Текст книги "Painless"
Автор книги: Devon Hartford
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 32 страниц)
Brandon ignored it. “Christos,” he said pleasantly, “can you show Mr. Wentworth the other paintings you’ve been working on? I know you have several in progress.”
Thanks a bunch of fuck, Brandon. Wentworth started digging through some old canvases I had leaning against the wall like he owned the place. I had to restrain myself from planting my boot in his ass.
“The new paintings are over here,” I said, pointing to the drying rack where I kept the canvases of Avery, Jacqueline, and Becca that I’d completed a few weeks ago. They stood in the tall vertical slots of the drying rack, which kept dust off the paintings while the oils cured. I carefully slid out the first one. “They’re still wet,” I warned subtly, half expecting Wentworth to run his fingers all over the art like he owned it.
Instead, he glanced at the first painting, then nodded commandingly, “Next.”
Yes, master. I slid it carefully back into the rack.
I noticed Frederick answering his earpiece again. “Mr. Wentworth, it’s Madelyn Cornett with Jah—”
“Can’t you see I’m busy, Frederick?” Wentworth grumbled.
“Yes, Mr. Wentworth,” Frederick said before turning away to handle the call.
Whatever Wentworth was paying Frederick, it wasn’t enough. The guy needed a raise. My suggestion would’ve been for Frederick to find another boss, but that was just me.
“Next,” Wentworth insisted, looking at me expectantly.
Man, Wentworth needed an attitude adjustment in a hurry. I’d be more than happy to take him to the garage where I kept my tools and no one would hear him shouting for help.
I slid out another painting. This was of Jacqueline, and I was pretty happy with it.
“No. Next.”
I pulled out the last one.
He shook his head and turned away, looking for new distraction.
What a charmer. And I was doing whatever he said like a servant. Who the fuck did he think he was? I wanted to tell him he could take his money, light it on fire, and stick it up his ass. I didn’t need him. There were other art buyers out there.
Wentworth’s eyes fell on Samantha’s easel in the corner. He walked over to it. Samantha’s painting of three Calla Lilies in a vase sat on it. “What’s this?” Wentworth asked. “It’s not yours, is it?”
“That’s my girlfriend’s painting,” I said.
“It’s terrible,” Wentworth chortled.
He turned away and started walking toward the door before I could respond. He stopped in front of the Isabella portrait on his way out and said, “If you change up your painting of this beautiful young model like I suggested, you might have something with it. Frederick? It’s time to go. Call Couteux Galerie and tell them there wasn’t anything worth my time in San Diego today.”
I ground my teeth together. Wentworth had never once called me by name. He was prick royalty. King of All Dicks. I debated whether or not Frederick or Brandon would turn me in if I beat Wentworth to death and dropped his body in a ditch somewhere.
“Did you see those Calla Lilies?” Wentworth quietly asked Frederick as they neared the doorway leading back into the house.
“I did not, sir,” Frederick replied quietly.
“They were god awful,” Wentworth chuckled quietly.
“Hey!” I shouted at his back. “Fuck you, Wentworth.”
Wentworth stopped in his tracks. He turned around slowly, like an old gun fighter at high noon. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Wentworth. Fuck. You.”
Wentworth blinked. “You do know who I am, don’t you, boy?”
“I do, but not because you introduced yourself like a normal person,” I growled. “You came into my house like you owned the place and you’ve been acting like an entitled dick since you got here. I don’t need to take shit from you. And I don’t need your fucking money.”
Wentworth narrowed his eyes. “Do you think a bunch of curse words and petulant puffery is going to rile me, boy? I’ve watched the likes of you come and go countless times in my life. At the rate you’re going, in twenty years, no one will remember your name. They’ll remember your father’s and your grandfather’s, but not yours. All you had to show me today was nothing but boorish scribbles. You’re not a real artist, boy. At best, you’re a copyist. Your work is lifeless. It has no art to it. Take a page from your father’s or your grandfather’s career, and maybe you’ll make something of yourself.”
“Fuck off,” I scowled. “And get the fuck out of my house.”
