Deadly Little Lessons by Laurie Faria Stolarz Read Free Book Online Page A

T-shirt. “Besides, I have Adam, remember? Or are you starting to forget things in your old age?”
    “Feisty today, aren’t we?”
    “I guess you have that effect on me.” I run my fingers over the sides of my bowl, at a complete loss.
    “You know what you need?”
    “A dose of inspiration and for people to simply be straight with me?”
    “Trouble in platonic paradise? Am I to assume that you and Adam are having issues?”
    “Who says I was talking about Adam?”
    “Oh, I didn’t realize.” He looks up from shaping a pair of clay nostrils. “Is there some other screwed-up drama going on in your life that I’m currently unaware of?”
    “What makes you think that my relationship with Adam is platonic?” I ask.
    Spencer lets out a laugh, as if the answer were completely obvious. “Can you honestly tell me that things between you and Adam are ache-until-your-loins-sweat hot?”
    “Okay, totally inappropriate conversation…Plus, FYI, love isn’t supposed to ache.”
    “Are you kidding? There’s only heartache with love. Everything else is just hokey-pokey.”
    “I don’t even want to know what that means,” I say. “But for the record, things between Adam and me aren’t exactly platonic.”
    Spencer waves my words away, as if they had zero meaning. “What you need is some time away.” He nods toward my pathetic sculpture and then reminds me that his recent trip to Nice was just what the doctor ordered in terms of getting his mojo back. “How do you think I was finally able to finish Monica?” he asks, referring to his ballerina sculpture.
    “And where do you suppose I go?”
    “Well, for starters, what’s your plan this summer?”
    “Work here, be depressed, eat obscene amounts of ice cream to ward off said depression.” Unfortunately, I’m only half joking.
    “You know what you should do?”
    “Get a gallon of fudge ripple and an extra-large spoon?”
    “Check out some of the summer intensives being offered at various colleges—something in sculpture theory or an abstract design course that will help inform your work. It could give you a real advantage when applying to schools next year.”
    “I suppose,” I say, thinking about Kimmie’s internship at Bonnie Jensen. Despite all the family drama involving her parents’ separation, she’s still pursuing what she wants.
    “I don’t need to tell you that both Savannah and RISD have top-notch programs. And, since I’m an alum of both programs”—he pauses to pat himself on the back—“I may be inclined to provide a bit of pull. For a reasonable fee, anyway.” He winks.
    We spend the next several minutes discussing the idea more, including the pros and cons of various programs, as well as their geographical benefits (i.e., powdery beach sand versus being close enough that Adam can visit).
    “Do you think your parents will be supportive?” Spencer asks.
    “Honestly, they have no right not to be.” For all I know, they may actually welcome the idea of my being away. It might actually benefit us all.
    “Anything you want to talk about?” Spencer asks. “No more bouts of temporary insanity, I hope.”
    “No,” I say, fully aware that he’s alluding to what happened at the studio a few months back. While working on a sculpture here, I had a major psychometric premonition that included both visions and voices. The result wasn’t pretty, and involved my being pinned to the floor by a group of EMTs and jabbed in the leg with a sedative.
    Spencer saw the whole thing. But oddly enough, we haven’t really talked about it, so he thinks it was just a seizure.
    “So here’s what I need you to do for me today,” Spencer begins.
    “I kind of thought I was here to fix my project.”
    “Yeah, right.” He laughs, looking down at my pathetic sculpture. “Give me a hand—literally.” He plops a wad of clay in front of me. “In addition to busts, I need various body parts for this class. Think you can mold me one?”
    “No