Portrait of Us (6 page)

“Where do you go to school?”

“I just graduated from Parma High School. Heading to Baldwin Wallace in the fall. I plan to major in art history.”

“That sounds great.” I had no idea what I was going to do in college, though my parents were already subtly nudging me on the subject. I cleared my throat, an awkward sensation lodged in my gut. After seeing her art, I felt like she'd gotten cheated.

“Are you excited about the competition?” she asked, no hint of negativity in her tone at all.

“Oh, I . . . I'm nervous,” I admitted.

“Yeah, I don't do well in those kinds of situations. I don't thrive under pressure. That's why I didn't even enter.”

Ah. Okay.

Before I could process it, she continued. “Plus, after seeing the works of people in here—like you, for example—I knew I wasn't ready.”

I blinked. “You're kidding, right?”

She laughed, a light, tinkling sound, and began packing away her pencils in a box. “It's been my experience so far that the artists with the most talent often don't see it. Teni knew what she was doing when she picked you. I can't wait to see the piece you two create.”

My gaze slid over to Matthew unbidden, and a warm flush
worked its way up my throat. Why was I letting him get to me? Why couldn't I just shut off this strange feeling I got whenever I thought of him?

“Well, I wish you guys luck,” she continued. “It's going to be quite a challenge, blending your two art styles into one cohesive piece. But I have a feeling when it's done, you will knock everyone's socks off.” She slung her bag over her shoulder, gave me a parting nod, then walked out the door.

I stared at her piece for another long moment. Her style was a lot closer to mine than to Matthew's—she'd taken great pains to capture true perspective, the nuances and angles of Teni's figure, the light and dark. But there was a rawness in her sketch lines that showed me she wasn't as concerned with clean edges as I was. I could see where she'd corrected her lines without erasing the old ones. She didn't have that compulsion for perfection.

And yet, her piece came to life and would only continue to grow in beauty as she finished it. Interesting.

I filed that nugget away and headed to the front of the room, where Teni perched against a table along the wall. Matthew came up right behind me, and I swear I could feel the warmth pouring from his body into mine. I took a small step forward to get out of that mode of hyperawareness. I needed to focus, not think about him like that.

Like a guy I found attractive.

“Thank you both for agreeing to work together,” Teni started. She pointed to a stack of magazines and newspapers. “What I
want from you two today is twofold: First, get to know each other. You're both very different people, and yet I think you have more in common than you realize.”

Why did people keep saying that? And it was so untrue. He and I were nothing alike. I stopped the sarcastic huff that wanted to come out. I heard a small chuckle behind me and peeked at him over my shoulder. His eyes were looking down at mine, and he seemed like he was laughing.

At me? My spine stiffened.

Teni didn't seem to notice the thickening tension between us. “And second, I want you to start brainstorming. Find a subject matter that appeals to both of you. Your project is due to me in a month, so time is of the essence.”

That got my attention; panic welled up in me again. Could we really do this?

“I will leave you two alone. Please take the next half hour or so to talk, flip through the papers and magazines on the table, discuss potential subjects. I'll be over there if you need anything.” Teni left us alone, her soft feet shuffling along the tile floor, skirt flowing around her long, lean legs.

We stood there awkwardly for a solid minute. Finally, Matthew cleared his throat and held out his hand. “So, I'm Matthew,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “I know who you are.”

That crooked grin lit up on his face, and my stomach gave a funny pinch. “Just trying to start us off on the right foot. My
mom would ground me if she found out I wasn't remembering my manners.”

I reluctantly shook his hand. It was warm, strong, engulfing mine. Tanned skin mingled with my dark flesh. I tucked my hands in the pockets of my shorts and fought the tingle in my fingers. “Um, so do you have any ideas?”

Matthew sat down at a stool, his long legs splayed out in that casual effortlessness that sports guys always had. “Not a thing.” Even his voice had a smile in it. “You?”

I perched on the stool beside him. “Nothing.”

We each grabbed a magazine and began flipping through the pages. My eyes were on the pages, but every other sense was aware of Matthew. The soft rhythm of his breathing. The light, crisp scent of his cologne. The memory of his fingers touching mine.

“Nature?” he asked, showing a spread of a forest.

I shrugged. I didn't have anything against the outdoors, but it didn't call to me.

“What do you do when you're not here or working at the bakery?” he asked.

“Um, I hang out with friends.” Study. Other nerdy things.

“Any hobbies?”

I arched a brow. “Other than art?”

He held up a hand in mock surrender. “Just trying to get to know you. To see if we can figure out something—”

“In common,” I supplied. If I had a dollar for every time I'd
heard that over the last couple of days, I'd be rich by now. “Well, I'm not into sports at all.”

His lips thinned. “I'm not just a jock, you know.”

My heart thudded. I'd insulted him without meaning to. “Sorry, I just—”

“I know what you think of me. Stupid, ignorant jock. How did he even get into this art program?” His words were quiet, but they echoed in my head like he'd screamed through a megaphone. “It's dangerous to make assumptions about people, especially ones you don't know.”

He was right, I knew it, and it ticked me off how easily he read me. “Well, you're making assumptions about me,” I countered.

“It's not an assumption. Your emotions are clear on your face—not too hard for anyone to read,” he retorted. “I can tell you don't like me. You think I don't care about this as much as you do because I happen to spend most of my free time on the basketball court. Well, I worked hard to get into this program, just the same as you. I want to win this competition, just the same as you. We're gonna have to work together to make that happen. And the first step is to pick our subject.”

