Portrait of Us

by A. Destiny

  In fact, after replaying it in my head again—this time with a more unbiased perspective—his comment hadn’t even been that harsh.

  I bit my lip, remembering the picture he’d taken of me. How I’d almost looked ethereal. Was that how he saw me? Yes, he’d called me an overachiever. But had he been wrong in that? He was just being honest.

  It was painfully clear now, upon thinking things over with a clear head, that I’d overreacted.

  I swiped a hand across my face. I’d judged him without question or hesitation when we’d first met. I’d thought he was a dumb jock, and he’d proven me wrong time and again. He was sensitive, smart, witty. Had he really been judging me out there, or was he just commenting on something that was a fact?

  I’d gotten hotheaded and walked away, letting my emotions run rampant. Who was the bigger jerk here?

  I dug out my phone and stared at it. Should I call? Text? I started and erased several messages. Nothing seemed to say what I wanted to say. Maybe it would be better to talk in person tomorrow, when he could see my face.

  Plus, to be honest, I needed to shake him off for a bit. The fact that I reacted so strongly to his words, had assumed the worst, disturbed me just as much as the words had themselves. He was getting under my skin beyond just a stupid crush. The realization freaked me out and made me want more all at the same time.

  I needed time with my best friend. I jumped to my desk and opened my laptop, firing up my messenger.

  FoxyCori: U up? I know it’s late, lol.

  I glanced at the computer and did the mental math. Scotland was five hours ahead of us, so it was almost two in the morning. Odds were, Ava was probably unconscious right now.

  FoxyCori: Msg me in AM? I’ll be up at 6 (11 ur time). Just want to say hi!

  With that, I closed down my computer and set about my evening. The routine of shower, brushing teeth, and reading was soothing, though it didn’t diminish my angst. What was Matthew doing right now? Was he mad at me?

  By ten, I was ready to call it a night, especially if I hoped to talk to Ava in the morning. But it took me quite a while to actually fall asleep. My guilty conscience kept me awake long into the night. I couldn’t get Matthew’s hurt face out of my mind.

  AvaBee: Im here! You awake?

  AvaBee: Scotland is so foggy so far, lol.

  FoxyCori: Hey, yes, Im awake! Kinda. ;-)

  I rubbed sleep out of my eyes. The room had an early morning glow, with soft light pouring through my window.

  A photograph of rolling fog over a scraggly, grassy field, complete with several roaming sheep, popped up as a link on the messenger screen. The green stretched as far as the eye could see. It was gorgeous; I could almost smell the damp-tinged air.

  AvaBee: Mom and Dad r getting ready. Going to tour castles 2day. How are you?

  I sighed, wondering what I should type. I didn’t want to be a downer. While I ached to unload all of my frustration on Ava’s shoulders, I also didn’t need to be that person.

  FoxyCori: Oh, not bad. Class in a couple of hrs.

  AvaBee: Almost convincing. LOL. Wassup? Tell me or I’ll be forced 2 make somethin up in my head.

  She always could see through me. I laughed quietly under my breath. In a few sentences I summed up what had happened yesterday, including the picture and the argument.

  AvaBee: Wow. I think he likes you a lot.

  I blinked. Not the response I’d been expecting from her. A warm flush stole across my cheeks as I thought of his smile. Then the guilty turbulence came back in my stomach. We were partners. I needed to stop daydreaming about him. Besides, he was probably mad about the way I’d stomped off.

  FoxyCori: Hard to tell. Sometimes I think so. Other times he plays it cool.

  AvaBee: I keep telling u that u shld give it a chance. He’s nice.

  FoxyCori: *shrug* We’ll see. Take tons of pics! And find a cute bf while you’re there.

  AvaBee: *blush* There is this v cute guy in our hotel . . .

  FoxyCori: MORE DETAILS PLS

  I laughed. Leave it to Ava to be in Scotland and already attract a guy. She was a magnetic person, though, so I had no doubt that by the end of the trip, the guy would be begging for her to stay in touch.

