Before It's Love

by Michelle Pennington

Her cheeks colored. “Nick should be glad somebody is talking to me.”

  “Nick is missing out.”

  Lauren shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s just that he’s been with me all summer and he hasn’t seen them in months.”

  “Uh, huh—sure,” I said, derision slipping into my voice. I stood and walked down the last few steps. “I’ll see you around, Lauren.”

  “Probably,” she replied.

  Chapter Five

  Lauren

  The alarm on my phone went off and I rolled out of bed, falling onto my knees and flopping back across my air mattress. With my face in the covers, I groped blindly until I found my phone in the tangle of blankets. I turned off the alarm and dropped it again. Even on the air mattress, I’d slept hard last night after the exhausting weekend of moving, meeting new people, and dealing with a confusing set of emotions.

  I’d been prepared to be homesick and nervous. I hadn’t expected to be hurt by Nick’s sporadic attention. Though I’d denied it to Jake, I was surprised that Nick wasn’t as attentive as he had been back in New Mexico. A gnawing sense of worry that I’d made the wrong decision about moving here had plagued me all night. Literally nothing had gone the way I’d imagined, but hopefully things would be better from now on.

  I just needed to avoid Jake, even if Natalie did think the world of him. He was too charming and too good looking. It rattled me worse than riding on the back of an ATV with Trent.

  My mom always taught me to pray when things got hard, so instead of hiding my head in the blankets, breathing in the scent of home that lingered there, I decided to ask God again if this is where I was supposed to be. But no answer came—just a sort of gentle prodding to get up and get going. Which made sense. My first class started in an hour.

  I gathered some clothes and a towel, then walked to the bathroom down the hall. The door was shut, and I had to knock twice before someone snapped out an answer.

  “Just a minute. I’m almost done.”

  Great. Even though the voice was muffled, I knew who it was. Why, out of the three other girls in this house did I have to share a bathroom with Renee? This was going to be miserable. I dropped my things on the floor and went to get breakfast.

  Just as I took a bite of granola, Renee came in rubbing her hair with a towel. It was long and even darker than mine. Her cocoa brown eyes were almond shaped and tilted up at the corners with straight, barely arching brows as dark as her hair. Her olive skin was marred by faded acne scars, but her full lips and perfect oval face were dramatic. Unfortunately, her beautiful lips were twisted in a sneer.

  She grabbed a banana off the counter and said, “You might want to hurry. I need the bathroom again in fifteen minutes.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her back. What was her problem?

  Even though I didn’t want Renee to think I was rushing because she told me too, I had to get going. But since I’d grown up sharing a bathroom with five other people, I was a pro at taking fast showers. Once I was dressed, I left my wet hair down to dry, slipped into some sandals, and grabbed my backpack. I reached for my keys, but they weren’t on top of the box where I’d left them.

  Moaning, I said, “Did you have to get lost today?”

  After throwing clothes and empty boxes around for a while, I still didn’t find them. I’d made an attempt at unpacking last night, but since I didn’t have any furniture, I’d just made a giant mess. Looking around at the chaos, I realized I had to run. Literally. Class started in twenty minutes.

  Rushing through the house, I nearly collided with Renee at the door. Stopping dead at the steely glint in her eye, I followed her through the door feeling both lame and intimidated. I was so desperate not to be late on my first day, I considered asking her for a ride—for about two seconds. Instead, I smiled calmly as she pulled out of the driveway and even waved as she drove past me, but as soon as she disappeared around the corner, I took off running down the sidewalk.

  I was in good shape, but the air here was heavy and thick with humidity. Even this early in the morning, I had sweat trickling down my back by the time I made it to class. I wished I could have enrolled earlier than I did. As it was, the only Biology class I could get was the eight-a.m. slot on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. At least I had figure drawing at ten-o-clock to look forward to.

  Even though class let out early, since it was the first day, it was still torture to get through. With time to kill until figure drawing, I meandered outside while others strode away. But when I thought about spending the time getting familiar with the art building, I picked up my pace and headed to the east side of campus. It didn’t take long to find the squat brick building.

  It was saved from being ugly only by the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran half its length. Through the dust clouded windows, I could see shelves of various props like bottles, vases, and Grecian busts. Drawings and paintings hung on the white painted cinder block walls. As I went through the door, I paused to breathe deeply. Art has a scent—earthy and pungent. Every medium has its own perfume, and artists respond to it like lovers. The fragrance of paint, charcoal, and paper swept over me in layers, beckoning me home.

  Just to my left was a doorway with a sign that read, “Figure Drawing.” I considered peeking in, but decided instead to explore the rest of the building. I turned the other direction and followed the hall around as it turned to the left. In this short section, there was only an exit, one classroom, and a darkroom. I had found the photography department. Turning to the left again, I passed a few small offices. A large foyer and more doorways lay ahead, where students streamed in and headed to different classes. I stepped back against the wall to let two of them go by and heard voices in the office ahead. Curious, I stayed to listen.

