I balked. “What? Why? I thought the Matt concept . . .”
She shook her head. “You’re telling a story with these, Ashley. You’re opening yourself up to the world. It’s what true artists do. But if you hold back, it will give everything else the sense of, I don’t know, plastic. Each of these is telling a story about you. So you have to be the central piece that the others orbit.” She glanced at me from the side.
I swallowed. It was hard enough to imagine someone seeing the drawings of Finn or Matt. But one of me?
“I’ll tell you what,” Mrs. D said. “Let’s not make a decision now. You spend this afternoon figuring this out. You’re going to have to be really organized if you’re going to get this done in time. So sort out what you’d do and how you’d put it together. Then we’ll see if it’s even worth pursuing, okay?”
I took a deep breath and nodded.
Mrs. Driley patted my shoulder. “Good girl. The bell’s going to ring in a minute. Get yourself into the easel room before my class arrives. I’ll check on you later.”
Right on cue, the bell clanged and the door flew open. A couple of seniors frowned when they saw me. I gathered my sketches hastily, then hustled into the easel room, praying I could convince Mrs. Driley to let me go easy on the self-portrait. I’d do something awesome with the Matt one. Knock her socks off. Then she’d forget about me.
Chapter Fourteen
“That was a bold move,” Doc says, sitting back in his chair. There’s the hint of a smile on his face.
“The portfolio?” I say. When he nods, I wave a hand. “Not really. It just felt right.”
“Certainly,” he says. “But the risk was great—both of being discovered by someone who might take exception to your work, and of forcing yourself to work under an extremely tight deadline.”
I nod.
Doc opens a hand toward me. “See? Brave.”
I shake my head. He isn’t the first to have said this. But I still don’t agree.
“Ashley,” he starts to say, in his patronizing voice. But I cut him off.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
I lean forward. “What makes a decision brave, Doc? Serious question. I mean, is it just the fact that it’s something someone else wouldn’t do? Or what?”
His eyebrows descend behind his glasses. He shifts in his seat, watching me. “Well, there’s probably an element of the subjective. But . . . I suppose I would define someone—or a decision they made—as brave when they choose a path that could have either serious gains or extreme consequences. When they’re choosing that path not out of recklessness, but out of hope. For something better.”
“So, choosing to do a new portfolio at the last minute is courageous rather than reckless because of the possible upside?”
He clicks his pen. “Because the gains are actually within your power. For instance, if someone told me they’d spent their life savings on lottery tickets, I would think them reckless. The potential gains were out of their control. In your situation, there were great risks, but you knew you had what it took to make the reward a definite possibility.”
“Not so sure that’s true,” I say slowly.
Doc tips his head. “You seem dismissive of the decision you made.”
“Not exactly,” I say, running a finger along a scar on my forearm. “I just know I wasn’t necessarily thinking about all the risks.”
“Do any of us?” he says, almost smiling again. When I don’t respond, he taps his finger on the notepad in his lap. “Ashley, it’s a philosophical question, but perhaps it isn’t best answered in hindsight. After all, when things work out, would any of us go back and change them if we could? I suspect if you were in that moment again, you’d do the same thing.”
“About my portfolio?”
He nods. “Yes. Was there another risky decision at the time?”
I frown, because in hindsight, yes. But it all seemed so harmless at the time . . .
•••
On Tuesday, fourth period was a special assembly for the junior class. Someone was visiting to tell us why we shouldn’t do drugs. As I wandered down the hallway, I had to grin. Another of those REFUSE TO BE ROADKILL posters had been tacked to the wall. Just like in the rec room, someone had changed it. This one read REFUSE TO BE EAT ROADKILL—THE HAIR STICKS IN YOUR TEETH.
I was still smiling as I walked up the aisle, looking for an out-of-the-way seat in the theater, where the smaller assemblies were always held. I was still considering which row when someone touched my shoulder. I whirled.
Dex took a step back. “Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Heart pounding, I nodded, feeling sheepish. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
After a long beat, Dex nodded toward a row of seats behind me. “Want to sit together?”
I scanned the row. There didn’t seem to be anyone who hated me nearby. “Sure. I guess,” I replied, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.
I flipped the seat down and settled in, putting my elbows on the armrests. Dex sat down next to me, nodding once at a greeting from Liam—a guy on the baseball team. I’d heard Dex was training with them. Liam sat three rows down, his blue baseball cap turned backward on his head so his nearly white hair peeked out from underneath it. Three or four other guys sat with him, all in letterman’s jackets. Liam was motioning for Dex to come down, to join them.
“You can go down there if you want,” I offered.
Dex glanced at me, then shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”
We sat in silence as the rows around us filled. The lights were just dropping when three people inched down the row in front of us. I cursed under my breath when I recognized Finn’s sharp chin and long body. That made the perky ponytail next to him mostly likely Karyn, and the broad shoulders next to her . . . Matt.
My nerves jangled as they sat directly in front of us.
“I think these are the same guys who came to my rehab . . . Ashley. Ashley?” Fingers snapped in front of my face.
I blinked. Dex leaned toward my chair, his shoulder brushing against mine.
“Earth to Ashley?” he teased.