“Your house?” Wentworth laughed. “I imagine that your grandfather was the one who paid for this house with his own efforts. Not you. Maybe one day, you’ll amount to something. But all I saw here today was garbage. I’ll forget about you the moment I step into my car.”
Wentworth walked out of my house with Frederick on his heels.
I’d never met a bigger prick in the art business in my entire life. Wentworth not only took the cake, he shoveled his cake down his throat like a glutinous troll. Why had I gotten into this business again?
“What the fuck was that?” I asked Brandon, who stood on the other end of the studio.
Isabella stood between us, now in her robe. She must’ve thrown it on the second I was busy with Wentworth. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to cover up in front of his hungry lizard’s stare. She hugged the robe tightly around herself and shivered, “That man a big jerk.”
Brandon looked torn, like he wanted to rush after Wentworth and lick the man’s asshole until Wentworth scratched him behind the ears. “My apologies, Christos. I’ve never met Wentworth in person. I had no idea what to expect. I should really go talk to him.” Brandon jogged out of the room.
A minute later, I heard car doors chunking shut and an engine starting. Brandon must’ve left the front door open. I heard a car drive off. To my surprise, Brandon walked somberly back into the studio looking defeated.
“I’m going to need a ride back to La Jolla,” he said.
“Huh?” I said.
“We drove here from my gallery in Wentworth’s car.”
I considered telling Brandon he could walk back after bringing that prick into my house. Lucky for him I was in no mood to paint after today’s episode of The Stanford Wentworth Show. I told Isabella she could leave early and asked if she could drive Brandon to La Jolla before she went back to L.A.
She said yes.
When they were gone, I stomped into the living room and grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the bar. It was a forty dollar bottle of Basil Hayden’s. It had a smooth caramel flavor I enjoyed. I wasn’t in the mood for anything too fancy. I’d gotten more than enough high end bullshit from Wentworth already.
I walked out to the deck behind the pool and tipped the bottle back while enjoying the view of the ocean from one of the loungers.
Yeah, I was done working for the day, if not for the month.
There was only one thing on my mind as I worked my way through my bottle of bourbon.
Wentworth was right.
Those paintings inside were nothing more than illustrations. They didn’t have any heart in them.
Wentworth had seen it instantly.
Fuck.
I sloshed more bourbon down my throat.
* * *
SAMANTHA
I walked across campus to the lecture hall for Sociology. I was in a good mood after talking to Sheri Denney about my financial aid options.
Marrying Christos?
Was that a real possibility?
I was afraid to think about it too much in case I jinxed myself.
Sociology with Professor Tutan-yawn-yawn was the perfect cure. The lecture turned into a sleepy blur. I may or may not have taken notes. After class, I stopped at the Toasted Roast to freshen up my Americano. I hadn’t slept enough in the past four days, and I was going to need caffeine if I wanted to get through History without snoring.
When I walked into the lecture hall and sat down, a familiar face greeted me.
Justin Tomlinson, the editor of The Wombat humor newspaper. He was as boy band cute as ever. “Hey, Samantha,” he grinned, “we missed you on Friday.”
“Oh no! I totally forgot about your meeting,” I smiled sheepishly. “I’m totally sorry, I was…ah, super busy with homework.” Justin didn’t need to know about my harrowing trip to the courthouse to save Christos.
“No worries,” he smiled. “Everyone liked your stuff. You should join us at the meeting this coming Friday so you can meet everybody.”
“You mean I’m not black balled for missing my first meeting?” I quipped.
“Naw, we’re pretty laid back. You should totally come by. Same time, same place.”
“4:20 pot time? Toasted Roast? Wait, aren’t toasted and roasted both euphemisms for getting stoned?”
“Pretty much,” he winked.
“Maybe I should draw a pot smoking wombat for you guys?”
He cracked a smile, “I’d like to see how you handle a pot smoking wombat.”
“Cookies and potato chips,” I said flatly.
He was confused. “What?”
“Don’t wombats get the munchies like everyone else when they’re high?” I smiled. “If I had to deal with a pot smoking wombat, I’d give him cookies and potato chips.”
