Текст книги "Reckless"
Автор книги: Devon Hartford
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
Well, I was here to sculpt, not gawk.
Romeo took care of the gawking for me. His eyes popped and his mouth was a big O. He was in heaven.
I smiled at him and waved my finger in an “uh-uh-uh” gesture.
He stuck his tongue out at me.
“Is something funny, Miss Smith?” the professor asked.
I frowned. “No.”
“If you can’t maintain a professional attitude, perhaps you’re not ready for this class?”
I opened my mouth to protest. I was here to work. Whatever. She’d decided I was the flake student. I’d have to prove her wrong.
“Hunter,” the professor said, “please take a relaxed standing pose.”
Hunter settled his weight on one leg and cocked his hip. He was the California surfer version of a perfect marble statue.
It turned out that a “quick sculpt” took a lot longer than a quick sketch. At first, I wasn’t sure what to do. Everyone around the room started slapping clay on their wire armature. I did the same, noticing how warm the clay was. It was really squishy and buttery, sort of like lard in terms of firmness, but not greasy at all. I could squish this stuff around all day long. Warm clay. Who knew?
It didn’t take long for me to get the hang of the actual sculpting. It was like playing with Play-Doh, but easier because the armature helped keep the clay in the right places.
Soon, people pulled out a variety of wooden tools from their own bags. They used the tools, which looked like a variety of wooden letter-openers or butter knives, to further shape the clay. Some people just used their fingers. I was a hands-on kind of girl. Fingers seemed to be easiest.
At one point, I glanced over at Romeo. He was hard at work, but when he saw me looking at him, he held up his rough sculpture, which resembled nothing more than a rudimentary clay voodoo doll at this point, and pulled the legs apart with his fists. Then he jammed one finger up into the sculptures’ crotch while running his tongue around his own lips and giving me bedroom eyes before blowing me a kiss.
I winced, and tried to focus on the sculpture in my hand, but Romeo was still trying to get my attention from across the room. I glanced up and he bent his sculpture at the waist, then jabbed his finger into the sculpture’s butt.
I grimaced and giggled reflexively.
“I didn’t realize this was your own personal comedy club, Miss Smith,” the professor barked behind me. “Are you here to work, or goof off?”
“I’m working,” I said, sounding thirteen again. I held up my sculpture.
She looked down her nose at it, then glared at me for what seemed like an hour. She jammed her fists defiantly on her hips. “Well, keep working! Do you need an invitation?” She stalked over to the next student, her heels click-clacking.
Oh boy. What had I gotten myself into?
Chapter 13
SAMANTHA
“All right, class, now we’re going to find out why our tables have wheels," Professor Bittinger said. “Please shift your table two positions to your right. If your bags are in the way, you can set them against the walls.”
Everyone moved their tables in the circle, but Hunter remained in his same position and pose. As soon as I looked at Hunter from my new vantage point, I saw all kinds of problems with my sculpture, so I went about fixing them, until we moved positions again. More problems. Sculpting was a whole different animal from drawing, but I kind of liked it. In some ways it was easier, because you could squish the clay around to fix things without using an eraser and then redrawing everything.
We shifted positions two more times in the next twenty minutes, then took a break.
The students circulated the room, chatting and looking at each other’s work.
“How’d it go?”
I looked up, right into the amber eyes of Hunter. “I’m sorry, what?”
He haphazardly strapped the belt of his robe around his waist, almost as if he’d just gotten dressed in the privacy of his own bedroom first thing in the morning, as if covering his wing-wang in public was a formality for him. “How is your sculpture so far?”
I was blushing, I think from embarrassment. Was I the only person in the room? Couldn’t he talk to someone else? “Oh, uh, pretty good, I guess. I’ve never sculpted before. It’s a lot different than drawing.”
“That’s what they tell me,” he smiled. His teeth were white and even, as perfect as his physique.
“What, you don’t draw, I mean sculpt?” I stammered.
