“What’s that?” I ask him.
“A mock-up of the first chapter of my graphic novel,” he says, grinning as wide as the wingspan on his Batman shirt. He gathers them up. “I have to present it to my professor this afternoon. He’s already making us fight for his nomination for a final gallery spot. So much for creating in a non-competitive environment.”
“You should have seen our class today,” Fiona says. “I left everyone totally speechless with my new shadow piece. Mr. Frank is in the palm of my hand.”
We walk to the Vietnamese lunch shop and get sandwiches to go, so we can eat in the courtyard. I never thought I’d like Vietnamese food, but these sandwiches, with their spicy mayo and warm crusty bread and ham and pickled carrot shreds are better than anything I’ve ever had at Subway. And the almond bubble tea is really yummy, too. I think Meg would like it as much as she likes frozen peppermint mochas. She’d love that you get to pick your straw color. I chose purple, same as Fiona.
We’re about to enter the courtyard when Fiona stops dead in her tracks and cries out, “Ouch!” I check to see if she hurt herself. She’s clutching at her chest, but with a dopey smile on her face. “My heart hurts.”
Yates is sitting on a bench in the courtyard, drawing. He stretches and reveals two tattoos … one on the inside of each bicep. They’re of lucky horseshoes, like an old-timey sailor might have.
Ouch indeed.
Fiona runs her fingers through her blue stripe.
“Let’s go talk to him.”
I’d never have the courage to do that, but Fiona … she’s fearless.
“He probably doesn’t want to be bothered,” Adrian says.
But Fiona walks over to Yates anyway and we follow her like she’s the kite and we’re the little ribbons dangling on her string.
“Hi, Yates,” she says, and sits right down next to him on the bench.
“Hey, guys. Are you enjoying today’s lesson?” he asks in a corny voice, like he’s playing the part of our teacher on a television show.
“We sure are!” Fiona says, equally hokey, and they both laugh. “Listen. I’m seriously considering applying to this college next year. Do you think you could give us a tour?”
He gets shy. “The admissions office runs tours. I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“We don’t want to go through those boring, stiff tours where they just read facts out of the catalog. We want to know about the school from your perspective. Like, how it really is to go here.”
Fiona elbows me.
“Yeah,” I add.
Yates debates. “Well, I mean, I guess I could show you guys around a little tomorrow, after the field trip.”
“Awesome!”
We walk away. Robyn massages Fiona’s shoulders and moves the lock of blue hair away from her ear. “Oh my God, you guys are totally going to be the cute, artsy couple,” she says. “And then you will both move to Paris and show your work in my gallery and we’ll all get rich!”
It stings a little bit to hear this, but I know it’s true. Fiona deserves someone like Yates. She’s confident enough to go and get him, even though he’s our TA and it’s totally taboo. That challenge probably makes Fiona even more excited about the whole thing.
I see Adrian looking glum.
“You’re going to come with us on the tour, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, come on …” Fiona says, draping herself all over Adrian. “Are you just going to let Yates win my heart without making a stand?” It’s weird that she’s flirting with Adrian if she doesn’t honestly like him in that way, but I can tell it makes him happy, so what’s the harm?
After all, there’s something about Fiona that makes everything seem worth the risk.
After Wednesday’s field trip to the Painted Bride Art Center, the four of us meet Yates near the elevator bays in the main building. Fiona is nervous, I can tell by the way she keeps scratching the scabs on her arms. She looks pretty, though, dressed in a white tank and a frilly, pink skirt made out of a vintage apron with all these pretty drawings of cakes and cookies on it. It sets off the blue of her hair, and she’s painted her nails blue, too. Her hair is flat and shiny, her bangs trimmed perfectly even.
“Hey, guys,” Yates says as he comes around the corner.
Instantly we all shut up. Except for Robyn. She laughs.
I think Yates knows what we might be up to, but he just smiles sweetly and says, “Okay. Follow me.”