  We spent the next twenty minutes just chatting about Scotland, her mysterious cute guy—who apparently was British with a “darling accent,” as she put it—and how many castles she wanted to buy. I was relieved to have the focus of the conversation off me and my drama. As much as it had felt good to spill it all out at the time, it had also made my flare-up of guilt return with a vengeance.

  I needed to talk to Matthew and sort this out, not run from it and let my hot head rule. There was no way we could work together with this between us. And I had to admit, I didn’t like the idea of him being upset with me. Part of me wanted him to see me as more than just an overachiever.

  I ended the conversation with Ava and set out my clothes, then took a quick shower. I took a little bit of extra care with my makeup and then my hair, twisting it into small spiraling braids. Then I headed downstairs.

  Charlie was stuffing cereal into his face. Dad was at the table, sipping coffee, and Mom was washing her coffee mug.

  “Oh, hey, honey,” she said. She raised an eyebrow as she eyed me. “You’re looking very cute today.”

  I gave a casual shrug and poured a glass of juice. My stomach was too nervous to eat anything—I took small sips and hoped she’d drop the subject.

  “How’s your project going?” Dad asked as he grabbed a section of the newspaper. “You and that boy figure out what you’re going to do?”

  I gave a weak nod, hoping the wobbly smile on my face appeared genuine.

  Dad looked up, and a deep line furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong?”

  Dang. He always could read me too easily. I was afraid to let them know about the argument or how badly our project was going. Because if I heard you should have just stuck with focusing on academics from them, it was going to crush me.

  I kept seeing Matthew’s mom’s face, full of pride as she gushed about his art. I craved seeing that look on my parents’ faces too. All the more reason why I needed to win this competition. They could see how talented I was in something other than schoolwork and be proud of me.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I made myself say. “I . . . got up early to talk to Ava, so I’m just a little sleepy.”

  He eyed me for a moment, then grunted, sipping his coffee. “I hope she’s having fun. But you gotta get more sleep, Corinne. Try to plan out your conversations better with her in the future.”

  I nodded and finished the last of my juice. Mom took the glass from my hand before I could rinse it myself. “I gotta run to class.” Time to man up and face Matthew.

  My stomach lurched. No, it was going to be fine. He was a reasonable guy—and if he held a grudge even after I apologized for my rash reaction, then that was his problem, not mine. So stop stressing about it, I ordered myself.

  Still, my heart raced the entire way to the studio.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I showed up at class right before it was supposed to start. Matthew wasn’t there. My lungs squeezed in disappointment and relief.

  Then worry.

  He was always here on time—was he going to cut class because he was upset with me? I grabbed my tub of paint and started putting out my shades on the palette. But my hand was trembling, and I got a few splotches on the table.

  “You okay?” Henry asked as he studied me. “You seem . . . a little off today.”

  I nodded and wiped the paint clean. “Oh, yeah, I’m just a little distracted.”

  Teni wandered up the aisle to look at our progress. She stood behind me and Henry. His image was a house in shades of purple—it was creepy, like something in a Victorian nightmare. “Henry, this is great. I love the vibe in the image. Dark, gothic. Very nice mood. Make sure you remember how paint texture can also add to the scene. Don’t be afraid to show your paint strokes.
”

  He beamed, pleased by her compliment. “Thanks, and good idea.” He started dabbing at an almost-black window, and the thick clump made it look like there was a shadow lurking behind a curtain.

  “Corinne, this is coming along well.” She pointed at my red painting in progress of the lake at sunset. “Very interesting subject matter. What made you choose red to paint it? Most people would have gone with blue or green.”

  I pointed at the sunset, where red poured in streams from the setting sun. “It felt like going with reds and pinks was better for a sunset. And the color gives it more warmth than you’d get from blue or green.”

  She nodded. “Looking great. Don’t be afraid to loosen up those lines. Red is a passionate color. Pull that emotion out from your heart and be free with it. Don’t hold yourself back.”

