Before It's Love

by Michelle Pennington

  Sure enough, Rossi said, “Good job, Brody. You caught the gesture well.” Then he stood up, set his mug down on the model stand and walked up and down the unevenly hung row of drawings. He pointed to one, and said, “Good job. This yours, Marnie?” A woman with frizzy hair nodded, which made her hair float around crazily. “Good improvement over last year already.”

  He began walking again and stopped in front of Lauren’s. “Whose is this?”

  Lauren raised her hand, the gesture slow and hesitant. I nearly laughed at how she seemed terrified to claim ownership.

  Rossi waved his hand around the paper. “Everyone look at how she used the whole page. No part of the figure is more finished than any other. Some of you drew a good arm or a decent torso, but the rest of your figure is either barely there or missing altogether. In our next class, we’re going to focus on getting the complete figure in your sketch and using the whole page. No more of these six-inch drawings. Now clean up and get out of here.”

  Not knowing which exit Lauren would take, I waited for her in the studio. When she came out of the storage room, staring at her phone, I walked quickly to meet her. “Good job,” I said.

  For some reason, when she looked up, she looked horrified rather than pleased. “You saw that? Great.”

  “What? Seriously, I was impressed.”

  “You don’t have to be nice or anything. I know it was pretty bad.”

  “No, really. You did well for your first day.”

  “You mean, considering I’m just a weird girl who dates an idiot.”

  I grinned, unable to resist teasing her. “At least we can agree on that.”

  She gave a little growl and walked past me. “I have to get to my next class.”

  “Me too actually,” I said, keeping pace with her across the room.

  “I’m sure you do, Mr. Cooper.”

  I stopped, thoroughly amused by her sarcasm, and watched her walk out the door.

  “You know that girl?” Rossi asked from behind me.

  Turning to face him, I was embarrassed to see that he’d watched our whole exchange from his chair. Knowing him, I wasn’t surprised at his blatant eavesdropping. I shrugged. “Sort of. I just met her a few days ago, but we have friends in common.”

  “Huh,” Rossi said, opening the newspaper that now lay on his lap. “She doesn’t seem to like you much.”

  I sighed. “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Pretty little thing. Just might be talented too.”

  “Yeah, I saw.”

  He turned the newspaper page like he’d actually read it. “Just a warning though—there’s a policy against faculty dating students.”

  “What?” Where was he going with this?

  He dipped his head sideways. “It’s vague, but you should be careful. If anything were to blow up, your job would be on the line.”

  “It won’t be a problem,” I assured him. “I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

  “Really?” he asked, sounding only mildly interested. “A former colleague of mine left his wife for one of his students.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. You replaced him. The whole thing was ugly. Not the girl. She was gorgeous.” He laughed, then sighed. “But after a while, he broke up with her and tried to go back to his wife. The girl claimed he’d used his authority to pressure her into a relationship and given her a bad grade when they broke up. From what I saw, she pursued him more than he did her in the beginning, but he lost everything over it. Just be careful.”

  “I will, but it’s not like that.”

  Rossi shook his paper to open the folds. “Maybe so, but keep in mind that it’s a sensitive issue around here right now.”

  ***

  When my last class ended, I was worn out. The first day was always hard because everything was chaotic and there was still so much to do. Really though, the constant effort to not think about Lauren was the most exhausting part.

  Before I went home, I went by Grams’ house to check on her. I stopped at the end of her long driveway to get her mail and save her the walk. Flipping through it, I saw a couple of bills, some junk mail, and a letter from one of my aunts.

  Once inside, I threw away the junk mail, put the bills on her desk where I would help her pay them later, and carried the letter with me to the sun porch on the back of the house where I knew I’d find her.

