Ansel hunts me down before first period starts to give me a chocolate cupcake with yellow icing, one candle sticking out of the top.
“Ansel,” I take it from him, fighting a smile, “thank you.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal and not thoughtful at all. “I’d light the candle but if a teacher sees I might get kicked out,” he jokes with a playful wink.
I close my eyes and make a wish anyway. He plucks out the candle so I can eat the cupcake. Taking a bite, I stifle a moan, because the cupcake is pretty dang good.
“Here, have a bite.” I hold the cupcake out to him.
“Thanks,” he says, chewing.
When I look up, I spot Lachlan watching us and an ache fills my belly. After our run in outside the condo’s gym a few weeks ago, he’s been avoiding me. It’s not like he can hide from me during my period with him, but he’s been strictly professional, almost cold at times.
It’s killing me inside, and I want to talk to him about it, but he never gives me the chance. The last time I tried to bring it up at school, he looked like he was going to choke and kept staring at the door like we’d be walked in on again.
We pass by Lachlan and I try to hide my disappointment when I don’t even get a smile from him.
“So, I was thinking,” Ansel begins, drawing my attention back to him and away from the brooding man now somewhere behind us, headed back to his office no doubt, “prom is coming up and we should go. As friends,” he adds, “strictly friends.”
I laugh at him for wanting to make that very clear. Posters line the halls, reminding juniors and seniors to buy their tickets for the upcoming prom on May second.
“I wasn’t planning to go,” his shoulders fall, “but it could be fun.”
Sasha was asked by someone on the baseball team and I know she’s thrilled. She’s been telling me I have to go for the last two weeks.
“I’ll buy the tickets,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “I’ll buy my ticket.”
“No, Meadows. I’ve got this.”
I shake my head. “Whatever you say.” Though, I still plan to get my own. It’s not fair to him to ask me as friends and then pay for everything.
We reach class and have to cease all talk of prom to get to work on our final major project for art class. We’ll have a few smaller things after this, but this will count for the majority of our grade. Mrs. Kline divided us into groups of four and then we were given a painting to divide into fourths. The section of the painting we’re assigned to paint will be done on a ceiling tile that will be installed in the front office at the end of the year.
Pulling out the paints I’ll need, I get to work on my section. I’m nowhere near the level of artist the other students are, but I’m doing my best, and I don’t think my section looks half-bad. It blends fairly seamlessly with the rest.
“Looking good, Meadows.” Ansel bumps my elbow playfully on his way back over with his paint palette.
“Thanks.”
Mrs. Kline puts on some music and we get to work. It’s nice to get lost for a while in the swirls of colors in the classic Picasso painting we’re recreating.
It’s his painting, Girl Before A Mirror, and somehow it feels fitting that this was the one I was assigned to be a part of. That’s how I feel a lot of times, as if I’m standing before a mirror, trying to figure out who I really am, if what I see reflected back at me is true.
My paint brush strokes over the tile, adding a second layer of color to a part I already painted, to help fill in some of the whitish gaps where the paint doesn’t want to stick to the tile.
“Looking good,” Mrs. Kline tells me as she passes by.
My cheeks heat under her approval. Art class has become one of my favorites. I recently had to buy another sketchbook because I filled the first.
Ansel, overhearing her, looks up from his own tile and smiles at me.
His brown hair flops over his forehead and with his grin he’s all boyish charm. My heart pangs with something I can’t understand, but once again I find myself wishing it was him I had feelings for. Things would be a hell of a lot less complicated.
The last notes of the very loud, very off-key version of the happy birthday song that Sasha and Ansel sang, lingers in the air. Seth, of course, did not join into the festive song.
The librarian glares at us with a warning, but doesn’t say anything since we’re always quiet.