Yates takes us through the school. The main art building is divided by majors — each one has its own floor. The fibers floor is full of old looms and big vats to dye fabric. The ceramics floor smells earthy like clay. The temperature of the metals floor is extra hot from all the torches.
Yates walks with Fiona, explaining class options and stuff while the rest of us hang back. I try to stay near Adrian, because he looks bummed, like this is painful for him to watch.
I can sympathize.
“Have you ever told her how you feel?” I whisper in his ear.
“No,” he says. “She knows. It’s obvious.”
“That’s the thing. Fiona doesn’t necessarily go for obvious. She wants … more of a production.” I’m definitely rooting for Adrian. He’s a really nice guy. But maybe also because I still like Yates. I can’t help it, but I do.
“Yeah,” he says, and flicks his hair out of his eyes. “I guess.”
As we go from studio to studio, Yates introduces us to a lot of interesting-looking students. Everyone seems to know him.
“You’re, like, the king of the campus, huh, Yates?” Fiona laughs, and loops her arm through his.
Yates shakes her off, not meanly or anything. But if anyone was to see that, I bet he’d get in trouble. “Oh no. I mean, the college isn’t that big, so you end up meeting pretty much everyone in the first few weeks.”
Fiona looks frustrated, but she quickly replaces her grimace with a smile. “Cool.”
I try to imagine myself going to a college like this. I always assumed I would go to Trenton State with Meg. Meg’s going to do premed, because she wants to be a doctor who delivers babies. I’m not sure what I want to study yet. But there’s a lot I like about what I see here.
“So, you guys are really thinking about applying?”
“Absolutely,” Fiona says. “Art is the only class in my high school that I haven’t failed. In fact, none of my teachers know what to do with me anymore. They just send me to the art room. For me, it’s either art school or majoring in Fries at McDonald’s University.”
“Well, this place seems to be very forgiving when it comes to that kind of problem. My transcripts from high school were all random, too, since I went to an art high school and never took much math or science.”
“Ah, so we’re both art geeks.” Fiona bumps him playfully. “But seriously, that’s good to hear. I mean, I wear the fact that I can barely survive in a ‘normal’ school like a badge of honor, you know? This is definitely the kind of place I belong.”
I find myself next to Yates in the elevator. I want to ask him something, too, so he knows I am actually interested. So I blurt the first thing that comes to my mind, a question Meg had asked on our tour of Trenton State. “Does this college have any sororities?”
Yates looks over his shoulder at me and smiles. “Oh no. I mean, people definitely get cliquey within their majors. Like the painting kids hang out with the painting kids, and the sculpture kids hang out with the other sculpture kids, but nothing like a sorority.”
“Oh my God, Emily!” Fiona cackles. “Like I’d ever apply to a school that had sororities!”
I let my hair hang over my face to mask my blushing. Meg and I had always talked about pledging together, though I was never that excited about the idea. I’m sort of a picky friend. I don’t like being shoved into a place and then told I have to be friends with a bunch of people. It can be overwhelming. I’d rather have one good friend over a hundred acquaintances. Those are the kinds of friends you can count on.
“Rhode Island,” Yates says. “I was so afraid that I’d have to spend the summer in my hometown, but then I got the TA position with Mr. Frank.”
“I don’t know how you manage to look so interested in that old man’s rambles,” Fiona says. “Mr. Frank is such a stiff, he’s practically dead.”
“What? Are you serious? Mr. Frank is one of the most amazing painters ever. His TA position is the most coveted one in the whole school. I was competing with almost a hundred other painters. He’s totally inspiring.”
It’s cute to watch Yates gush. His cheeks get red and he stares up at the ceiling, as if he were actually looking up to an invisible Mr. Frank towering over him.
“Well, it’s obvious you got the position because you’re so talented,” Fiona says. “I completely get it. That’s how it is with me and my mom. Her work is so inspiring to me. I just hope I can be one little bit as good as she is.”
Robyn says, “Yeah. I mean, your pieces at Space Invaded were seriously amazing.”