At the sound of my name, Matt jerked his head around, frowning when he saw Dex next to me.
“Sorry,” I murmured, forcing myself to look away from Matt and toward Dex. “What were you saying?”
“I said, I think these guys are from the organization that came to my rehab and ran a group session. They’re pretty good.”
Dex was right. The group was good. Entertaining and challenging. They even had some high schoolers who talked about their addictions and experiences. Dex spent a lot of time nodding. His jaw got pretty tense at one point, when they talked about hurting people. I patted his hand and smiled at him when he looked down at me.
He smiled back and turned his hand so it was palm up to mine, twining our fingers together on the armrest. It took me by surprise, but the warmth of his skin and the pressure of his shoulder against mine felt good. Reassuring.
And it didn’t hurt that Matt looked back once, his gaze lingering on our clasped hands.
When the assembly was over and we’d all murmured our agreement to try to stay clean (A Healthy Me Is Drug Free!), I looked at Dex. He still held my hand, but he was staring into the middle distance.
I nudged his shoulder with mine and smiled when he looked at me. “Are you okay?”
He blinked foggily, then shook his head, as if coming back to himself. “Yeah. I am. You?”
I nodded, biting my lip, suddenly unsure if we were still talking about Dex’s former drug habit.
He let go of my hand to hoist his bag over his shoulder, and I was surprised by how keenly I felt the loss. But he grabbed it again to pull me through the crowd pushing its way to the cafeteria.
“What’re you doing for lunch?” Dex asked casually when we reached the hallway.
“I’m actually headed to the art room,” I said. “I’ve just got so much w
ork to do, I’m spending every break and lunch in there, just about.”
“Could you maybe skip one? Have lunch with me?”
Before I could answer, a body hit me from behind and I pitched forward into his chest.
He caught me, held me tight. Didn’t let go immediately. “Watch where you’re going, Brooke,” he snapped. Laughter was the only response.
I pulled away, blushing, and turned to head down the hall. When I glanced back, I realized he’d come to a halt. He was frowning and looking over my shoulder.
“Dex, if you’re staring at my ass, you’re going to need to be a little more subtle,” I said.
But Dex just cursed and swiped at my back.
“Dex, what are you—”
His expression hard, he examined a piece of notepaper fluttering off the end of a large strip of masking tape.
SINGLE WHITE FEMALE SEEKS PROM DATE. WILL PAY HOURLY RATE AND GIVE HEAD. ONLY PICKUP DRIVERS NEED APPLY DUE TO WIDE LOAD.
There was an arrow pointing down. Presumably at my ass.
My face went hot. I shoved my bag strap back up on one shoulder and started down the hall, almost running.
“Ash. Ashley! Wait!” Dex called after me, catching up with me before I’d gone half a dozen feet. He fell in step with me, and I cursed at him because I was trying not to cry and that was going to be harder if he started pitying me.
“Don’t let them get to you, babe.”
Babe. He called me babe. He used to do that all the time.
“I’m not.” I swallowed tears and ran a hand through my hair. Dex gave me a look, but kept walking, glancing around. A few seconds later, he spoke again.
“I forgot how much this school sucks. Everyone here thinks they’re better than us.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “And that . . . that used to just kill me, okay? It was part of why I was always high.”
“It was?” I’d thought he was untouchable.
“Yeah.” He leaned into my ear and whispered, “But if it’s any consolation, I always thought your wide load was sexy.”
Horrified, my jaw dropped, and I snapped my head around to look at him.
He held up his hands in surrender. But he was grinning. “Too soon?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Then Dex laughed. Then when we were finished laughing, I agreed to skip the art room and have lunch with him. And for the first time in a long time, I could breathe.
And if I neglected to mention that lunch to Matt when he asked me later, it was just because I was still thinking about how to handle Dex’s . . . friendship. And if Matt had a problem with that, well, frankly, he could kiss my wide load.
Chapter Fifteen
Doc taps his lips, which makes him look very thoughtful and makes me feel nervous. But when he opens his mouth, he isn’t pulling any of the carpet out from under me.
“It sounds like Dex was attempting to reignite your former relationship?”
“Yeah. Well, I thought so at the time, anyway.”
“And were you supported in your decision to explore that?”
I try to laugh but it comes out dry. “C’mon, Doc. You must’ve realized by now it could never be that easy.”
•••
That Friday night, Dex called me and we talked for two hours. About nothing. It was great. By midnight, we were both getting sleepy, but neither of us wanted to get off the phone.
“Have you got your art thing tomorrow?” Dex asked, his voice gravelly with tiredness.
“Yeah, tomorrow and Sunday.” I groaned.
Dex grunted. “How about I take you out for breakfast in the morning, then?” he said, then yawned. “I can drop you off at the art room after.”
I agreed, which is how I ended up walking into the art room fifteen minutes late on Saturday morning. With Dex.
I stopped just inside the door, inhaling the smell of turpentine and wet paper. Dex gave me a hug. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, and waved as he left, my insides trilling.
“Morning!” I chirped to Matt, who sat on the other side of the tables, hunched over a large cream-colored sketchpad.
“Morning,” he replied tightly.