“Nope. I leave it to the professionals.” He winked at me and flashed his smile.
Was it just me, or had he not belted his robe tightly enough? It looked like it was going to fall open if he wasn’t careful. I considered telling him as much, but couldn’t think of the right way to say it. Was he doing it on purpose? Setting me up for a stealth flashing? Probably.
“What’s your name?” he asked, holding out his hand to shake. This caused the top of his robe to billow out, revealing his chest and abs as he leaned forward.
“Oh, uh, Sam.” I reluctantly shook his hand.
The shaking made his robe ripple, and I saw the belt sliding apart. When we finished shaking hands, he straightened up and I swear the only thing stopping the robe flaps from sliding completely away to reveal his full splendor was that they had caught on the, um, prominence, between his legs. Not that he was sporting wood, but it, well, it was uncommonly obtrusive. Not that I was looking. Sure, I’d seen it five minutes ago, but not from two feet away.
He needed a harness for that thing.
The second I realized what Hunter was doing, because the look on his face made it obvious he was orchestrating this imminent yet “unintentional” unharnessing, I appropriately bolted my eyes on his.
“I thought you said your name was Samantha,” he said, giving me a cocky smile.
Ever since Christos had started calling me Samantha all the time, I’d decided to stop introducing myself as Sam to everyone. But this Hunter guy was dangerous, and needed to be kept at arm’s length. “Oh, uh, yeah,” I grimaced, “my, ah, friends, call me Sam.”
I was regretting locking my eyes on his because their amber color was trying to hypnotize me. Was he making them shine and glimmer on purpose? Or was that their natural state?
“Sam it is. My name’s Hunter Blakeley.” he said casually, hands on hips.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed old man gravity was further working his dirty magic on Hunter’s robe. Full disclosure was nearly upon me. Ew.
“You seem pretty good at sculpting,” Hunter grinned.
A few months ago, I would’ve blurted out words of nervous self-doubt. But that was a few months ago. I’d made steady progress since then, and after my parents’ bombshell the night before, I wasn’t in this class to mess around. I was here to work, not flirt. I knew what Hunter was doing. Besides, I totally wasn’t interested, and I’m pretty sure my artistic advancement wasn’t his top priority. “Thanks,” I said flatly.
Hunter gazed at me. His robe shifted another inch. I’m pretty sure there were no more inches left on his robe before his…inches were unveiled. In my head, I shouted at him,
FIX IT!!!!!!
He smirked confidently, probably reading my mind. Yeah, he knew what he was doing. He probably did this to women every day. Practiced on street corners as old ladies walked by. Helped them across the street while his robe accidentally fell open, just to see if they had heart attacks.
I needed to remove myself from this situation, because he was clearly indulging his desires to the hilt. Hilt was the wrong word, because we all know a sword and its hilt can be a euphemism for the male genitalia, just like a scabbard can refer to a woman’s—
STOP!!!
That was me shouting at me.
Get a grip, girl!
No!! Don’t GRIP anything!!!!
Yes, I was going insane. I was only human. And Hunter was hot. I took a deep breath and said to him, “Well, I need to get more clay, er, ah…”
“Hunter!” Professor Bittinger said, standing right behind me, “so good to see you posing again!”
Jesus Christ! She almost gave me a heart attack. Maybe that was her plan. But seriously, how the hell was it that most of the time her noisemaker heels machine-gunned across the cement floor when she was on the way over to chew me out, but now all of a sudden she managed to sneak up on me like she wore ninja slippers?
My operative theory was Magical Shoes. That was the only plausible explanation.
“Heeeyyyy, Marjorie,” Hunter drawled to the professor, giving her a cocky head nod.
He called her Marjorie? Were they pals?
“What have you been up to?” the professor asked Hunter. “I haven’t seen you since Spring quarter last year.” Her eyes gleamed at him.
“This and that,” he smiled.
She giggled girlishly.