  She walked off, and I stared at my painting. How could I unleash that emotion? Passion—I felt it, for sure. It sparked under my skin when I thought of art. But it never quite seemed to translate to the paper the way I wanted it to.

  What could I do to push it to the next level?

  A soft whisper brushed against my ear, and instantly my skin tingled with awareness. “Can we talk after class?” It was Matthew, peering down at me. He looked tired, his hair disheveled. His brow was furrowed. But there was no anger in his eyes. Just a touch of wariness.

  I gave a wordless nod, drinking him in.

  He nodded in return and then proceeded to his station, squirting dollops of green onto his pallet. I watched him use a pallet knife to get a thick scoop up and streak it down the canvas. I couldn’t tell what his scene was yet since he was focusing on layering in all the dark shades first, but it intrigued me.

  Class passed painfully slowly, minutes ticking by in a drag. I was distracted by the lingering scent of Matthew’s skin, how his words had brushed against my ear, the emotions in his eyes. What did he want to say to me?

  Finally, Teni told us it was time to wrap up. I rinsed off my palette and brushes and cleaned up my station. Students filed out into the bright afternoon sunshine. I lingered at my table, waiting for Matthew to finish his work. By now, my stomach was a mass of wild butterflies.

  When he was done, he turned to me and indicated with his head that we should go outside. I followed him through the door into the heat. The afternoon sun had kicked in—it had to be in the nineties outside right now.

  Sweat trickled down my back. “Can we go over there?” I asked, pointing toward a large shade tree a few feet away.

  He nodded, and we sat down at the base of the trunk. It wasn’t much cooler, but at least the sun wasn’t scorching us.

  “Hey—” he started, right as I said, “Um—”

  We both paused and gave self-conscious laughs.

  Matthew raked his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for making you so mad last night.” His voice was low, rumbling. “I didn’t mean it as an insult, but I can see why you took it that way. I hope you’re not still angry with me.”

  I swallowed. “No, I’m sorry. I was unfair to walk away like that without even talking.” I paused, swallowed again. More sweat dribbled down my torso, and I fanned my neckline to get air flowing against my skin. “I’m a little oversensitive about it.”

  His gaze danced across the horizon as he watched people walk by on the sidewalk. “I didn’t mean to push. I’m just curious about you. You seem like you can do everything, like you’re good at everything. It makes me want to know what makes you happy.”

  His words made me pause. What did make me happy? Being good at academics gave me a sense of pride, accomplishment. But did it fill me with joy? The rush I got from success never seemed to last long enough. I was always chasing that next rush, hoping it would give me that feeling again.

  The realization made me a little sad. What else did I have if I wasn’t winning, being the best? Was my life nothing more than a string of accomplishments, checked off on some never-ending mental list?

  “I think art makes me genuinely happy,” I finally said. “But it also challenges me because it’s not something measurable. Instead, its measurement comes from enjoyment.”

  “I think we need to try something else,” Matthew blurted.

  “What?”

  “For our project. This isn’t the right one.” He leaned toward me, peered down into my eyes. My skin tingled in response to the intense stare. “We both know it—we need to scrap it and start over. I’ve wanted to talk to you about it for a couple of days now but I just didn’t know how.”

  He was right. Our project wasn’t flowing. It was missing something—that sense of enjoyment, for starters.

  I gave a slow nod. “Okay. Do you have any ideas?”

  The weight seemed to disappear off his shoulders. His whole being lightened, and it was like having the intensity of the sun on me full force. I couldn’t help but get warmer. “I do. I know time is running out, but I got an idea last night and I think it would work out great.”

  My lungs froze in anticipation. For some reason, I knew whatever he was going to say would be important.

  “We need to paint each other. Split the screen as we did before, but we paint half of the face of the other person—the way we see each other. Honestly. So we can still use the split-image idea we both agreed on, but with better subjects. Ourselves.”

  I blinked, scrubbed a hand across my face, trying to wrap my mind around it. Our faces blending together. Him drawing the lines of my eyes.

  My mouth.