“Totally,” he chuckled. “I have a feeling you’re going to fit right in. Do you think you can have some sketches of Potty the Pot Smoking Wombat by Friday?”
“His name is Potty?” I arched an eyebrow.
“It is now,” Justin smiled.
Wait, had I just inadvertently named their mascot? Maybe I had. “Can I do something combining toilets and pot smoking? Maybe have Potty on the john while he’s smoking a big fat spliff?”
“You can do anything you want. Run with it. There. Are. No. Rules,” he grinned.
Wow, I liked the sound of that. “Okay. I’ll have some drawings on Friday!”
“Awesome.”
I couldn’t wait to tell Christos. I had my first real live art assignment!
Chapter 12
SAMANTHA
“You have to draw a what?” Christos asked. He was super drunk.
“A pot smoking wombat sitting on a toilet, for The Wombat newspaper,” I said.
We were in Christos’ studio, where my new drawing table was. I couldn’t wait to start sketching cartoon wombats. I thought Christos would be working when I got home from SDU, but the model was gone and he had been sitting in front of his easel with a bottle of booze in one fist.
Christos slowly swiveled his glassy eyes in my direction. “Do you want me to sneak into the zoo and steal one for reference?”
“What, a wombat?”
“Yeah. I could go all ninja and climb over the fence at night. I know a way in,” he nodded ultra seriously. Then he held his palm to the side of his mouth and whispered, “There’s a grade school on the north side of the San Diego Zoo and their playground goes right up to the back of it.”
I wrinkled my nose, “Does the zoo even have wombats?”
“Probably. We should totally take one and keep him as a pet. I’ll name him Womby the Wombat. Wouldn’t that be totally cute?”
“I guess?” As in, it sounded like a terrible idea.
“We can climb right over the fence,” Christos slurred. “Let’s you and me go right now. I’ll drive.”
“Ahh, you probably shouldn’t be driving or climbing ninja style or anything else tonight. Maybe you should lie down for awhile?”
“But the wombat will get away!”
I chuckled, “I’m sure Womby will be fine for tonight.”
Christos giggled fluidly and leaned his head against my arm, “You like the name Womby, don’t you?”
He reeked of alcohol.
“It’s perfect,” I smiled indulgently.
In a high voice, Christos baby talked, “We’ll make a wittle bed for Womby wight in da coner of da studio.”
“Why don’t we make a bed for Womby right now? You can test it out.”
“’Kay,” he slurred.
I led Christos into the living room and helped him onto the couch. I took his boots off and covered him in a blanket. After grabbing my sketchbook, I sat in the leather chair opposite him and turned on the reading light. I went to work on my sketches of Potty the Pot Smoking Wombat. It took about ten seconds to realize I didn’t know what a wombat looked like. Maybe Christos had been onto something with his wombat kidnapping master plan.
Or I could just look for a picture on the internet.
I dug out my laptop and returned to the living room. With dozens of wombat photos on the screen and my sketchbook at the ready, I dove into cartoon dreamland as I drew page after page of toilet sitting pot smoking profligate wombats.
Who knew wombats were almost as cute as koala bears? I’d been expecting some kind of bat monster, but it turned out wombats had the same big black noses as koalas, and their ears were these tiny little button things.
So cute!
* * *
“Are you sure this is okay, Sam?” Romeo asked nervously as we walked across campus toward the Student Center on Friday afternoon.
It was just after four o’clock and we were on our way to The Wombat staff meeting at Toasted Roast. The sun was out and it was a warm end of February day.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I reasoned enthusiastically. “That guy Justin made it sound like anyone could submit stuff to The Wombat. He said some of the artists work with writers on the comic strips. I don’t know anyone funnier than you, Romeo.”
“What if it turns out Justin was just hitting on you and they don’t need more writers? They’re not going to need my gay super powers then,” he said anxiously. “I become a liability.”
“Relax, Romeo. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Okay. But if something goes wrong, don’t expect me to shoot rainbows out of my fingertips and save the day,” he warned.
“No problem,” I chuckled. “At no time will I require the use of your rainbow super powers. But I may call upon them later. Deal?”