How was “this and that” worthy of laughter? I guess the comedy bar for horny older women was set pretty low. Because she was obviously acting like a lovesick teenager around this Hunter guy. I also noticed that Marjorie had no problem gawking at his groin every two seconds. Between stares, she preened and flipped her hair saucily with her hand.
Harlot.
Wait a second! Maybe this new development could take the heat from Hunter off of me! I just needed to leave him alone with Marjorie and they could go at it like rabbits on the sculpting studio floor!
Problem solved. All I had to do was get Hunter off my back by getting Marjorie on her back, and maybe she wouldn’t be such an uptight bitch to me anymore!
Perfect!
Just give them a little privacy and let nature take its course.
Unfortunately, I was stuck where I stood between them and my sculpting table. Worse, Marjorie was going to drip on me any second while drooling over Hunter.
Crap. I’d forgotten to wear my rain slicker.
“Sam here seems pretty good at sculpting,” Hunter said, nodding toward me.
Marjorie blinked free of Hunter’s love enchantment and looked over at me. Her lovesick face soured into hatesick.
Not what I needed. Where was my escape hatch?
Shit!
The professor looked me up and down, her nostrils flaring, as if deciding someone had just farted, and it had to have been me. “I see you’ve met Miss Smith,” she sneered.
Great.
“You should’ve told me you had such a cutey in your class,” Hunter said.
WTF was he doing?! Red alert! Abandon ship! It was so obvious Marjorie Bittinger wanted Hunter Blakeley all to herself.
Marjorie’s eyes narrowed at me. I’m confident she was thinking carnivorous thoughts, imagining skinning me alive and roasting my flesh on a stick while I begged for mercy. The new white meat: Boneless, skinless Samantha Breast. And not in a sexy way. Because I wouldn’t put it past Marjorie to believe that if she ate my flesh, she would consume my power over Hunter, making it her own. No wonder she taught sculpture. She was a Voodoo Priestess all along, I was sure of it.
Marjorie snarled directly at me, “My only concern is whether or not Miss Smith’s sculpting skills warrant her presence in my studio.”
My eyes goggled. I wanted to duck under both of them and bolt for the door. Instead, I mentally rolled up my sleeves and lilted, “I’m sure they will.”
“We’ll see about that,” Marjorie said before turning and walking away.
Great. The Wicked Witch of the West was my sculpting teacher and I was fresh out of water buckets, otherwise I would’ve poured one over her head right then.
“Take your positions, class,” the professor barked. Her voice thundered around the room. An omen of things to come? I’m sure she was already formulating a surprise lightning strike on my ass sometime this quarter, and I feared her particular version of a lightning strike would include a squadron of flying monkeys soldiers flying out of her butt and setting their sights on me, something I hoped to avoid because I was fresh out of monkey repellent. Because you know her butt-monkeys didn’t shower, or at the very least rinse, upon ejecting from Marjorie’s rear end. Maybe she could install one of those drive-thru car-wash machines in her rectum? It could work. I would have to sketch up plans later.
“Don’t worry about her,” Hunter mumbled to me after the professor had walked out of earshot, startling me out of my reverie, “She’s always like this.”
“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” I scoffed.
He chuckled. “You’re cute when you get all intense like this.”
I rolled my eyes and turned around.
He was still standing behind me.
“Shouldn’t you be modeling or something?” I said over my shoulder.
“Oh, did you want a better look? Let me take my robe off…”
“Can you wait until you’re on the stand?” I pleaded. “Then the professor can have you all to herself.”
He chuckled and walked back to the dais, taking his robe off halfway to it like he owned the place. But we both knew this was Marjorie’s boudoir, not mine.
Luckily, for the remainder of class, Professor Bitch left me alone. I was able to focus strictly on improving my sculpture.
Much to my surprise, sculpting class, which was supposed to be a welcome relief from Managerial Accounting, was making me increasingly uncomfortable. I was irritated that Hunter had forced me into a suicidal love triangle between him and Professor Voodoo, and I wasn’t even interested in him.
