.” He looked forward, “So as I was saying, sorry about the interruption.”

“No problem.”

“As I was saying, it is silly, if not ridiculous that you be stuck in a class with beginners when you have proven yourself far beyond that level. Have you taken classes before?” he asked.

I shook my head ‘no’.

“You’re kidding?”

“I kid you not.” I stated.

He paused for a moment, “In which case it is necessary that you move out of this introductory class and into an independent study.”

“What?!” I stopped walking and instinctively grabbed his sleeve.

He stopped too when he felt the tug, he glanced down at my arm, and then at my face. I quickly brought my hands to my sides.

“You mean…like an AP study?”

“Yes I mean ‘like and AP study’.” He imitated, “And I’d happily advise you.”

I opened my mouth to speak, however, my voice was stuck in my throat, “I don’t know what to say.” I finally managed.

“You can say ‘OK’.”

I paused and looked at my feet, “This is a really, really, tempting offer you’re proposing.”

“It’s not an offer.” He said, “It’s an order. I’ll set up your things in the studio tonight. Stop by tomorrow and I’ll explain in greater detail.”

“I…okay?”

“I’m really excited for you, Eden.” He said with a broad grin as simultaneously the gong rang, “OH SH-sugar sugar.” He caught himself.

“Nice.”

He nodded quickly, “I’m late again. I’m such a space cadet.” He started to move frantically, “Tomorrow!” he said as he began to jog towards his car.

“Thank you Luke!” I called after him.

“My pleasure!”

* * *
I pushed open the studio door, “Hello?” I called. The only response was silence.

I shuffled to the studio adjacent to that of the classroom and flipped the nearest switch, shedding light on the 8 o’clock dusk.

My name was written in thick purple marker on a white sign which was propped against cups full of pencils and brushes. I pulled the sign off them and poked through the jars curiously. Aside of the supplies was a radio and CD player with another sign in the same purple marker and prescription capital letters said: For you too.

I pulled a CD from my bag and popped it in the player, adjusting the volume to my liking. When I was satisfied I took a seat on the wooden chair at the end of the table.

There was a knock at the door.

“Busy already?” I heard Luke’s voice question smoothly as he poked his head into the studio.

I jumped instinctively, “Hey.” I said, once I had regained composure.

“Can I come in?” he asked politely.

“Oh sure, of course.” I started sifting through papers to make it appear as though I had in fact been working.

He walked in, “Find everything okay?” he gestured to the cans of pencils he had laid earlier on the long wooden table.

“Oh yeah, perfectly., as though it had been color-coded.” I joked.

He smirked, “I have a little more of a life than that.”

“I would hope so.” I shot back playfully.

“How long have you been going here?” he changed the subject abruptly.

“Since freshman year.”

“How come this is the first time I’ve met you, then? “ He contorted his face into a puzzled yet deep-in-thought expression, “Or your ability.”

I shrugged, “Where have you been?” I asked as I got up from my chair.

“Right here.” He pointed to his studio, “What about you?”

“Right here.” I mimicked, “Well be honest Luke, you don’t exactly throw yourself out there.”

“Well neither do you.”

I turned to look at him, “Touché.” I raised my eyebrows.

“You can sit down.” I continued.

“Thanks for the permission.” He snorted.

“I wasn’t permitting, I was inviting.” I explained as I hastily went back to what I had been doing.

“Well, I accept your invitation.” He sat in the nearest wooden chair.

“Good.”

“You don’t mind my being here, do you?” he crossed his legs.

“No, of course not. Why do you ask?” I furrowed my eyebrows.

He shrugged, “Some people get completely sketched out when I hang around.”

“Ahh! You said it!” I whirled around.

He jumped suddenly, “Ah! Said what?” he seemed genuinely concerned.

“That word!” I whispered harshly.

“What?! What word?!” he frantically changed his expressions.

I paused, “Sketchy.” I said finally.

“No! Surely you jest!” he appeared truly offended.

“I jest you not.”

“I can’t believe it.” He looked around the room as though he had been seeing everything for the first time, “Someone must have rubbed off on me.”

I nodded, “Or maybe that word isn’t as disgusting as you make it out to be?” I suggested.

He snorted, “Yeah right.”

I smiled.

“You’re here late.” He commented as he lifted his head to check the clock.

“I’m very aware.” I retorted as I located the shelves of paper and helped myself, “I like to hang around.”

“What about home? If you don’t mind my asking.” He pried slightly.

“Home isn’t as much fun.” I decided to say after a small pause.

He tilted his head slightly as he thought about my response, “How do you mean?” he asked finally.

“I’d rather not say; it’s complicated.” I recoiled, scolding myself mentally for letting myself into that position in the first place.

“That’s fine.”

We were silent for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I guess I kind of crossed the line with that, I apologize.” The earnest tone of his voice took me by surprise.

I couldn’t help but smile, “Hey, it’s totally okay. Don’t worry about it at all.” I felt compelled to respond, “It’s really no big deal. I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“Okay, don’t take this the wrong way.” He started and waited for me to acknowledge that I would indeed not be offended. I gave an affirmative nod and he continued, “Maybe the reason you brought it up is because you really do want to talk about it, and you just haven’t realized it yet.”

I shrugged, “I doubt it.”

“Don’t be too sure.” He folded a leg atop of the other and leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, “It took me thirty years to figure that one out.”

I grinned, “Thanks for the words of wisdom.” The words almost tasted sarcastic.

He rolled his eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I feel the need to preach to you.”

“I don’t actually mind. I like the company.” I finally sat and smoothed the off-white paper on the table.

He leaned forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the wooden table as he fished through the color pencils to pull a dark blue one from jar and begin to doodle on the nearest piece of scrap paper, “I should probably go work.” He said as he rested his head in his free hand, his eyes remaining on his sketch.

“By all means.” I urged.

“But you just said you enjoyed my company.” He turned his head to look me in the eye.

“Well I do; but I won’t be heartbroken or insulted if you choose to do what you have to do.” I said truthfully.

He nodded as though he was approving my response, “Alright then. I’ll be just around the corner and up those steps. Knock on the door furthest to the left if you need anything.” He returned the pencil to the proper cup and pushed his chair out from behind him.

“It was nice talking to you.” I said as I reached for black powder charcoal and chamois.

He stopped at the threshold, “Yeah, it was.” He smiled for a brief second and then disappeared. I heard his feet clomp up the rickety stairs, his keys sliding into the lock of his studio, and the subsequent sound of the opening door.

I began to pour the charcoal on the paper.