direction.
A heat that has been less familiar as of late with me trying to forget about him makes my body tingle and my face flush as I face my closet and pull out a clean shirt to exchange the old sweatshirt I threw on when I got home. Artists have two wardrobes: the one we wear to work in, and the rest of our clothes. It doesn’t matter how careful I am while I work; charcoal dust always gets on me, and paint is worse. I hate having to worry about it. That’s why I always change while I’m working and bring extra clothes to change into before I leave school to watch Mercedes.
“We could bring it up to Kenzie again? Maybe she’ll think of someone new to ask.”
“I’m not asking her again. We’ve been down that road several times. Do you know how embarrassing it is to ask for the name of the guy I slept with at a party? Not only that, but now I sound like I am completely hung up on him because it’s been over three months! There’s no way, Charleigh. I’m over it. I was just sketching. It’s no big deal.”
“Maybe—”
“Charleigh, no. Don’t make me sing. You know I will.”
“You’re going to do that anyway.”
“And you love it.”
“No I don’t, because you don’t actually sing the words. You just say them. And I now have this awful habit of turning other people’s words into songs. It’s terrible!”
A small laugh has Charleigh standing with her arm raised, ready to strike at me. “It’s not funny! Stop laughing!”
“I’m teaching you American music.”
“We have American music in England.”
“American culture, then.”
“That isn’t American culture, it’s Lauren culture,” Charleigh objects as she follows me to the door.
“Same difference.”
“No, you’re crazy.”
I open my mouth to say words that will turn her words into another song.
“Lauren!” Charleigh groans, following me down the stairs. “Stop, or I will ask Kenzie.”
I stop and turn to flash her a smile before I start humming the tune.
“C OME ON .”
“What?” Mercedes asks, looking up from the pile of toys she’s been making a valiant effort to shrink.
I stand up from where I’ve been sorting small bolts and screws from across the living room into buckets that I found out in the garage, and look at Mercedes. Over the past week we’ve barely spoken, but she’s slowly become less and less despondent about the idea of cleaning and has started to join in my efforts. By Halloween we might be able to see the floor. “I think we need a break today.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let’s go somewhere. Get some fresh air before it’s too cold to go outside.”
“It’s raining.”
“You won’t melt.”
Mercedes doesn’t bother with a retaliation; she simply rolls her eyes upward and stares at me through her lashes. “Fine, but we’re staying inside.”
“Come on, I’ll take you to the donut shop my friend works at. You’ll fall in love.”
“Donuts?” I notice the glint in her eye and the softening of her jaw as she repeats the word.
“Grab your coat.”
“I don’t understand how you don’t have a car.” Mercedes’ tone is back to being annoyed as we trudge down the long drive.
“I live in the city. There’s not much use for one.”
“But what do you do when you go grocery shopping?”
I glance over at her and watch her dodge a large puddle that has become a constant on the road. “I bring a few bags with me.”
Her eyes meet mine as we continue. “Are you poor?”
A small smile rounds my lips. “I’m twenty-two. Of course I’m poor.”
“So you can’t afford a car?”
“I probably could afford a car, but with the additional costs that come with it and parking it downtown, I’d rather spend my money on things I need and enjoy.”
“How poor are you?” I meet her eyes once again and see worry cross her small features. “It’s okay that I ask, right? I mean … I’m not saying anything bad, am I?”
I shake my head and shove my
A heat that has been less familiar as of late with me trying to forget about him makes my body tingle and my face flush as I face my closet and pull out a clean shirt to exchange the old sweatshirt I threw on when I got home. Artists have two wardrobes: the one we wear to work in, and the rest of our clothes. It doesn’t matter how careful I am while I work; charcoal dust always gets on me, and paint is worse. I hate having to worry about it. That’s why I always change while I’m working and bring extra clothes to change into before I leave school to watch Mercedes.
“We could bring it up to Kenzie again? Maybe she’ll think of someone new to ask.”
“I’m not asking her again. We’ve been down that road several times. Do you know how embarrassing it is to ask for the name of the guy I slept with at a party? Not only that, but now I sound like I am completely hung up on him because it’s been over three months! There’s no way, Charleigh. I’m over it. I was just sketching. It’s no big deal.”
“Maybe—”
“Charleigh, no. Don’t make me sing. You know I will.”
“You’re going to do that anyway.”
“And you love it.”
“No I don’t, because you don’t actually sing the words. You just say them. And I now have this awful habit of turning other people’s words into songs. It’s terrible!”
A small laugh has Charleigh standing with her arm raised, ready to strike at me. “It’s not funny! Stop laughing!”
“I’m teaching you American music.”
“We have American music in England.”
“American culture, then.”
“That isn’t American culture, it’s Lauren culture,” Charleigh objects as she follows me to the door.
“Same difference.”
“No, you’re crazy.”
I open my mouth to say words that will turn her words into another song.
“Lauren!” Charleigh groans, following me down the stairs. “Stop, or I will ask Kenzie.”
I stop and turn to flash her a smile before I start humming the tune.
“C OME ON .”
“What?” Mercedes asks, looking up from the pile of toys she’s been making a valiant effort to shrink.
I stand up from where I’ve been sorting small bolts and screws from across the living room into buckets that I found out in the garage, and look at Mercedes. Over the past week we’ve barely spoken, but she’s slowly become less and less despondent about the idea of cleaning and has started to join in my efforts. By Halloween we might be able to see the floor. “I think we need a break today.”
“What does that mean?”
“Let’s go somewhere. Get some fresh air before it’s too cold to go outside.”
“It’s raining.”
“You won’t melt.”
Mercedes doesn’t bother with a retaliation; she simply rolls her eyes upward and stares at me through her lashes. “Fine, but we’re staying inside.”
“Come on, I’ll take you to the donut shop my friend works at. You’ll fall in love.”
“Donuts?” I notice the glint in her eye and the softening of her jaw as she repeats the word.
“Grab your coat.”
“I don’t understand how you don’t have a car.” Mercedes’ tone is back to being annoyed as we trudge down the long drive.
“I live in the city. There’s not much use for one.”
“But what do you do when you go grocery shopping?”
I glance over at her and watch her dodge a large puddle that has become a constant on the road. “I bring a few bags with me.”
Her eyes meet mine as we continue. “Are you poor?”
A small smile rounds my lips. “I’m twenty-two. Of course I’m poor.”
“So you can’t afford a car?”
“I probably could afford a car, but with the additional costs that come with it and parking it downtown, I’d rather spend my money on things I need and enjoy.”
“How poor are you?” I meet her eyes once again and see worry cross her small features. “It’s okay that I ask, right? I mean … I’m not saying anything bad, am I?”
I shake my head and shove my
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