I had Christos.
My feelings for Christos were unbreakable. So why did Hunter have to force himself on me? His eyes were always on me, no matter where I was in the room, with the exceptions of the times that I was behind him. I was glad he was stuck in his pose and couldn’t turn around. If the professor hadn’t been there, I’m sure he would have, and blown off the entire class just to hit on me.
Whatever.
I was thankful when Hunter finally put his robe on at the end of class. I was so done.
With any luck, I’d be able to squeeze out the door without Hunter or the professor jumping all over me.
SAMANTHA
While quickly packing my supplies, Romeo came over to my sculpting station. We walked out together.
Luckily, Hunter was busy talking to Professor Bittinger, but that didn’t stop him from staring at me as I passed them by.
“Laters, Sam,” Hunter said over his shoulder.
Professor Bittinger frowned at me.
I’m surprised she didn’t hiss at me and bare her teeth. With any luck, maybe Marjorie would have an affair with Hunter and get herself thrown out of SDU for sexual harassment. I wouldn’t be the one to say anything if they did. With my new financial predicament, I had too many problems of my own to worry about, but maybe some of the other students might get uncomfortable enough with Hunter’s blatant behavior to file a complaint against both of them.
Romeo and I walked out of the Visual Arts building into the Eucalyptus grove outside.
“That guy was hot!” Romeo moaned.
“I guess,” I replied reluctantly.
“Oh, come on, Sam. You were drooling too.”
“I was not!” I protested. I really wasn’t. Why did I feel guilty all of a sudden? Looking at the model was part of class. So what if class consisted of staring at a naked guy. Who was hot.
Was I a bad girlfriend because I could see that Hunter was attractive? I didn’t think so. It was just an observation. It didn’t mean I was attracted to him.
Romeo narrowed his eyes. “But you have to admit he was a Grade-A Meat Monster.”
“What’s a meat monster?”
“Didn’t you see his package?”
“Not really,” I smirked.
“You’re such a bullshitter, Sam. He was hanging out like an elephant trunk the entire time. I would totally be that guy’s dick sharpener.”
I giggled. “Dick sharpener?”
Romeo nodded coyly.
“Who was hanging out?” Hunter asked, jogging up behind us, all smiles. He wore a black collarless polo shirt with white detailing around the throat. It was unbuttoned, revealing the muscles of his neck and the defined ridges of his chest. The sleeves were bunched up, showing off his rippled forearms and several different gold and silver bracelets. Dark jeans and expensive dark suede shoes completed his look. Hunter dressed to impress as purposefully as he undressed to impress.
Romeo gulped. “Ahhh…” He was swooning.
“Hey, Sam,” Hunter said. “What’re you guys up to?” He was looking right at me.
“Ahh, I’m heading home. I’ve got tons of homework to do,” I said apologetically.
“Do you need a ride?” Hunter asked.
“No, thanks. I drove myself.”
“Well, what’re you doing later, for dinner?”
“More homework,” I said.
“I’m free,” Romeo tittered.
Hunter was thrown off by Romeo’s comment. His smile dimmed, but then he shook it off. “When are you free, Sam?” Hunter asked.
“Probably never?” I said reluctantly.
“I doubt that,” he smiled.
I stopped in my tracks and looked Hunter in the eyes. “I have a boyfriend, Hunter.” That should do the trick, right? Lay it all out on the table so there’s no confusion.
“So?”
I frowned. “Hunter, I’m in a relationship.”
“I’m not,” Romeo said.
Hunter frowned at Romeo again before looking back at me. “Are you serious about this guy?”
“Of course I’m serious!” I protested. “That’s why he’s my boyfriend.”
Hunter cocked a thumb at Romeo. “You don’t mean him, do you?”
That was actually funny. I chuckled. “I mean my other boyfriend.”
