“You’re basically a pint-sized version of the Hulk when you haven’t had anything to eat.”
“Truth.”
“Rule number one of this friendship is that you don’t let the redhead go hungry. Civilizations have crumbled into dust for far less.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ryan answered, giving Wren and me a mock salute. “Are there any other rules? You know, ‘cause that first one sounded like a reference to Fight Club.”
Wren shrugged as she turned toward me. “He’s got a point there.”
“Yeah, the only other rule is that we hate the giant no-name douchebag, and if we meet him out in public, he must face a reckoning!”
“Ter—”
“I’m not budging on this one, babe. If I see that piece of shit, my foot will be introduced to his balls and then his teeth . . . in that exact order.”
“I can help. I may not look like the boxing type, but I’m rather scrappy.”
“I don’t know about that. Ter seems to think you’re pretty built.”
That mouth. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. Sass had been pouring out of her mouth from the moment she took her first breath in this world. The wide grin covering Ryan’s face was second only to the one on Wren’s. She was right. Ryan had a great body, and the fact I couldn’t seem to stop myself from drawing parts of it was hard evidence. Proof is in the pudding is the phrase my grandma always liked to throw around, but with me, the proof was on every page of my newest sketch book.
When Ry’s gaze shifted in my direction, I took the mature path and pretended to be engrossed in my painting. Acting like the entire conversation had never happened was allowed just this once, right? I mean, the guy really didn’t need any more ammunition where I was concerned, so why the hell was Wren acting as his own personal armory supply line?
“I think many guys have pretty built bodies. He’s no different than the nude model who posed for my class last semester.” Sure, my retort was a bold-faced lie, but it wasn’t like they needed to be privy to that little morsel of information. Truth be told, Ry’s body was completely different than that of the male model we studied in class. For one thing, I found myself attracted to him at every turn. That isn’t to say the model wasn’t the stuff of every woman’s fantasy—he definitely was. It was as if the cover of a romance novel had been ripped from its spine and made into flesh. But the model in question didn’t appeal to me.
Ryan did.
“Is that right?” Wren asked. Her tone sounded bored, but I knew that the topic was far from being dropped. If nursing hadn’t have been her goal, the girl would have made one heck of a detective with the way she refused to let some shit go. I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt we’d be discussing this matter later.
“It’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“Sure thing, babe.”
Ryan stood to the side, scratching his head. “I feel like a whole conversation just transpired and I have no idea what the two of you said.”
“You’re actually kind of spot on with that assumption,” Wren confirmed.
“I figured as much.”
I expected Ry to press further, because that seemed to be true to his character, but the entire subject was forgotten as Wren rounded the easel to study my latest creation.
“Oh, Ter, it looks just like her.”
“I think I’m going to give it to Dad.”
“He’ll love it. I have no doubts.”
“Thanks.”
“So, what’s the big art project you texted me about?”
Tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, I pulled a deep breath into my lungs. “My teacher wants the entire class to figure out how to make art in alternative ways. He thinks limiting ourselves to paper or canvas will only stunt our growth as artists. He is encouraging us to think outside the box and create art on alternative surfaces or objects . . . whatever we want.”
“That sounds pretty cool,” Ryan replied.
“My idea is to have the three of us dress in all white clothes and then fill three Super Soaker water guns with colored water.”
“And then have a kickass water gun fight?” Wren asked.
“Exactly. After we’re done, I want to take pictures of the three of us and see what our clothes look like. I’m hoping the end result will be similar to an impressionist painting, but there is no way to know for sure until we try it.”
“Let me get this straight,” Ry began. “You want me to have a water gun fight with two girls in wet white clothes?”
Wren’s head whipped to look at me. “Didn’t consider that, did you?”
Oh, damn. I understood exactly what he was getting at.
“Nope, not really,” I admitted, feeling like a complete idiot.
“I give my full consent to be a part of this project.”
“Of course you do,” I spat.
“I mean, if we wear dark sports bras, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
I considered Wren’s suggestion. She had a point. As long as we were covered, there should be no harm done. In all my excitement, I hadn’t thought about the fact we would practically be engaging in a glorified wet T-shirt contest. “You’re sure?”
“You know I don’t care! I’ll do whatever it takes to get you an A. I’m your ride-or-die.”
“Thanks!” I squealed. I just knew this project was going to impress my teacher. Sure, it was a simple concept, but how many other people were going to think up an idea like mine? Points had to be given for taking a risk. This could simply turn out to be nothing more than a water gun fight, but I had a feeling our clothes would make for a beautiful work of art. If not, it wouldn’t be the first time I had to scramble around at the last minute to finish an assignment. “Are you free Wednesday? Ryan and I both have that afternoon available, and I wasn’t sure if you’d be working that night.”
“I’m actually off work!”
“Yay!”
“I’ll be sure to wear my best white outfit.”
“Same here,” Ryan added, wearing a devious smile.
“Now that we’ve gotten all the details of your art project figured out, can we please go get some food?” Wren questioned, her voice practically a whine.
“Yeah, I just have to clean this up really quick.”
“Here, I’ll help.”