  A deep, gravelly voice said, “Probably the same as usual. But hopefully there will be a few good students in the group to make it interesting. There’s usually one or two.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll tell you,” a tenor voice answered, “you’re more likely to get talent than a good work ethic. Every year, my classes get more and more lazy.”

  I heard a chuckle from the first man. “Maybe you’re just getting crabbier in your old age.”

  “What do you think, Cooper?” asked the tenor.

  And then a third voice, one that was younger and sounded vaguely familiar, said, “Oh, I definitely think you’re getting crabbier.”

  “You and my ex-wife. Don’t you have a nine-o-clock class?”

  “Yeah. Ten after actually, but I’d better get in there.”

  I stepped back quickly, still puzzling over why I recognized the third voice, but not wanting to get caught listening. Before I could twist away, I was stunned to see Jake come out. Dressed in slacks and a light blue, collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked cool but professional. “Jake?” I asked, surprised.

  “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve got a class here in about an hour. Did I just hear someone call you Cooper?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that’s my last name.” He paused as though collecting his thoughts. Then, tilting his head and shifting one foot, he asked, “What class are you taking?”

  “Figure drawing. I’m an art major.”

  He gave a lopsided smile. “Thank goodness for that. I was afraid you might be in one of my classes.”

  “Well thanks a lot.”

  His eyes widened. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. But it would be weird having you as a student. And, frankly, a little awkward.”

  “You’re a teacher?” Okay, I’d been thinking he was a teacher’s assistant, at most.

  Jake hunched his shoulders. “Yeah. In fact, I have to go teach a class right now.”

  I nodded, but my brain was still trying to figure things out. “Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were an art student last night?”

  “I don’t know. It just didn’t come up.”

  He pointed a finger at me like he was shooting
a gun. “Exactly. Looks like I’ll be seeing you around.”

  “Yeah.”

  As he walked away, I cursed the fates. This was not going to make it easy to avoid him. And how stupid was it that part of me was glad about that? What was wrong with me?

  Regardless, there was no point in staring down the hallway like a moron. I had to get to class too. I turned and headed back to the other side of the building. I found a bathroom and dodged inside.

  The walls were a dingy yellow and there were rust spots on the stall doors. One look in the mirror made me groan. Why did I have to look like a hot, stringy-haired mess? I dug a brush out of my backpack and worked all the tangles out before twisting it into a bun. A little mascara, blast Natalie, and lip gloss helped, but I left the bathroom still fretting over how I looked. Which made me want to whack something with a stick.

  With time to kill, I went outside to call my mom. We talked for a while, and she asked me a dozen questions about how I was settling in. I didn’t mention that I’d lost my car keys. No need to worry her. After hanging up my phone, I saw there was only fifteen minutes left till my class started, so I headed inside. Just as I reached the door to the studio, it opened and an older man came out.

  He was tall and lanky, with graying hair cut short at the base of his neck, but left long at the top so that wavy curls spilled over his forehead. His face was young looking except where it was heavily lined around the eyes, making it hard for me to judge his age. He was dressed in loose trousers and a black t-shirt that fit tight across his slightly sagging chest. When he saw me, he asked, “Oh, hey. Are you Mariah?”

  I recognized his voice from the conversation I’d overheard in the hallway earlier. This was the tenor. “No, I’m Lauren.”

  He looked disappointed as he headed over to a stack of wooden platforms at the end of the hall. Then he came back my direction, pushing one in front of him. “Too bad. I’m expecting a new model, and I’m not sure what she looks like. You have good lines, so I was hoping it was you.”

  Surprised, I murmured awkwardly, “No, I’m a student.”

  “I see. I’m Mr. Rossi. No use hanging out here. Come on in and get settled.”

  Nodding, I held the door open for him as he pushed the platform through, then followed him in. When he got to the center of the room, he tipped it over and let it drop down with a hollow thwack. Then he disappeared into a storage room and came out with a stack of the biggest drawing pads I’d ever seen. They had to be four feet long, at least. He stacked them on a table at the back of the room and went back for more.

  I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I walked over to where some incredible charcoal figure studies hung on the wall. If I could learn to do anything half this good, I’d be thrilled.

  Then Mr. Rossi spoke behind me. “At the end of today’s class, I’ll put the best drawing up on the wall. Then at the end of every class, the best drawing of that day will compete with it. By the end of the semester, whichever drawing is still hanging on the wall gets framed and permanently displayed up here.”

  “These are student drawings?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Wow. I have a long way to go.”

  He shrugged and brushed his hair out of his face impatiently. “We all start somewhere. If you work hard, you’ll be amazed at how you improve. Some of my students take this class over and over again because they improve so much every time. That’s one difference between this class and Algebra,” he said, laughing.

  “There will be people in here who’ve taken the class before?” I asked.

  “Probably. I know Brody is taking it for the third time.”

  “That’s awesome,” I said. But in my head, there was a sarcastic slant to the words. Not that I was a competitive person, but I had expected to at least be in a class of other beginners like me. I was great at landscapes and still-life, but I struggled when it came to drawing people.

  Soon, other students began to trickle in. When a big guy with a goatee and multiple piercings came in, he was received with an enthusiastic clap on the back by Mr. Rossi. “Brody. Good to see you. How was your summer?”

