Not Today, But Someday(46)

“Not yet.”

“Want the sunglasses?” I offer.

“I’ll be fine,” he groans. “Ready?” he asks.

“For?”

“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” I laugh and narrow my eyes at him.

“On the count of three... one, two, three–”

I pull the thick paper out of the envelope and lay it out in front of me as Nate flips over the canvas. I stare at his painting, marveling at what he’s done. As I look at the canvas, I feel him watching my reaction. “It looks close in this light,” he brags, and I realize he’s been looking at my eyes.

“You added some colors,” I tell him, studying the color-block work he’s created. “I recognize them all,” I say with a smile. The green color of my eyes makes up most of the painting, but he’s surrounded it with a creamy pale pink color and accented a few places with a soft, light orange.

“They’re very complimentary,” he shrugs. “It came naturally.”

“Can I have that one, too?” I ask him, greedy, already a fan of his art.

“No,” he tells me definitively. “This one’s mine.” I frown playfully as he nods at the beginnings of my CD cover. “You did all that yesterday?”

I shrug and nod. He picks it up, squinting to take in the intricate details. “You’ve got an eye for this,” he says. “The spacial alignment is... fantastic.”

“I know,” I tell him.

“You know,” he repeats, looking at me incredulously.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Nate,” Mrs. Martin interrupts up.

“Yes?” We both look up.

“Do you know how she got so much done yesterday?”

“I, uh...” he starts, shaking his head. “Because she had no one to distract?” he asks.

“She had no one to distract her. Let the girl work,” our teacher instructs him. “Not everyone can whip out a masterpiece in thirty minutes. We’re not all prodigies.”

“Prodigy,” I repeat her term, remembering the night I called him that, remembering how he denied it. His cheeks blush pink as his attention returns to his own workspace.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters quietly.

“Didn’t I tell you that you were a prodigy?” I whisper as I get back to work, stippling some of the letters in pink.

“Didn’t she tell you to get to work?” he says back quietly.

“I think she told you to leave me alone,” I clarify, looking up at him and blinking my eyes innocently.

“You don’t want that,” he says, looking at me, hard. It’s as if he’s doubting himself.

I shake my head. “No, I don’t.” He grins, then pulls out a sketchbook and a pencil and starts to jot down some notes.

After art, I walk him to his next class, mainly to make sure he doesn’t go outside to smoke. When I leave him at the stairway by his history room, I realize he’s in much better spirits than he was when he found me at lunch. I have full confidence he can quit smoking.

“Hey, Em?” he calls after me.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll swing by the gym after school.”

“Sounds good,” I tell him with a smile.

“Don’t let them get to you,” he adds, turning and walking into his class. Worrying about Misty and Lauren hadn’t even occurred to me. Now it’s the only thing I think about the rest of the afternoon. When it’s time for my last period, I take a deep breath before going into the locker room to change. Both girls are at Misty’s locker, whispering to one another. Aside from a dirty look or two, they leave me alone.

After showering and getting dressed, I take a little extra time fixing my hair and putting on a little powder and gloss. Peer pressure sucks. Sometimes I feel completely inadequate after seeing all the girls around me. I know I’m not ugly, I just look... different. Weird eyes. Fine hair. Pale skin. Flat chest. I was grateful that my hips were somewhat defined. I like the curves I can see in the reflection. I start to put on the sweater I’d worn all day, but decide to keep it off. I like the way my shirt looks without it.

Just before I leave, I pull my hair back into two low pigtails. Slinging my backpack on my shoulder on the way out, I smile at Misty and Lauren. He’s mine, girls.

No, he’s not. I try to shake the thought out of my head as I exit the locker room, but I run smack into him, my mind obviously elsewhere.

“Whoa,” he says, taking me by the shoulders to help steady me. “You okay?”

“Great,” I tell him quickly. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he says as he turns toward the door. I follow two steps behind him through the crowd of classmates. He feels like he’s mine, though. And I definitely don’t want those girls near him. I doubt that it’s fair to want him to myself like this, if all I want is a friendship.

That’s all I want.

Yes. That’s all I want. I think that’s all I want. He holds open the door for me, then follows me into the brisk air outside.

“You know, that sweater might not be a bad idea,” he suggests.

“What? I’m fine,” I tell him, my words coming simultaneously with the goose bumps. It’s freezing out here. “Where’d you park?”