  Grams spent most of her time here since it was more of an art studio than a porch. Today she was varnishing a dry painting she’d finished a few weeks ago. It was a still life as most of her pieces were nowadays. She said she only had enough patience left for subjects that would sit still. This painting was a bowl of cat’s eye marbles. It was incredibly detailed and luminous. Even at her age, I swore Grams had a steadier hand than I did. She certainly had a better eye. There was a reason she was a legend in the local art world. If only I could have inherited some of her talent. My only talent in art tended towards graphic arts that were precise and mechanical.

  “Hey. It’s me. Aunt Cathy sent you a letter.”

  Grams looked up and nodded. “Put it there on the table,” she said before getting back to work.

  I sat on the vinyl couch and dropped the letter on the coffee table in front of me. Knowing she wouldn’t talk to me until she was done, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my messages. Natalie had texted me a few times during the day. The girl was starting to get annoying.

  “So how was your first day?” Grams asked, coming over. She sat down across from me in a rocking chair and reached for her letter.

  “Not too bad. But things took an interesting turn.”

  She stopped ripping open the envelope, her eyes curious. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, Natalie’s new roommate is taking art classes. None of mine, but it looks like I’ll probably run into her every day.”

  “Really? The fact that you voluntarily mentioned a girl intrigues me. Tell me everything. Paint her for me.”

  I spoke to her as one artist to another, describing Lauren’s delicate face with a perfect cupid’s bow to her top lip and a bottom lip too soft and curved to completely match it. I detailed her graceful neck, rounded shoulders, and strong, slightly calloused hands. And then I described her cinnamon colored eyes and the long lashes that cast shadows on her cheeks in the sunlight. “But she’s not just pretty. She seems innocent and fragile, but she’s actually tough and full of spirit.” I saved the best for last. “And she’s an artist.”

  Grams’ eyebrows rose. “Wasn’t it just yesterday you swore you weren’t looking for a girl.”

  “I’m not. And she’s already dating someone.”

  “But when I asked how your day was, that’s the only thing you could think to tell me about?”

  She had me there. Feeling foolish, I said, “I just thought you’d be interested.”

  “You mean you are interested. You described her like a masterpiece in a gallery—the kind that mesmerizes you until you must study every brush stroke and nuance. And your heart breaks because you’ve seen the divine and it can never be yours.”

  Silence fell between us until I said, “Wow, Grams. What masterpiece are you talking about?”

  “Dozens of them. Monet, Da Vince, Manet, Cezanne. When your grandpa retired, he took me to see them. Seeing the art in person took my breath away.”

  “You’ve never told me about that.”

  “Yes, well, when you described her just now, you reminded me of it.”

  “She’s a person, not a canvas.”

  Grams chuckled. “Well of course she is. Which means there’s so much more to this girl than you can see on the surface.”

  “Regardless, it doesn’t matter. She’s just a cool girl. I’ll be friendly to her, but that’s it. That’s all it can be.” I stood up and stretched, wondering if I had the energy to go for a run tonight and clear my head. “I’m going to go, Grams. Need anything?

  “No, no. I’m just going to read this letter and figure out why Cath
y’s going on and on about squirrels and peanut butter.” I’d only made it a few steps toward the door, however, before she asked, “Cinnamon eyes, huh? Like ground cinnamon in a jar?”

  I paused, considering it. “No, like when it’s mixed with brown sugar and bubbles out of a cinnamon roll.”

  She nodded thoughtfully and turned back to her letter.

  Chapter Seven

  Lauren

  Determined to find my keys, I began organizing my room. Without furniture, I had to sort my things into piles. Clothes went on the floor of the closet, art supplies went in the back corner under the window, and blankets, pillows and towels went on the bed. Besides my laptop, cell phone, and school supplies, this was all I owned.

  I grabbed a notebook and began making a list of things I needed to buy with the little hoard of money I still had in my bank account. A bed, a dresser, hangers, and a lamp were on the list, but before I could get anything, I needed to find my keys. Where were the stupid things?