“You have more than one?” Hunter asked. “Because I can be number three. Third time’s the charm, right?” he flashed his swoon-worthy smile.
He was charming, all right. And by the looks of him, he could have any woman he wanted. So why me? He was wasting his time. I was in love with Christos, and that was that.
I decided my best strategy with Hunter was to remain silent.
Hunter followed me and Romeo out of the Eucalyptus grove.
Minutes later, we were passing Tiffany, who was still camped on the side of the main pathway. Did she even have any classes? She was holding court with her two satanic hobot minions as I passed. No matter. She was the perfect distraction. Her smile faded when she saw me.
I stopped suddenly in my tracks. Romeo nearly knocked me down as he stumbled to a stop.
Hunter swerved, but kept his balance. “I see you changed your mind,” he smiled cockily.
“Tiffany,” I said, smiling merrily, “meet Hunter Blakeley.”
She took one look at him and her frown was gone. But then it was back. She looked between me and Hunter. “Is this some kind of a joke?” she scoffed.
“No,” I smiled, “Hunter is totally in need of a date, and I thought you two might hit it off. Hunter, this is Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse. She’s a great girl—” yes, I almost gagged when I said it, “—and I think you two ought to get to know each other.”
“Did she put you up to this?” Tiffany glared at me suspiciously.
Hunter was thrown off his game. He was obviously checking Tiffany out. I couldn’t blame him. Tiffany was very good looking. On the outside. Her insides looked like a sewer, based on my experiences with her. And I wasn’t talking about her colon. I meant her personality. Tiffany was one of those girls who wanted the world to believe that when she went number two, rose petals sifted out. Well, what really came out and fell into the toilet bowl was her personality. You know what I mean.
“No,” Hunter said to Tiffany, “I, we just met. Samantha and I.”
“Who?” Tiffany said.
“I thought you guys knew each other?” Hunter asked, confused.
“Her?” Tiffany sneered. “I think she scrubs toilets around campus. Yeah, that’s where I’ve seen her.”
I was right. Tiffany and toilet bowls went hand-in-hand. Maybe I needed to start thinking of her as Tiffany Kingcolon-Shithouse.
“Enjoy!” I waved to Tiffany and Hunter before hurrying off, pulling Romeo behind me.
“Wait, Sam!” Romeo said. “He’s totally staring at us!”
“I don’t care, let’s just go.”
“But what if he’s staring at me?!” Romeo whined.
“I doubt it.”
“You think he wants both of us?” he gasped hopefully.
“No, I think he just wants to add another notch to his belt.”
“I’ll be his notch!” Romeo pleaded.
“Shut up, Romeo!”
With any luck, Tiffany and Hunter would tear each other to shreds like ravenous predators. Because that’s what they both were.
I shuddered as I wondered what kind of babies they might make. Velociraptors and Sabertooth Tigers, look out! The Kingston-Whitehouse-Blakeley Boys are in the house!
Somehow, I thought if Tiffany and Hunter did hit it off, it would be the end of the human race. What had I done?
Romeo had section to go to for one of his theater classes, so we parted ways for the afternoon.
As I walked to my car, I half-expected Hunter to pop up out of nowhere and pressure me to go out with him again. Thankfully, he wasn’t around.
Unless he was watching me from the bushes with some of those infrared goggles that serial killers liked to use when stalking innocent college coeds.
Okay, wrong train of thought.
I walked across the gigantic parking lot.
Alone.
SAMANTHA
On the way to my car, my phone rang. It was Christos. “Hey, you!”
“Agápi mou! So good to hear your voice. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“You have?” I beamed.
“Of course. You are my everything. What else would I be thinking about?”
I sighed, “I love you, Christos.”
“I love you too. Hey, guess what?”
“You’re even more beautiful this evening than the last time I laid my eyes on your perfection?” He sounded like he was smiling, “No, I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I found a job today!” I said.
“Sweet! I knew you would, Samantha. Doing what?”