“So, what are you working on?” I asked, laying out my workbook and pencils.
“Just a drawing.”
I waited, but he didn’t say more, so I settled into the chair next to him and got to work on a study for my portrait of Mrs. D.
A minute later, the skin on my neck prickled. From the corner of my eye, I could see Matt sitting back in his chair, staring. At first I thought he was looking at my drawing. But when I turned, his gaze was on me.
“What’s up?” I asked.
The corners of his mouth tipped down and he glanced at the door Dex had just exited through. “I . . . um . . . So, you and Dex are back on, then?” I’m not sure if he realized he’d started tapping his pencil against the tabletop.
“I wouldn’t say that.” I ducked my head to hide my smile behind my hair. There was no doubt Dex was acting interested, but I wasn’t about to admit it. What if I was wrong?
Tap, tap, tap, tap. “He was holding your hand in the assembly. Guys don’t really do that stuff unless they’re, you know, hoping for more,” Matt said.
I felt a stab of pain somewhere in the region of my heart. “Thanks for implying he just wants sex. Tell me how you really feel.”
“That isn’t what I meant.” He flushed. Tap, tap, tap. “I just meant . . . I guess I’m surprised. It seems like you guys are taking it kind of fast.”
I gave him a look. “You’re kidding, right? You do remember the whole ‘dating for almost a year’ thing, don’t you? We hold hands in assembly after a week and we’re being ‘fast’?”
Matt’s brow creased. “Isn’t he just out of rehab? Aren’t they supposed to, like, not date for a year or something?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been watching too many movies. And anyway, he’s been clean that long,” I said, feeling a little bit like I was sharing Dex’s secrets. But I knew I could trust Matt.
Couldn’t I? That pencil was speeding up.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
“I’m just surprised, like I said.” Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
I dropped my own pencil and clapped my hand down over Matt’s. He froze, staring at my hand on his. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“You’re acting weird,” I said flatly. “What’s going on?”
He looked up at me, face blank. “I’m just thinking I should be asking you that question.”
“What are you talking about? Nothing is going on with me and Dex—not yet, anyway. And I would tell you if it was. So . . . what?” I realized I still had my hand on his, and pulled it back.
Matt frowned. “Has he kissed you?”
“What the hell?” I felt my face go up in flames, whoosh. “That is so none of your business!”
“How do you figure? I’m your best friend. I’m watching out for you.”
I laughed. “Great, then you now owe me years’ worth of juicy details. But we can start with Karyn—have you rounded third yet?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. I didn’t want to know what he’d been doing with Karyn. Well, I did. But I didn’t want to be able to picture it.
When he opened his mouth I put my hands up. “No. Wait. Forget I asked. I don’t want to know.”
“No, no. Fair’s fair.” Matt grinned. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
The reference took me so off guard I couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe you brought that up!”
Matt chuckled and puffed out his chest. “I’m sorta proud of it, actually. The first time I got naked with a girl, and I was seven!”
“Ugh! Stop!” It was completely innocent, of course. We’d stood across my room and pulled our shorts up and down so fast we barely saw more than pink skin, then giggled and shushed each other. “It was your idea. Pervert.”
Matt grinned. “You could have said no.
”
I smacked my forehead dramatically. “Why didn’t I think of that? Thank you! Now I know what to do next time you ask me to get naked.”
In my head it had sounded like a joke. Taunting. But as soon as the words were out of my mouth, all I could see was Matt and me back in my bedroom. Except we weren’t young and innocent anymore.
And Matt must have seen it, too, because his laughter died right next to mine.
Our eyes latched and my pulse thumped in my ears. I wanted to make light of it, laugh it off. But there was shock in his half-open mouth. And the look on his face . . . it made my hands shake. He had no right to look at me like that.
But he did. He kept staring and I kept imagining him standing in front of me, his hand lifting to touch my face, fingers trailing down my neck to the top button of my blouse. I was close enough to see the tiny pinpricks of stubble in a line on his jaw where he’d shaved too fast. I imagined running my lips along it.
“Ash?”
“Yeah?”
“The other day, when you were holding hands with Dex . . .”
I groaned. Damn! Why did he have to bring that up? “It was just . . . I mean it wasn’t . . .”
He grimaced. “No, listen . . .” He leaned closer.
“What?” My heart beat too fast. But he just kept staring at my mouth. “What?” I said, a little harder, because I knew what it looked like when a guy thought about kissing you. But Matt wouldn’t be thinking about that. Would he? Oh, God, please let Matt be thinking about that.
Matt swallowed, but didn’t look away. “It made me mad,” he said softly.
I waited, but there wasn’t any more. Just him, sitting too close, staring at my lips.
He couldn’t be doing this. Was he implying that he thought about an “us”? Him and me?
Then he leaned in. I stopped breathing.
Just do it, Ashley. Just close the gap and kiss him. Just do it.
I sucked in a breath and started tipping toward him when the door to the art room shuddered and thumped, then flew open with a bang.
“Don’t worry kids, it’s just me,” Mrs. Driley sang from behind a tall stack of boxes in her arms. “Just got a delivery!”
Every Ugly Word Page 9