Yates smiles. “Well, thanks. That never gets old.”
“Where is your space?” Fiona asks.
“It’s on the painting floor.”
“Well …” Fiona laughs. “Can we see it?”
Yates looks around, cautious. “Do you guys really want to?”
We all say, “Of course!” Yates walks us to the painting floor, and down a long hallway. He fishes a key from inside his shorts pocket and unlocks a blue door. Fiona looks at me and smiles all goofy. She’s excited. I am, too.
Yates’s studio is a large rectangle. Huge canvases sit on the floor. All of the laughter and the chitchat quiet down, like we just walked into a real gallery.
The canvases display more of his huge landscape painting/photographs, like the ones at his Space Invaded show.
“These are all amazing,” I say. I look over to Adrian and see that even he’s impressed.
Yates scratches his head. “I’m kind of bored with them, actually. But I’ve been really struggling with what I’m going to do next.”
“Painter’s block?” I ask.
“I guess so. Though I’m quickly discovering there’s a very fine line between painter’s block and procrastination. I’m just hoping some inspiration strikes me soon.”
Fiona sees a digital camera on a table. She grabs hold of it. “Take a picture of us!”
Yates looks shy. “For what?”
“For the debut issue of the Yates Fan Club Newsletter!” Fiona giggles. “I call president!”
That’s about all Adrian can take. He walks out into the hallway. Robyn moves forward to pose next to Fiona, but Fiona loops her arm around me instead.
Yates points the camera at us. I try to channel my inner Fiona and stick out my tongue playfully. I want to be seen by him, the way Fiona is seen by everyone.
“Nice,” Yates says. “Well, I should be taking off.”
“Take us with you,” Fiona whines.
“Sorry. It’s a work night for me. I’m going to my friend’s band rehearsal. They’ve got a huge show tomorrow, opening up for a much bigger band, and it will give them a ton of exposure. The only thing is, their show is kind of … complicated. So they need my help.”
I am definitely intrigued. I can tell Fiona is, too.
“What band is it? Where are they playing?” She gets close to him.
Yates takes a deep breath and starts adjusting some of the jars of paint up on his shelf. “I wish I could tell you guys, but I could get in serious trouble fraternizing with students outside of school. I mean, seeing you at Space Invaded was totally random, but I can’t be inviting you all out with me.”
I’m instantly embarrassed for coming here and doing all this in the first place. But Fiona shakes her head. She’s not going to accept that answer. “Listen, Yates! We are all practically the same age. In fact, a little over a year ago, we were all in high school together. And Emily and I don’t even live in the dorms. We’re from around here. So it would be like ten thousand percent probable that we’d end up at the same show anyhow!”
All I can manage to do is nod. I can see Yates cracking, as his determined mouth, lips pursed tight together, blooms into a grin.
He whispers the band name to us. Romero. To me it sounds like a boy band or something, which would be really weird and unexpected. And then he tells us the show is at the Electric Factory.
I totally feel the sparks.
Fiona does my makeup for the concert. I’ve got my back turned to her mirror, so I can’t see how it looks, but I’m freaked out by the tiny pot of black eye shadow she’s got cupped in her hand, and the fact that she’s dabbing her finger underneath my lids instead of on top, like normal.
“So, in my Performance Art class today, my teacher taught us how to make moss graffiti using yogurt. It was so awesome.” Fiona steps back to admire her work and smiles. I guess that’s a good sign. “How was Mixed Media? I didn’t see you at lunch.”
“I kind of lost track of time.” Hanna and Charlotte want everyone in class to build a library of interesting images that we can draw from when we make collages. I stayed in the studio all afternoon, looking through a stack of musty, cloth-covered books and old Sears catalogs for interesting pictures. I found some cool stuff, like a diagram of a heart from an old medical textbook. When I saw the picture, my stomach tingled. A heart waits to be pasted on a sleeve. “What did you guys do last night?”