“Working at the campus art museum at the cash register.”
“Congratulations! You’re diving right into the art world, and getting paid. Remember what I said about your parents not knowing about all the opportunities out there?”
“You were right,” I smiled.
“I think we should celebrate.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“You coming over to my grandfather’s house. I’ll make you dinner. All you’ll have to do is sit back and relax while you keep me company.”
“I think I can manage that.”
“Perfect. Get your fine ass over here.”
I dropped my cell phone in my purse and walked down the aisle in the parking lot toward where my VW was parked.
I sensed a car approaching me slowly from behind. I angled toward the side, giving the car plenty of room to pass. The driver honked the horn twice. What the hell? There was plenty of room for them to drive around me. Whatever. I kept walking.
The car pulled along beside.
“Hey, beautiful,” the driver said.
I’d spoken too soon.
Hunter Blakeley grinned from his convertible Porsche Boxster. He wore aviator sunglasses that looked like they were used in conjunction with his car to stalk innocent college coeds and coerce them into his clutches.
He wasn’t fooling me. I smirked at him.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?”
I raised my eyebrows skeptically. I was so not playing into his flirtatious game.
His arm rested casually on the steering wheel as his car rolled along beside me at two miles an hour. “I’m hurt, Sam. I thought we were friends.”
“I barely know you, Hunter.”
“That’s how friendships start. But we have to get past the barely stage before we get to the Blakeley stage.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please tell me you just made that up, because if you’ve used that line on women in the past, there’s zero chance we can be friends.”
He chuckled. “Then I’m in luck. I did in fact just make it up.”
I said nothing and kept walking. Where had I parked my car? Was it like ten miles from here? I sensed Hunter might even follow me all the way home, trying to wear me down the entire way.
Two could play at this game. I turned between two cars and crossed over to another aisle. I smiled at myself. The aisles were so long, it would take him forever to drive around.
Unless he floored it, whipped around the far end of the aisle, and drove down mine.
I sighed and kept walking as his car drove toward me.
When his car reached me, he stopped and smiled. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you all day.” He said it like it was no big deal. He was totally at ease. This was his sport, and Hunter Blakeley was a total player. I’m sure he’d Gold Medaled in it in London in 2012.
I kept walking.
He put the car in reverse and caught up with me, his car keeping pace with me going backward. “There you are,” he smiled, “almost lost you.”
“You’re going to hit something,” I said dryly.
“Nah, I’ve got my eye on the road.” He stared right at me.
“Not from where I’m standing.” I’d had enough of this. I crossed back over to the aisle I’d just left. I expected him to speed back down the way he’d came.
No, he simply put his car in park and left it idling where it stopped in the parking lot. He hopped over the door and trotted after me. He caught up quickly.
“Hunter, your car is still running, aren’t you worried someone’s going to take it?” I asked.
“Why? The most desirable thing in this parking lot is right here in front of me. I’d rather someone snatch my car instead of you.”
Groan. Was it time to shout rape? He was never going to quit.
Fortunately, I saw my VW a short distance away.
Hunter kept pace with me. “I’ll just walk you to your car. Keep an eye on you.”
I stopped and faced him. “Hunter, I don’t want you to walk me to my car. Can you please just go get your car before you get a ticket or something?”
“I don’t care about getting a ticket. I only care about you.”
Why did that nauseate me? “Hunter, please leave.”
He smiled, completely undeterred. I had a moment to notice that he was amazingly handsome. But I didn’t really care. He would find someone else, I was sure. I turned on my heel and continued to my VW.
“All right,” he said casually as he caught up to me again. “No worries. I’ll see you in class next time.”
I was so surprised, I almost stopped, but managed to keep moving. “Huh? We have a different model every time.”
“Not in Bittinger’s class. She hired me to work the entire term.”
My eyes goggled. I made a vomit face as I thought about how the next ten weeks with Hunter and Marjorie going at me in sculpting class were going to drive me nuts.