  Their conversation dominated the room. Since no one else knew each other, we all stood around trying not to look lost. In a regular classroom, you can sit at a desk or in a chair and play on your phone until class starts. We just had a big empty room and a distracted teacher.

  After a minute or two, he looked up and seemed to realize for the first time how many of us were there. “You guys can grab a locker if you want.” He held up a roll of wide masking tape and a permanent marker. “Write your name on a piece of tape and put it above whichever locker you pick, then come grab a pad of paper and a drawing horse.”

  Brody was the first to grab the tape and a locker. The rest of us followed him like lemmings. When we were done, Mr. Rossi told us to get set up while he went to check on the model.

  “Any chance we’re going to get to draw nude models this time?” Brody asked.

  Mr. Rossi scowled and said, “No, the board of directors still has its head up its arse about that. Models in bathing suits only.”

  I sighed in relief. One of the reasons I’d been so excited to come to this school was that they didn’t draw nude models. Oh, I understood all about studying musculature and the movement of the body, but if I could learn how to draw without anybody’s private parts staring back at me, I’d be happy.

  I looked around and copied what Brody and some of the other students were doing to get ready so by the time the professor came in, I looked competent. I was pretty sure I was about to make a fool of myself though. And somehow, it didn’t help knowing that Jake Cooper was somewhere in this building. I cringed at the thought of him seeing my first attempts at figure drawing. Hopefully, he’d never have reason to come in here.

  Before I could freak out too much, Mr. Rossi came into the room followed by a tiny, nervous girl wearing a robe. As she avoided our eyes, Mr. Rossi walked over and stood on the plywood platform. He bounced a few times like a toddler on a big bed, and said, “I want you to forget everything you know about art, or think about art. This is Mariah. She’s a new model here, so she’s going to be learning right along with you. Be patient with her. Modeling isn’t easy. Now, everyone circle your drawing horses around the platform and we’ll get started.”

  He motioned for the model to take off her robe and climb up on the platform. Her skin, exposed to the air conditioning in a tiny red bikini, immediately turned into chicken skin.

  Mr. Rossi walked around in front of us. “The first thing you need to learn is how to draw with your charcoal. It is not a pencil and I don’t want to see anyone holding it like it is. Hold it between your thumb and first two fingers like you’re pinching it, with the back pointed toward your palm. Okay, Mariah, let’s get you set and see who in here thinks they know what they’re doing.”

  Chapter Six

  Jake

  The whole time I spoke to my class about the course of study, grading, and portfolio expectations, I kept getting distracted by thoughts of Lauren in the drawing studio down the hall. Since I’d been thinking about her entirely too much since last night, this wasn’t exactly surprising, but now I could add “artist” to the list of her attractions.

  She was pretty, no doubt—even beautiful from some angles, but I knew lots of pretty girls. It had taken me all night to realize it was her sweet but blunt way of speaking and a certain innocence about her that caught my attention. And now, as I dismissed my students early and watched them gathering their things to leave, I burned with curiosity to see if she was any good at art.

  Deciding to peek in on her class, I walked toward the door, but a bubbly girl with dull blue hair came up to ask questions. They weren’t about class though, mostly about me. I saw where that was going and escaped as gracefully as I could.

  After cutting through the paint studio, I peeked around the corner into the drawing studio. Not surprisingly, Rossi already had his class hard at work.
He was hard core about his classes.

  I spotted Lauren across the room with her head bent over her drawing pad. As I watched, her eyebrows drew together and she tilted her head back to look at the model. The motion reminded me of a bird at one of Grams’ feeders. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stand and watch her for long. That would put me squarely in the creeper zone. Besides, I was going to avoid her as much as possible—before this tug of attraction turned into something more complicated. I couldn’t allow myself to have feelings for her—at least not as long as she was dating Nick.

  I went back to my classroom and prepped for my next class. It was advanced font design and I had put together a presentation of industry standards, popular fonts, and some of my own work. It took a minute to set up the video, and the whole time I was making sure my smart board was ready to go, I battled with myself about meeting her when her class let out.

  But when I heard noise from the hallway, I walked out and saw students coming from down the hall, but not from the drawing studio. Of course. Rossi would never let class out early.

  I was going to have to work on this whole will-power thing.

  Shaking my head at myself, I went in just as Rossi called time on their drawing session. “Hang ‘em up, folks,” he commanded.

  Groans and the sound of ripping paper filled the room as all the students tore off their drawings and pinned them up on the front wall. Rossi kept a director’s chair in the room for his exclusive use. He sat in it like a king with a coffee mug in one hand and his legs crossed with the top leg bouncing.

  Lauren stepped back from her drawing after pinning it to the wall and crossed her arms. Since she had her back to me, I couldn’t see her face, but something about her posture let me know she wasn’t happy with it. I’d done plenty of student critiquing, both in my own student days and last year as an art teacher, so I could see the potential in her work. But if she was comparing her work to Brody’s or some of the other more advanced students, she probably wouldn’t see it the way I did.