“Ugh, it was a total bust. I let Robyn pick some foreign movie playing at the Ritz Five, and of course we were all bored out of our minds. Adrian and I played hangman by cell phone light, using chalk on the back of the seats. We switched seats for every new game, and covered practically the whole theater. He’s extremely good at hangman. I don’t think he died once.”
“Adrian loves you,” I say.
Fiona looks down at the floor. “He’s sweet. But he’s not my type at all.”
I’m surprised. Fiona definitely likes attention, and Adrian would give her lots of it. “What’s your type?”
“Yates,” she says, and laughs. “I mean, he’s talented, he’s hot. We get what each other is trying to do, you know? And anyhow, Adrian and I could never work. He’s too … safe. And what good is a summer romance with a guy who lives across the country? At least if Yates and I hooked up, it’d be like a real relationship that could last all through the school year. Then I could spend my senior year hanging out with him at Space Invaded instead of at my sucky high school.” Fiona’s so matter-of-fact here, it takes me by surprise. She’s looking for an escape, too. “But anyway, I’m really going to go for it tonight. Mark my words, Yates and I are totally smooching.”
Poor Adrian.
“Anyhow …” Fiona digs in a shoe box for some red lipstick. “Can I just say that I’m kind of over Robyn. I mean, she thinks she’s, like, the expert on everything just because her parents run a gallery. Honestly, I can barely stand her bragging.”
It’s funny. I see it more from Robyn’s side. I mean, she only says the stuff she does to impress Fiona. And it’s not like she’s making things up to look cool. It’s her real life. But the more she does it, the more Fiona pulls away from her. Not that I mind.
I say, “When I first saw you and Robyn together, I thought you guys looked like you were meant to be friends. I never thought that we’d be friends.”
“Yeah. I didn’t, either. But it’s way more fun to hang around with someone like you, someone who doesn’t really know anything. It’s like this place gets to be new to me because I’m showing it to you. Seriously, before this summer, I was kind of over Philadelphia and I was burnt-out on art, too. But now I’m all inspired again, partly thanks to you. You’ve given me fresh eyes.” She perches herself on top of a pile of clothes on the bed and struggles to do the tiny buckle on a pair of black heels. “I was thinking … maybe I could come to your house this weekend for a sleepover. I want to see what this weird little town of Cherry Grov
e is like. I loved your last sketchbook piece. It got me thinking I needed to experience your life for myself.”
“Are you sure?” I’m surprised. I didn’t think someone like Fiona would willingly step foot in the suburbs. After all, she’s always making jokes about how I need to be decontaminated. Cherry Grove is this thing about me that Fiona forgives, because it’s not my fault. But it’s also not something she likes about me.
But Fiona’s lighting up like it’s the best idea ever. “Seriously, it’ll be so much fun. We could run around and do dumb stuff like go to the mall and the Applebee’s and make fun of everything.”
I shake my head. “You don’t really want to do that.”
“I do! I want to see where you come from.” She sounds hurt, as she lies on the bed and stares at the ceiling. “I mean, you’ve been to my house like a million times already.”
I’ve only been here twice, but I don’t say that. Fiona’s been awesome about keeping me included and showing me things from her life. It’s just that nothing at home seems worth sharing with her. And what am I going to do about Meg? Maybe I could introduce them, but I don’t think so. Meg would probably be sweet and friendly, if not overly so, to cover the fact that she didn’t understand why I’d be friends with someone like Fiona. And Fiona would think Meg is super corny.
But it might be cool to have Fiona come and shake up Cherry Grove in a way that I can’t. Hearing her take on things could give me more confidence to go my own way, some validation to save up for September.
“I’m warning you, I doubt you’ll have a good time.”
Fiona laughs off my concern as she jumps up and wriggles her way into a white tank dress. “I’ll have a good time. I always have a good time.”
I spin around to check my makeup. Hollow black circles are painted under my eyes, and face powder dulls what little summer tan I’ve managed to accrue. I look like I’m dead. Dead, but with red lipstick, put on like an old lady who can’t see herself in the mirror anymore.
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