With that, he turned his attention back to the magazine on his lap. I did the same, my stomach pitching. I couldn't see anything on the page, though.

I'd hurt his feelings. Made him feel like I thought I was smarter than him, through my disdain of pairing up with him, my
distaste at his art style obviously evident.
My
mom would ground
me
if she knew how rude I'd been.

“I'm sorry,” I said to him in a tone so low I wasn't sure he'd heard. I was afraid to look up, but I hoped he could feel the sincerity in my words.

A long minute passed.

“Apology accepted.”

The band around my chest eased up a touch. I dared a glance at him and saw his gaze fixed on me, magazine in his lap forgotten. I couldn't read the emotion in his eyes, but he didn't seem quite so angry anymore.

One small step forward. A tiny one, yes, but important nonetheless.

Chapter
Six

C
harlie dunked his head under
the pool surface, then darted back up, shaking his head like a wet dog. Splatters of water smacked me in the face, and I grimaced.

“Knock it off or I'm taking you home,” I warned him. The pool was already overcrowded, since it was hot but not unbearable outside. I was floating in the deep end, enjoying the crisp coolness of the water.

This morning Mom had asked if I'd get Charlie out of the house. He and Maxine had been holed up in the basement for days, working on upgrading their solar-powered car. She wanted him to drop the mad-scientist gig and just be a kid for a while. So I'd agreed to take them both to the pool.

It would also give me a bit of a reprieve from my anxiety
about the art project . . . and my guilt over how I'd acted toward Matthew. I'd lain in bed last night, embarrassed about how rude I'd become. Just because I didn't like the guy didn't mean I had to be nasty.

Though in truth, that wasn't quite accurate. It wasn't that I didn't
like
him. I actually didn't know anything about him except that we were really different. And if I were honest, part of my problem was that I was really uncomfortable.

Matthew's art challenged me. Made me squirm. It wasn't lovely or careful or familiar. It wasn't concerned with exacting perfection. It was wild and dark and edgy, and I didn't know how to handle it.

“Hey, Corinne,” Charlie said, interrupting my thoughts. He dropped his voice and floated over to me, then peeked over both shoulders. “I . . . need to talk to you about something weird that happened.” His face turned beet red.

Intriguing. I raised an eyebrow and reached my hand over to grip the edge of the pool, kicking my feet in a lazy pattern to keep me afloat. Water splashed on my back when a kid jumped in the water, but the lifeguard's whistle and shout stopped that.

“What's up?” I asked him.

He cleared his throat, looking around again. “It's about Maxine.”

The subject of his discussion was currently talking with a couple of other neighborhood girls near the shallow end of the pool. Her dark brown hair was plaited in a thick braid and she wore a one-piece swimsuit, her golden legs thrust out on the steps.

“What about her?”

His back stiffened. “She . . . When we were working on our car, she . . . touched my hand.”

I smothered a laugh. I
knew
it. This had been brewing for a long time now. Charlie was finally becoming aware that Maxine liked him, and he was totally in over his head. “I've touched your hand before.”

He wrinkled his nose. “That's different. You're my sister.”

“But she's your friend—has been forever. You two used to hold hands all the time when you were little. What makes you so worried about it now?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “It just . . . felt different. She's been acting weird, too. Asking me if I like any girls, or if I thought her hair looked pretty in that braid today.”

Charlie's lips were thinned, and he kept swallowing. Aw, the guy was so nervous. He could sense change happening in their relationship. I actually felt bad for him—once you crossed that line from friend to potential boyfriend/girlfriend, it wasn't easy to go back.

“Maxine is growing up,” I started in a gentle voice. “She's looking at things differently, and that includes her relationship with you. Try to keep an open mind and think about it all.”

“Do you think . . . she likes me?”

It took everything in me not to say,
Duh!
Instead, I nodded. “I think she's starting to go in that direction. But really, would it be that bad if she did? You guys are best friends. You know each
other, and you get along well.” I could see the protest on his face and continued, “Before writing her off, just think about it. Don't do anything rash right now—you'll just push her away.”

“Hmm.” He didn't seem convinced.

I pushed off the wall and floated in the water. “Just try to think about how you feel.”

“About what?” a light voice said from behind me. Maxine tilted her head and smiled widely.

Charlie's face could fry an egg, it was so red from his blush. “Nothing,” he muttered and pulled out of the pool. He stomped off, dripping puddles of water under his feet as he beat a hasty retreat.

Maxine's brow furrowed, and the smile slid from her face. “What did I do?”

I reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “It's not you, promise. My brother is a doofus. He's just . . . trying to sort stuff out.” I knew exactly what was wrong with him. He'd sorted Maxine into one category—friends—and was jarred at the possibility of her being something else—a potential girlfriend. So he was being stubborn and refusing to give her a chance. Because he was scared.

Maxine gave a weak nod and a shaky smile. “I don't want him mad at me. I'm gonna go talk to him.” Before I could reply, she tugged herself out of the pool and traipsed along after him.

Kids. I shook my head and lolled in the water. Though there was a small flare-up of something in my stomach as I considered Maxine and Charlie. I recognized some of myself in Charlie, that
stubborn refusal to change my opinion of a person, despite the situation.

But our situations were completely different. Those two had been friends for years. They already had a foundation. All I had was an unwanted attraction to Matthew, and a lot of fear.