“Deal. But you know how shooting too many rainbows drains me,” he grinned.
“What happened to that infamous Romeo stamina?”
He smiled, “It’s all a facade, Sam. Once I shoot my rainbow load, it takes at least a week to recharge. Don’t tell anybody, or my rainbow reputation will be ruined.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” I crossed my heart with my fingers. “Hey, I bet if you found a bunch of unicorns it would speed up your rainbow recovery time.”
Romeo rolled his eyes. “You’ve been hanging around with Kamiko and watching way too much Adventure Time. I wasn’t talking about cartoon rainbows. The only place I can go in San Diego to recharge my rainbow is Hillcrest.”
“Is that why you’ve been going there?”
“Of course.”
We walked across the Student Center quad.
Outside the Toasted Roast there were a ton of free tables. This late in the day, most of the students were gone, especially on Friday. The only time it was ever crowded at the Student Center in the afternoon was when SDU had a band playing in the quad, but that usually happened in the fall or spring.
It was almost 4:20, so I looked around for Justin Tomlinson. He waved from a group of tables that had been pushed together. Five other students sat around him.
Me and Romeo walked over to join them.
“Hey, Justin,” I said to him. “Everybody, my name is Samantha. This is my friend Romeo.”
A girl with black plastic hipster glasses said to me sarcastically, “Shouldn’t your name be Juliet?”
There was a long, drawn out moment of silence. I think she was being a bitch, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure. I thought Justin had said everyone on the paper was laid back?
Romeo glared at the bitchy girl with the hipster glasses. In a sarcastic voice, he said, “I have rainbow super powers. I promised Sam I wouldn’t use them, but I will if I have to. They work especially well on hipster bitches.”
I winced, expecting everyone to frown and turn their backs on us, or maybe just boo and hiss until we left.
Justin raised an eyebrow, and in a serious tone said, “Ever since Keith used his super powered farts at the last meeting, we voted to make this a super power free zone. We all agreed his super powered farts had lost their comedic effect,” Justin grinned, now obviously joking around.
“But not their horrid stench,” snickered the second girl, who had a nose ring, dark hair, and lots of black eye liner.
One of the two guys sitting at the table smiled guiltily and rolled his eyes. I imagined he was Keith, the super powered farter. He had a thick dark under-beard. It was just the beard part with no mustache. He had a lot of beard for a young guy.
The other guy, who was snickering at Keith, had long black emo hair that draped over one of his eyes and was died red at the tips.
“So,” Justin smiled at Romeo, “even if you tried shooting rainbows, which I would pay to see, your super powers won’t work here at the meeting because of all the magical fart repellant in effect.”
“Oooh,” Romeo said, super excited, “where do you guys get your fart repellant? I hear that stuff is expensive.”
“Costco,” Justin winked. “We buy in bulk.”
Keith rolled his eyes once again. Everyone else laughed and smiled, except for the girl with the hipster glasses, who folded her arms across her chest and grimaced.
Everyone was laughing so much, me and Romeo joined in.
Keith of the Underbeard said, “What? I told you guys I had beans for lunch so I couldn’t be held criminally responsible for bad gas.”
“Dude,” Emo Hair chuckled, “those were beer farts. Don’t deny it.”
“At 4:20?” Keith asked. “I was so not beer fart drunk that early.”
“Bullshit!” said the girl with the nose ring. “You were wasted last Friday!”
“Maybe by 5:20, but I assure you I was not beer farting at 4:20,” Keith sneered.
They all shared another laugh, even Hipster Glasses. Clearly, they knew each other well. I’d been expecting some kind of exclusive boy’s club like in those college party movies like Animal House. I hadn’t expected two girls.
“All I want to know is,” the girl with the nose ring said, chuckling in advance of what she was about to say, “who would win in a fight? Keith with his toxic farts, or Romeo and his rainbows. I want to see them go head to head.”
“Keith’s farts would totally win,” Emo Hair said, deadpan.
Nose ring laughed and Keith rolled his eyes.
“All right, guys,” Justin said. “Samantha, Romeo, meet Keith, Micah, Alyssa, and everyone’s favorite SDU hipster, Tammy Lemons.”
