Red(16)

Jonathan stood up. “I love it,” he said. It was the most declarative thing she’d ever heard him say.

Felicity felt her cheeks flood with heat. “Really?”

“It’s so original. I’ve never seen anything like this. She’s awesome.” Felicity loved how Jonathan referred to the sculpture as “she” instead of “it.” He crouched again and looked closely at the photographs. “Did you take all these yourself?”

“Yeah. It took forever.”

He walked around the sculpture again. “I think—I mean, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, it’s your piece—but I think we should put her up on a pedestal so people can see the photographs better. Otherwise, I’m worried they might miss the point.”

So Jonathan got the point. Did that mean other people would, too? A spark of terror ran through Felicity as Jonathan looked up from the sculpture and stared intently into her face, as if a puzzle piece had just clicked into place in his mind. Exactly how much did he suddenly understand about her? Maybe she had revealed too much. Putting this work on display suddenly felt intensely personal, almost like stripping in public, and she had to fight the urge to throw the drop cloth back over it.

But Jonathan’s gaze was kind and warm, respectful and supportive. There was no judgment in it at all. Felicity noticed that behind his glasses, his hazel eyes were flecked with green.

She nodded, then quickly looked away. “Can I see your painting?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. It’s not nearly as interesting as this, though.” Felicity followed him as he crossed the room and pulled a drop cloth off several canvases, which were leaning against each other, their faces to the wall. “I have a bunch of options, actually. I wasn’t sure which one was best for the show, so I … Why don’t I just show you all of them, and you can choose.” Jonathan’s hands were getting fluttery again as he prepared to spread out the paintings. Was he actually nervous about showing them to her? That didn’t seem possible.

“I’ve been doing a lot of landscapes this semester,” he said as he flipped the first canvas around. It was a painting of the most beautiful place Felicity had ever seen. In the background, huge, majestic rock formations reared their heads out of a stretch of turquoise ocean. There was a light sprinkling of boats in the water, and the foreground was filled with magenta flowers. Though the colors and the composition were gorgeous, the most striking thing about the painting was how confident and sure each brushstroke was. It was obvious that Jonathan hadn’t painted over anything. He’d gotten it all right the first time.

“Oh, wow. Is that Hawaii?”

“It’s Capri. It’s this little island in Italy? My grandmother lives near there. I visited her over Christmas, and I did a ton of sketching. It’s so—I don’t know, I just love it there.”

Jonathan flipped over more paintings of cliffs, water, and street scenes. Each piece looked like it belonged in a museum. But when he turned over the final canvas—a little smaller than the others, and less finished-looking—Felicity immediately knew that was the one she wanted in the show.

The subject of the painting was a girl about their age. She stood at a railing overlooking the ocean, her body turned toward the endless expanse of blue. Her long dark hair danced in the wind that whipped around her face, and she was trying to catch hold of it with her hand as she looked back over her shoulder at the viewer. Her eyes were warm and alert and a little mischievous, as if she were about to make a wry joke. It was obvious that Jonathan cared about this girl, whoever she was; the painting overflowed with tenderness.

“This one,” Felicity said, pointing.

“Really? But all these other ones feel more finished to me. I mean, doesn’t this one seem—”

“No,” said Felicity. “This one is the best. Who is she?”

Jonathan rested his hand on the top of the canvas protectively. “This is Lucia,” he said. His eyes got brighter just saying her name.

“Is she in Capri, too?”

“Yes.” He looked at the painting like he wished he could reach right through it and grab the girl’s hand. The expression on his face gave Felicity a peculiar little ache in her chest. She wanted to ask all kinds of questions about Lucia, but since she and Jonathan were just art class friends, not real friends, she felt that might be out of line.

“She’s beautiful,” Felicity told him. “She should definitely be in the show.”

Jonathan looked at his painting for another minute, then nodded. “Okay. That’s fine. If you think so.” He gave the top of the canvas an affectionate pat.

Felicity and Jonathan covered their artwork, then wrote out a list of the chosen artists’ student ID numbers, including Gabby’s. Felicity posted the list on the studio door, and then they got to work figuring out where each piece would go in the “gallery.”

But Felicity found it hard to concentrate. All she could think about was the expression on Jonathan’s face as he’d looked at his painting of Lucia. There had been so much sweetness and longing in his expression. Nobody had ever looked at her that way.

She hadn’t even known she wanted that kind of attention until now, but suddenly she wondered how she had ever managed to live without it.

That night, Felicity was sitting on her bed, doodling plans for her next sculpture in her sketchbook, when she heard rustling in the tree outside her window. Her heart started pounding; nobody had gotten around to fixing her screen since a squirrel had chewed through it and gotten into her bedroom last month. Felicity grabbed a heavy art book from her desk and held it up like a weapon, then sidled toward the window.