  A knock on my open door surprised me, and I swung around. Nick leaned against the door frame with supreme nonchalance. His well-defined muscles were made even more prominent than usual by a tight t-shirt and the shadows cast by the overhead light. His teeth gleamed in a wide smile when he noticed me checking him out. “Hey, babe. How was school?”

  “Fine.” I went over and gave him a kiss, lingering to smell his cologne, which I loved. He rubbed his hand up and down my back and some of my tension eased away. I thought about asking why he hadn’t told me Jake was one of the art teachers at Slaytonville College, but stopped myself. The last thing I wanted to do right now was remind him about Jake. He’d been pretty ticked off after the pool incident, so I didn’t want him to know I’d seen Jake several times since then.

  “What are you up to?” he asked when I stepped away from him.

  I pulled my air mattress away from the wall as I said, “Looking for my keys.”

  “Do you need them right now? My buddy is having a back to school party and I thought we could go.”

  With that smile, he was hard to turn down. “Sure. Can you take me by a grocery store afterward?”

  “Absolutely, babe.”

  I straightened and brushed back my hair. “Okay. Give me five minutes to get ready.”

  Soon, I was sitting in his truck, trying to pay attention to where we were going. I needed to learn my way around, and I preferred to do it while someone else was driving. The sun was setting on the horizon ahead of us, blinding me, so I held one hand up to shield my face and wished I’d remembered my sunglasses.

  “You’re quiet,” Nick said, stroking his finger over my hand as it lay on my knee.

  “You always say that.”

  “I know, but more than usual. Are you doing okay?”

  Not really, actually. But I didn’t want to talk about it. “I’m starving. Is there going to be any food at this thing?”

  “They’re bringing in one of those party trays with sub sandwiches.”

  “Awesome.”

  Nick pulled his hand back. His eyebrows were drawn together over his nose and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he drove for a few minutes. After a while, he asked, “Are you glad you moved here, Lauren?”

  Even though I was having some struggles, I didn’t want him to worry about it. “Yes. Absolutely. My drawing class was great today and I can’t wait for painting tomorrow. It seems like a great art program.” I bit my lip as I thought about one of the art teachers in particular. Then, determined to ignore that mental trail, I said, “And Beth is super nice. It’s so fun living with Natalie, of course. Once I get to know everybody, I’m sure I’ll have a good time.”

  He let go of my hand. “Lauren, you didn’t even mention me once in all that.”

  My face froze for a brief second. I hoped he didn’t notice. “But that’s obvious, right?”

  “You know, sometimes I get the feeling that you didn’t move out here to be with me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember when I was trying to talk you into it, and you kept coming up with all these reasons not to? But then when I started talking up the art program, you finally started considering it.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

  “Yeah. I’m just… Look, I’m trying to figure out where we’re at. I mean, if you really liked me, you wouldn’t have flirted with Jake the other day.”

  Turning to look out my window again, I sighed. “For the hundredth time, I wasn’t flirting with him. And doesn’t the fact that I uprooted my whole life to be close to you tell you something?”

  “I thought so, but now I’m not sure you did do it for me. Maybe you were stuck out in the middle of nowhere, wanting an excuse to escape.”

  “You know what? I miss my family. Like crazy. And I don’t have much food or furniture or gas because I don’t have enough money. I don’t know where I’m going in this town, I barely know anyone, and one of my roommates hates my guts. So, I’m dealing with a lot to be here, okay?”

  “Wait, what? Who hates your guts?”

  “Renee.”

  I expected him to be concerned or angry or sympathetic, but he laughed. He laughed.

  “Actually, I probably should have thought of that. Renee and I went out a few times before I left for the summer. I think she took it more seriously than I did.”

  Not knowing if I was more shocked or angry, I held up my hand. “Hold on. You dated Renee, left, and came back with me?” My voice rose in a crescendo with each word. “And then moved me into the same house she lives in?”

  “Give me a break, Lauren. I didn’t even think about it. Natalie was pushing the idea so hard that I totally forgot about Renee living there.”