Thankfully, I made it to my VW. I slipped inside before Hunter could propose marriage.
In my rearview mirror, I watched him wave at me as I drove off.
At least he didn’t sprint to his Porsche and stalk me all the way to Christos’ place.
As far as I knew, that was.
Double groan!
SAMANTHA
Christos made me dinner, as promised. We sat at his kitchen table chatting long after we finished eating dinner. I didn’t notice the time until it was late, and made my way home. Christos couldn’t come with me because he had plenty of extra work to do around the studio with all the new demand for his paintings. That was okay because I still had homework and a job search to contend with.
I guessed our Honeymoon was over.
Whatever. I still loved Christos with all my heart.
I hit the books the minute I got in the door at my apartment. When my eyes were swimming from pouring over my History and Sociology readings two hours later, I decided it was time to close my books and take a break. I needed a moment to regroup, but I immediately felt the lurching pull of my crumbling financial situation.
With a pathetic groan, I opened my web browser and checked some of the job websites. Doing a search based on location, I discovered that, surprise, the very first jobs on the list were for accounting positions.
My lips curled as I imagined both my parents clasping their hands together while smiling innocently at me with “we told you so” looks all over their faces.
Screw them. I wasn’t giving up. I tried searching by job type rather than location. Maybe I’d find something that way. When the list came up, I scrolled down it further and further. And further.
Almost every single job was somehow related to moving money around or computers. I took a moment to lean back, raise both my middle fingers, and launched both birds at my monitor.
But I still wasn’t giving up. I did notice several jobs for long-haul truckers. Maybe I could do that? Wasn’t there something sexy about a woman who drove a big rig and had dinner at truck stops nation wide? Some of those truck stops even had showers for the truckers. How awesome was that?
Uhhhh, no.
Besides, I needed something part time. And it turned out, most of the jobs were full time.
I did find one company that wanted to hire tutors for high school students. The subject they most needed, and for which I was best qualified, was math. Groan.
“We told you so,” rang through my mind.
I dropped my head back against my couch, grabbed the nearest pillow, squished my face into it, and screamed.
That felt good.
I did it again.
I lowered my pillow and sighed.
As much as I hated to do it, I filled out the online application for math tutors. Couldn’t the tutoring company have been seeking art tutors instead? Not that I was qualified, but why did it have to be math?
We told you so!
:-)
SHUT UP!!!!!!
I filled in the fields asking for my ACT and SAT scores were. Thanks to my parents, I’d taken both, and scored well on both.
After filling out all the remaining information, I clicked SUBMIT and prayed that my age and inexperience would put me at the bottom of the application pile.
I spent another hour combing through job listings. There were absolutely zero jobs related to art.
We told you so!
:-D
A knot had formed in my stomach over the course of the hour. I started to wonder if my parents were right. Based on the jobs I’d found online, it sure seemed that way. But I reminded myself that I did have the museum job. That was art. And Christos’ whole family made money selling art. Heck, I’d made $150 on my crayon painting.
Was it possible to sell ten crayon paintings a month? That would be $1,500, which combined with the $400 from working at the museum, would probably be enough for all my bills. I certainly had time to draw that many.
But would I be able to sell all of my crayon paintings, month after month? Or would I end up sitting down on the boardwalk with stacks of crayon paintings laid out on one of those knitted blankets from Tijuana, and a sign that said “Prices reduced!” and the number “$150” would be Xed out, along with the numbers $125, $100, $75, $50, $25, $10, $5, $1.99, etc., all the way down to “FREE! Please take one!”
It seemed all too likely.
I needed to find a job with a paycheck while I still had a roof over my head.
I ended up submitting a few other applications that I doubted would turn into anything because the jobs actually sounded cool and paid well.
Was it time for me to hit the bricks tomorrow and follow in the time-honored American tradition of working for a fast-food chain restaurant?
We told you so!