They all waved as Justin called their names, except for Tammy, who made a sour face.
Micah was the guy with the red-tipped emo hair. Alyssa had the nose ring and wore a T shirt that had a picture of a Tyrannosaurus rex saying “Rawr!” The caption below read, “Rawr means ‘I love you’ in dinosaur.” Tammy Lemons, of course, was the girl with the hipster glasses.
Aside from Tammy, I liked these guys.
“Pull up a chair,” Justin said.
Me and Romeo sat down.
“So,” Justin said, “you guys remember those drawings of Samantha’s that I emailed everyone?”
“Yeah,” Keith nodded, grinning.
“Totally,” Micah chuckled.
“Funny stuff,” Alyssa smiled.
“They were okay,” Tammy shrugged. No surprise there. I think Tammy was going to take awhile to thaw out. Whatever.
“Well,” Justin continued, “I asked Samantha to work up some drawings for a new Wombat mascot.”
“We already have one,” Tammy said snidely.
Yeah, she was a bitch. I was now one hundred percent sure.
“But it’s just a plain old wombat,” Alyssa said. “It’s boring.”
“Did you bring some new drawings for us?” Keith asked me.
“I did,” I said and pulled out my sketchbook. I opened it up to the first wombat sketch and set it in the middle of the table.
The group started flipping through my drawings. There were at least a dozen. It didn’t take long before the group was grinning and laughing, except for Tammy, of course. Tammy mostly frowned at my art.
“That one looks constipated,” Micah smiled.
“Maybe he should drink more beer,” Alyssa quipped, “then he’d always have beer diarrhea like Keith.”
Everyone groaned.
“It wasn’t beer farts,” Keith said defensively while the group continued turning pages of my sketchbook, fascinated by my artwork.
I’d never experienced anything like it. I’d sort of expected them to nod politely and not say anything about my art at all, or maybe tell me I wasn’t very good, not be obviously entertained and amused.
“Have you ever seen a blunt so fat?” Micah marveled, referring to the giant joint in the next drawing. “That’s like an entire ounce of ganj.”
“The only time I see that much weed in one place is when I buy a fresh ounce that you haven’t gotten into yet, Micah,” Keith groused.
“Dude, that’s bullshit. You still owe me a bunch of blunts from over Christmas,” Micah scoffed.
Keith shook his head and scowl smiled at him.
They continued turning pages, and found something amusing about each drawing.
I really couldn’t believe it. I restrained the huge grin wanting to jump onto my face. They actually liked my art!
When they finished looking at the last drawing, Justin said, “Maybe we should take a vote on which one to use in the next edition of The Wombat as our official logo. What do you guys think?”
“I vote we don’t use any of them,” hipster glasses Tammy Lemons said. “I don’t like her drawings.”
Did Tammy not realize I was right here? Yeah, she was a Bitch with a capital Buttplug.
“Don’t worry, Samantha,” Alyssa smirked, “Tammy’s on the rag this week. She’s not usually this bitchy.”
I smiled at Alyssa, but couldn’t think of an appropriate response. For all I knew, they all loved Tammy like a BFF, despite her sour personality. I didn’t want to offend by saying the wrong thing.
“I thought I smelled iron,” Romeo said in response to Alyssa’s rag gag about Tammy. He absently examined his fingernails.
Alyssa grimaced and leaned forward. Her head bonked against the table top. She started chuckling heartily, rolling her forehead from side to side on the table.
Keith whipped out his phone. “If this turns into a cat fight, I’m filming it.” He pointed his phone at Tammy, who was scowling at Romeo.
“What?” Romeo said defensively to Tammy, “I have an acute sense of smell.”
Tammy flipped Romeo off.
“Is that what you use to plug it up?” Romeo asked. “No wonder it doesn’t work. Fingers aren’t very absorbent, and it won’t do any good if you don’t keep it in your hole.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Even I know that.”
Alyssa sat up abruptly, her eyes wide. “Oooohh, damn! No he didn’t!”
“Yes. I did,” Romeo insisted.
Keith and Micah both suppressed snickers.