Ry helped me rinse out all the paintbrushes and clean up the area around my easel. I had always been a messy painter. There were some people who could paint an entire mural without getting dirty. But not me. Whenever I worked on a project, it seemed like getting tarred and feathered would be a cleaner alternative. Needless to say, paint has been discovered in some pretty odd places before.
“Thanks.”
“I guess we should feed her before she has a hulk-out, right?”
“That’s a good idea.”
“She seems happier today,” he whispered in my ear as he dried his hands on a towel.
Stealing a glance at Wren, I nodded. “Yeah, she does.”
“It makes me happy. I know she’s been put through hell.”
“And that’s sugar coating it.”
Ryan flung his arm around my shoulder. “Then let’s go make it better for her.”
As much as I hated to admit it, Ry was quickly becoming one of my favorite people.
And in the very depths of my heart, I knew the only way this friendship could come to an end was up in smoke.
A FEW DAYS AFTER our meeting in the art annex, Wren, Ryan, and I were prepared for a battle to the death—Super Soaker style. Was my project the most childish idea of my entire class? Most likely. But at the same time, I couldn’t imagine my teacher hating the concept. I’d gone the extra mile by testing the ratio of food coloring to water to ensure maximum concentration and mapping out the best location on campus to conduct my experiment. I even went as far as to buy pasties for Wren and I to wear underneath our sports bras. The last thing I wanted in my pictures was an accidental nip slip. Sure, Wren wouldn’t have minded, but that also wasn’t th
e point. I wanted to showcase the ingenuity of using a child’s pastime to display the beauty residing in the innocence of childhood. We all remembered the days of riding our bikes through the neighborhood and searching for adventure just within our grasp, and those kinds of sentiments are what I wanted people to feel whenever they looked at my project.
The point was to create art on unconventional surfaces, but it was also about evoking emotions. That is the duty of an artist. We call out to recessed memories and forgotten feelings in order to seduce our audience. Good art elicits emotions, but great art changes you. And I sought to be a great artist. Mediocrity wouldn’t serve me well in my dreams to be a full-time painter. Was it probable that I would be a starving artist most of my adult life? Of course. I was an artist, not stupid. But the thought wasn’t enough to deter me from chasing my dreams.
Spreading out on top of Wren’s bed, I waited not so patiently for Ryan to show us the outfit he’d selected to wear in the Crayola War. Was I hoping he’d be sporting less clothing and more skin?
Of course. I mean, I’m only human.
“How is this?” Ryan asked as he emerged from the bathroom, sporting a white button-up and a pair of linen shorts.
If I were being honest, I’d say he looked as if he’d just stepped off a yacht. And not in an annoyingly preppy sort of way, but in a way that made you wish he would whisk you away on his boat to some far-off location.
“You look great. Right, Ter?” Wren’s voice thrust me from the daydream my mind was all too eager to concoct. So what if I’d been envisioning Ryan and myself coasting around the Mediterranean? It was a free country, and a girl was allowed to have her fantasies.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I mean, your clothes may be a bit too nice to soak with food coloring. Are you sure you want to wear them?”
Ryan crossed his arms and leaned against the bathroom doorframe. The fabric of his shirt stretched across his chest, highlighting every single muscle for my viewing pleasure. Thinking of a slew of curse words that was all too appropriate for the situation, I closed my eyes. I really didn’t need more fodder for the fantasies plaguing my dreams every night.
“These clothes are really old, so I don’t mind if they get ruined. Besides, it’s all in the name of making your project the best, right? Personally, I can’t think of a better use for these.”
It was impossible not to smile at his comment. Creating art had always been a somewhat solitary experience for me, but knowing I had the full support of my friends was indescribable. I had people who believed in me, people who were rooting for me to succeed, and that was everything. “Thank you.” I prayed my gratitude was apparent. Ry had done so much for Wren and me over the past week, and I wanted to make sure he understood how much I appreciated him. “I owe you one.”
He shook his head, combing his fingers through the blond locks. “No, you don’t. That smile just now was payment enough.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could just make out Wren staring at the two of us. A satisfied grin tugged at the edges of her lips. I knew what that girl was thinking. In fact, I’d gotten more than an earful of it over the past few days. She had made it abundantly clear she wanted Ryan and me to get together. She even threatened me under pain of death if I didn’t muster up the courage to ask him out within the next week.
It was amazing that after everything she had been through, she still believed in the existence of love and wanted that kind of happiness for me. She understood that the prospect of caring for someone on such a level made me restless. Serious entanglements weren’t my thing. The idea of someone possessing so much power over me was frightening. I’d forge my own path through life, even if I had to weather all the peaks and valleys alone.
“There she goes again,” Ryan muttered as he bent in front of me. Warmth surged through my flesh as his gaze met mine. At some point while I was lost inside my own head, Ry had left the bathroom and made his way over to the bed. “She is always so inside her own head.”
“Ter has been that way since we were kids,” Wren replied. “It’s funny how you seem to be one of the few people who notice that about her.”
“I suppose most get distracted by that face of hers.”