  Overwhelmed, I leaned forward and covered my face with my hands. I just couldn’t deal with anything else right then.

  “Don’t worry. She’ll get over it. And you probably won’t even see her much. She goes to school and works full time.”

  Lowering my hands, I glared at him. “I’m sharing a bathroom with her, Nick. And she hates me.”

  He reached his arm over to rub my shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Look, just forget about it and have fun. Or we can skip the whole thing and I’ll take you out somewhere.”

  I was extremely annoyed, but Nick looked concerned so I said, “No, let’s go. At least I won’t be at the house where I might run into my mean-as-a-snake roommate.”

  Nick sighed. “Look, I’ll talk to Renee. Maybe if she forgives me, she’ll chill out with you.”

  “That would mean a lot to me. Thanks.”

  “Anything for you, babe.”

  ***

  Even with Nick’s promise to talk to Renee, I didn’t sleep that night from worrying. When I woke up, though, I was able to push it all to the back of my mind because the day felt like Christmas. Really, it was just the first day of painting class, but to me, that was even better.

  I had an early history class that went late, so I slipped into the painting studio just as class started. My heart pounded and I kept crossing and uncrossing my arms as I stood with the other students in the middle of the room.

  “I don’t usually have a Painting 101 on a Tuesday/Thursday schedule, but it just couldn’t be helped this time,” said Mr. Chavez, my painting teacher. “I don’t have an attendance policy, but I’ll warn you that with only two set studio days a week, you can quickly fall behind if you don’t come to class. You can come work in the studio anytime you want as long as the building is open. But coming in to paint when I am here will be helpful, and your classmates’ critiques will be important as well.”

  We all chose a workstation next to a large built-in cubby on the wall, along with an easel, a small paint smeared table and a rickety rolling chair. Opening my backpack, I pulled out my ammo box of oil paints and a palette knife, then placed them on my table. I itched to pick them up and get started.

  “In this class,” Mr. Chavez continued, “we will be studying color theory, specifically the re
lationship of color and light on different planes. Don’t expect to paint something you can hang over your couch. What we are going to do in here will be transformational, but not pretty. We’ll prep some boards with Gesso for you to paint on, and since they will need to dry, I will lecture for the rest of class—something I’ll do very little of, so pay attention. You will need everything I tell you for Thursday and throughout the rest of the semester. Follow me.”

  I shuffled along with the rest of the class where we painted our boards with the white Gesso and washed our hands at a little paint splattered sink. It matched the floor where dry paint was plopped and smeared across the tiles so thick in places that you could see where past students had set up shop.

  The florescent lights in the room turned everything a painful yellow shade, including the bleached spikes of one girl’s hair and the bad complexion of another. It was awkward standing so close to strangers.

  “Go ahead and grab some props and set up an arrangement in your cubicle so you’re ready to go next time.” Mr. Chavez said. From the collection of junk in the back room, I selected a purple box, a yellow block, and a tall glass bottle. After I arranged them in my cubicle, I sat back in my chair, satisfied.

  Mr. Chavez and one of the students were busy carrying out silver work lamps. They brought one to my workstation, and Mr. Chavez pointed out the electrical outlet in the floor next to me.

  I plugged in my lamp and positioned it on my little display, but when I turned it on, there was only a faint glint of light reflecting off the glass bottle. The lights over me drowned it out.

  When the whole class was settled and quiet again, Mr. Chavez turned off the lights and everything changed. Suddenly the square of my cubicle and the objects in it became a world, and my lamp was the sun. I saw the way the light and shadows bent around their forms and changed their colors.

  “You will not be painting objects. You will be painting light and color. Using your palette knife, you are going to block in large areas of color without regard for the form of your subject or any of its details. You’ll work in ever increasing detail until the form emerges from the blocks of color. No sketching the objects first, and no painting with brushes.”