“Settle down, guys,” Justin said. “No need for a grudge match with the new girl on her first day.”
I couldn’t tell if Justin was saying I was the new girl or Romeo was.
Alyssa leaned against Tammy and put a friendly arm around her. “Don’t worry Tammy, we still love you.”
Tammy shook her head and frowned. “You guys are dicks.”
“You started it, Tammy,” emo Micah chuckled.
“Whatever,” Tammy snorted.
Justin said pleasantly, “Why don’t we send these out to the rest of our artists, and have everyone vote in a few weeks? How does that sound?”
The group nodded agreement.
Justin continued, “And if any other artists want to do their own version of a wombat mascot, they can put their art in the mix. That includes you, Tammy.”
So Tammy Lemons the hipster bitch was an artist too. I was curious to see what she came up with. For all I knew, she could be way better than me, or worse. I didn’t really know.
“Agreed?” Justin asked.
Everyone said yes.
Justin took pics of my wombat sketches with his phone like before. “Samantha, I’ll email these to everyone, and put you on the CC list, so you can See See all the other entrants.”
“Did you just say ‘See See’?” Alyssa asked.
“Yeah, why?” Justin grinned.
“Because that’s Lame Lame,” she sneered.
“Do you have something against the crippled?” Keith asked, quick as a whip.
“The crippled?” Alyssa asked, confused.
“The lame?” Keith said suggestively. “The lame have feelings, too.”
Alyssa said sarcastically, “I twisted my ankle last week going down some stairs. Does that count?”
Keith shook his head, “Afraid not. The lame have feelings too, and your use of the term normalizes their struggles like they don’t matter.”
“Fine,” Alyssa sneered. “Then I meant to say the Dumb Dumb.”
Keith shook his head, “the intellectually challenged have feelings too.”
Alyssa frowned, “Well, then who the hell can I make fun of? Snails?”
Keith arched an eyebrow thoughtfully, “That would work. As far as I know, snails haven’t yet made any noises about fair and equitable treatment.”
“That’s because they don’t have any mouths,” Micah snickered.
“When did it get so politically correct around here?” Alyssa asked. She turned to Justin and said, “Justin, I want to apologize for saying that you were Lame Lame. I would like to retract that statement and change it to, ‘you are Snail Snail’.” She looked to Keith for approval, “Better, Keith?”
“Much,” Keith snickered.
“Ass,” Alyssa said offhandedly to him.
“I have a donkey, and he feels real bad right now,” Micah said, “his ears are totally burning.”
Alyssa wadded her napkin and threw it at Micah while he cackled.
“All right, you guys,” Justin said. “Samantha, when I email your drawings to everyone, I’ll put you on the Snail Snail list,” he quipped.
“Okay,” I smiled. I really liked these guys.
“Equal rights for snails!” Micah mocked, pumping his fist high overhead.
For the rest of the meeting, everyone discussed topics for the next issue of The Wombat. Well, except for Tammy Lemons who mostly sat sulking with her arms folded across her chest.
Romeo fit right in with the rest of the group and contributed lots of funny ideas. By the end, Justin was encouraging him to write a sample piece for the paper.
“Are you sure?” Romeo asked.
“Totally,” Justin said. “If you come up with something good, we’ll put it in the next ish.”
“Sam and I talked about doing a comic strip together,” Romeo said. “Can I do that?”
“Whatever you want,” Justin smiled at him. “It’s cool with me. Is it cool with you guys?” Justin asked the group.
Everyone except Tammy agreed.
“I promise,” Romeo said to Tammy, “I won’t write anything nasty about you or your period.” He sounded sincere.
“Whatever,” Tammy said.
“Come on,” Romeo pleaded comically, “you’re not still mad, are you? I promise, I never smelled your iron.”
Alyssa winced and chuckled.
Tammy huffed out a sigh, “Fine. Whatever.”
When the meeting was over, Romeo walked me back to my car. The sun had already set, but the sky was still pink on the horizon over the ocean, which was visible from the North Parking Lot.
“That went pretty well,” I said.
“Except for Nasty Tammy,” Romeo chuckled. “What a bitch.”