“Always teasing me,” I stated.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not teasing you at all. I mean every compliment I give.”
The sincerity of his words stunned me. “Oh.” It was officially the most lame reply in the history of lame replies, but it also happened to be the one word my brain was capable of forming. It wasn’t like this was the first or only time Ry had ever complimented me. In fact, he had made similar comments several times before. So why did his words seem to have more weight than ever?
I suppose that’s what happened when a person began to weave themselves into the fabric of your life. Little by little, each stroke of the paintbrush combines with the others in order to create one singular piece of art. The same held true for relationships. Each laugh, kind word, and hug built upon one another. The roles people assumed in our lives were diverse and multifaceted. My parents and Wren were proof of such a sentiment. Not to mention Wren’s parents. Her mother had helped me shop for the perfect prom dress and taught me how to apply red lip liner. And hadn’t Ry filled another void in my life? He was a comedian, an expert cook, and my partner in crime when it came to devising elaborate schemes against my horny roommate.
“Terayn Andrews, ladies and gentleman, expert painter and conversationalist,” Ryan announced with a wink.
“Smartass,” I mumbled. “Honestly, I don’t know who has more sass, you or her.”
Wren stood, snagging the clothes she’d selected for the Crayola War from her bed. “That would be me. Duh.”
I sighed in a dramatic fashion, my eyes rolling upward. Those things seemed to have a mind of their own. It was like a bodily response that I had no control over. Fight or flight?
Not here. It was more like curse or eyeroll.
Once Wren and I were secluded within the privacy of her bathroom, she rounded on me. “Ter, he is completely taken with you!”
“Ugh. Not this shit again,” I groaned, handing her a pair of pasties. I was becoming tired of having this conversation all the time. “We barely know one another, and I have issues with serious entanglements. I’m like a guy in that regard, babe. You know this about me.”
“Why do you have to be so difficult? I mean, can’t you just do what I want you to do?”
“Pretty sure that would put us into a sub and dom type of relationship.”
Wren chewed on her bottom lip as she considered my words. “You’ve got a point there.”
I shrugged, pulling the white long-sleeve shirt I had selected over my sports bra. “I know.”
Now it was Wren’s turn to roll her eyes. “All I’m trying to say is that Ryan is a nice guy and he likes you. Those two things are probably something you shouldn’t pass up.”
“I hear you loud and clear, but I like my life just the way it is.”
“Alright.”
The two of us finished dressing in silence. I knew Wren far too well to ever think this conversation had been dropped. However, for the time being, she seemed content to let it go.
While Wren dressed in a white button-up and matching jeans, I opted for leggings to go with the long-sleeved T-shirt I’d selected. The three of us had to have resembled live versions of a Mr. Clean advertisement as we walked into campus with our pristine ensembles and water guns. But it didn’t matter. We were simply ready for the fun to begin.
And begin it did.
Ushering for Wren and Ryan to join me, I made sure the three of us were all facing one another before commencing with my rule speech. Because, with a Super Soaker fight between friends, rules of engagement were a necessity. “I am hereby announcing the rules for the first ever Crayola War,” I said, staring at them seriously. “Rule number one is to keep this game clean. This means no face or eye shots. The last thing we need is to be making a trip to
the emergency room on Wren’s night off. The second rule is that we have to stay on campus. We can’t be running through the streets like a bunch of damn idiots. Am I understood?”
“Yes,” Wren and Ry answered in unison.
“And the final rule is to take no prisoners!”
Wren and I broke away from Ryan as we hit him square in the chest with simultaneous streams of green and pink. To say our dual attack stunned him would have been an understatement. The look of surprise in those baby blue eyes was unmistakable. Apparently, he expected the two of us to play fair. Little did he know that was only the tip of the damn iceberg.
“Oh, you’re asking for it now!” he shouted, chasing after us.
Our laughter rang out as we sprinted toward a couple of nearby trees, seeking cover. Wren, Sean, and I had spent more than one summer drenched to the bone. One time, the three of us even resorted to spraying one another with the hose after we had grown tired of refilling our water guns every few minutes. Needless to say, Wren and I were a formidable team in this kind of situation, and poor Ryan didn’t even stand a chance.
“Bring it on, surfer boy!” I called out, spinning around the trunk of a tree and sprinting toward him. Ryan leapt over a small bush as he rushed in my direction. Dodging the stream of orange he shot at me, I fired back a shot of my own. The sight of my pink water soaking his preppy shorts filled my heart with glee. “No offense, but you kind of suck at this game.”
“I’m just getting started,” he taunted back.
“You’re full of it!” Wren shouted. She peeled away from the tree she’d been hiding behind and sprinted to join me. Firing off her water gun, bright green mixed with the pink water already staining Ryan’s clothes.
“Nice shot!” Wren made her way over to me and slapped my outstretched hand.
“What happened to being on my side?” Ry asked Wren.
She flung her copper ponytail over her shoulder as she stared at him. “I watched to see who was more skilled at this game—you or Ter—and clearly, you lost. Besides, we ascribe to the chicks-before-dicks philosophy.”
Not Without You Page 9