  A lump grew in my throat. Oh man, that meant we’d be spending hours staring at each other while we composed our halves of the image. It was going to be intense and emotional. Was I ready for it?

  But I had to admit, it was a good idea. A great one, even. And if we could pull it off . . . it could be intriguing enough to help us win.

  I straightened my back as a breeze whipped around the tree, fluttering the hem of my shirt. Matthew and I had to go big with this one. We had to make it just right. So I would push aside my self-consciousness and take a risk.

  Just like Teni had advised us to.

  “Okay,” I said softly. “I’m in. Let’s give this idea of yours a try.”

  We went back inside to catch Teni before she left, explaining the idea and asking if we could use the studio on Saturday, after I was done working at the bakery. She tilted her head and listened as Matthew explained his vision.

  “I like it,” she declared, looking at me. “It will be interesting to see how Matthew portrays you in a modern style, Corinne. And how you’ll bring your classical art style into his design. It’s intriguing and personal.” She beamed at us. “Yes, come on Saturday. Time is running out, so make sure to let me know if you two need anything else.”

  After we left the studio, I went to turn toward my house, but Matthew caught my hand.

  “We good?” he asked, and there was a thread of something in his voice that made the breath hitch in my throat.

  I could only nod.

  His thumb caressed the flesh of my palm as he squeezed my hand and walked away. I watched him go, heart slamming in my chest, hand almost on fire from the soft scorch of his touch.

  I anticipated Saturday and feared it like nothing I’d ever experienced before. But I had a feeling it was going to be one intense day.

  I floated all the way back home.

  Matthew slid his hand along my arm, making the flesh erupt in a million goose bumps. “Right here, please,” he said. He was totally in artist mode, not seeing me as Corinne but as the subject of his piece.

  I only wished I could maintain such professionalism right now. I could barely make my lungs function with him this close.

  For the last few minutes, Matthew had been posing me, playing with the blinds to determine how much light he wanted on my face. Shifting my body to just the right angle. Doing everything a savvy artist does to prepare the subject.

  I, on the other hand, had been awkward and gawky. Matthew had met me here at the studio after I�
�d gotten off work, saying he wanted to work on me first. I’d never been a model before, so this was all new to me.

  “Perfect,” he declared, stepping back.

  It was Saturday afternoon, and I was seated on a stool at the front of Teni’s studio. The shades had been lifted so light indirectly shone on my skin. At least I wouldn’t be sweating in front of him—that would be far too embarrassing.

  I’d taken a lot of care with my appearance today, knowing he was going to be staring intently at me. My makeup was soft and subtle, just enough to highlight my cheekbones and the curve of my lower lip. A little bit of mascara to make my lashes seem longer and thicker. Charlie had laughed at me for spending so long in the bathroom—I’d shoved him out and locked the door behind me.

  It was worth the effort and time to look my best. For the painting, of course, I told myself.

  “Okay, stay still. I’m going to do some sketches of you.” Matthew had a tone that said he was completely in control. He’d definitely shifted into artist mode.

  We were silent for the first twenty minutes or so. The clock was on the far wall behind him so at least I was able to see how much time was passing. I kept my gaze forward, trying not to look at Matthew. Knowing he was staring at my skin, seeing all the blemishes and flaws. How one of my ears was slightly higher than the other.

  “Relax your face,” he said with a grin. “Your mouth just thinned into a tight line. Are you okay?”

  “I’m just nervous,” I admitted. “I’ve never done this before.” I rubbed my damp palms on my shorts-clad thighs.

  He tapped his chin with the bottom of his pencil as he stared at his easel. I couldn’t see what he was drawing, only the back of the paper. “Where is your favorite vacation spot?”

  I froze in place. “Huh?” The question came out of left field.

  He turned those brilliant blue eyes to me, and a slow smile crawled across his face. “Mine is the Grand Canyon. You never realize how small people are until you see something so massive in comparison. It was amazing. I’ve always wanted to try to capture it in a drawing somehow, but I don’t know how to show the sheer scale of it.”