“Maybe she’s just defensive because you and I were invading her clique of friends,” I suggested.
“Maybe she’s just offensive because she smells.”
“You didn’t really smell her iron, did you?”
“No,” Romeo laughed, “but it seemed like the right thing to say.”
“I hope you didn’t piss her off.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sam. What’s she going to do? Rig the vote so they don’t choose your drawing?”
I shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Who cares if she does? It’s just a stupid school newspaper.”
He was right, but I sort of liked the idea that I might win a drawing contest. It would be one more piece of evidence I could show my parents that I wasn’t an idiot for pursuing art. If I ever talked to them again.
I still hadn’t listened to their voicemail, and I was starting to think maybe I never would.
* * *
I dropped my highlighter marker on my textbook in defeat. “Mads,” I sighed, “I’m totally going to bomb my Sociology final.”
Madison and I were studying in the Main Library, which was super crowded because it was right before finals week. Madison had arrived early and had secured a study room hours ago, so we had some privacy. But just outside our door, every study carrel in sight was occupied. There were even students sitting on the floor studying, leaning against the walls. It was this crowded on every floor of the library.
“I thought you were acing Sosh?” Madison said sympathetically.
“That’s because the last time we talked was like the beginning of the quarter.” Madison and I had barely hung out since I’d dropped my Accounting classes. “I’ve been tracking my grade all quarter and it’s hovering on the edge of the toilet bowl, about to fall in. If I don’t get a hundred on my Sosh final, you can flush my ass goodbye.”
“I know what your problem is,” Madison said confidently.
“What?”
“Christos has made you cum dumb,” she said matter of factly, “making it impossible for you to concentrate on anything other than his cock.”
“What?” I scoffed. “Are you totes cray cray?”
“Easy on the cray cray, Sam Sam. I told you we have to stop talking like thirteen year olds because it’s totes inappropes,” she grinned.
“So what if I like talking like a thirteen year old? I think it’s totes adorb,” I giggled. “You’re just totes jelly that I know more totisms than you.”
“That’s totes fa’ shotes,” she grinned, then shook her head. “Now you’re making me do it!” she laughed. “Stop!”
“Don’t be totes ridics, I’ll never stop. I’m the totestess with the motestess.”
Madison groaned. “Oh my god, that is awful! You really are cum dumb!”
“Maybe dumb, but not because of too much cum.”
“What, aren’t you and Christos doing it every day?” Madison asked doubtfully.
I blushed like a beacon. “Mads! Must you be so blunt?”
“I’m trying to get to the bottom of things. Where all the cum is!”
I frowned, “What, like anal?”
Madison leaned back in her chair and laughed melodiously.
I threw my highlighter at her. “Shut up! You’re a total horn dog tonight! Hasn’t Jake been taking care of your business?”
Madison grinned, “Oh, he totes has been taking care of my business,” she winked. “I swear, all I can think about is sex! More and more sex! Sex, sex, SEX!! I admit it! Jake has made ME cum dumb!”
We broke into a giggle fit. I noticed people were staring at us through the windowed walls of our study room, but I didn’t care. It felt good to release some of my stress. I leaned back in my chair and sighed after our laugh attack passed.
“Was it good for you?” Madison asked.
“What, my laughgasm?”
“Yeah,” she smiled.
“Totes magotes,” I sighed.
Madison groaned and threw my highlighter back at me. It bounced onto the floor.
“Did I tell you my parents aren’t helping pay for my tuition anymore?” I asked, staring at the ceiling, “And I can’t get any more loan money to make up the difference?”
“You can work for me and Jake at the surf shop,” Madison said.
“Really?”
“When it finally opens,” she sighed.
“Oh. When’s that gonna be?”
“I’m working on it. Not for awhile. But I totally promise, you’ll be our first employee. When we take the company public, you’ll be a millionaire overnight.”
“Thanks, Mads. But I need money sooner.”
“There’s always stripping,” she said casually.
“That’s totes forbodst. There’s no way I’m taking my clothes off for a bunch of drunken fraternity mouth breathers, or whoever goes to those places.”
