Chapter 21 #2
The rest of the day flies by in a blur of homework.
By some miracle, Wes does have the page taken down, but the unwanted attention doesn’t stop there.
Monday and Wednesday are particularly brutal, and I’m conscious of the whispers and looks being thrown my way during the three classes I have without Wes.
“She’s not even that pretty,” I hear a girl whisper to her friend.
“I don’t fucking get it.”
“Well, being pretty isn’t the only way to hook a guy. There’s always anal.”
My cheeks burn as the other girl snickers, but I don’t react otherwise.
I stare straight ahead, focusing so hard on the lecture I feel a migraine coming on.
It would be enough to stir a panic attack if not for the lifeline in my pocket, Wes only a text away.
He’s always quick to respond, his cheerful remarks relieving the pressure in my chest.
Somehow, he keeps me sane and in control.
Tuesday and Thursday are smoother. People are on their best behavior when Wes is around, too afraid of getting on his bad side. I wish I had that kind of power, but I’m a nobody compared to him.
No, not a nobody. Now you’re just a whore.
I shove away those thoughts.
Over the next few days, Wes doesn’t bring up the kiss or push me to talk about my freak out. And while he doesn’t kiss me again, I can’t help but hyper-fixate on any sort of affectionate gesture.
After class one day he slips his fingers through mine, holding my hand like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. And while we’re waiting to pick up takeout, he throws an arm over my shoulder and pulls me gently into his side, pressing his lips to the top of my head.
And I don’t hate it. The opposite, in fact. Every time he hugs me or holds my hand or plays with my hair, I want him to keep doing it. I’m drawn to his touch, I crave it, my stomach clenching in anticipation every time his skin touches mine.
I’m confusing myself. I know I am. My desire to be close to him and my fear that I’m not ready for more are constantly at odds, but when my hand is in his, it just feels right.
There’s no other way to explain it. Hell, simply existing in the same space as him, regardless of whether we’re touching or not, calms my spirit and steadies my heartbeat.
It’s easy and effortless. It’s where I’m supposed to be.
On Friday night, we hole up in his room, both of us trying to catch up on schoolwork before we pick our film for the night.
Wes is bent over his desk, working diligently on his senior project, while I sit on his bed with my computer open on my lap.
We work for a while in silence, though eventually I sense his eyes on me from across the room.
I check the time before glancing up, surprised that we’ve gone a full thirty minutes with uninterrupted silence. It might be a new record for Wes. “Yes?”
“Whatcha workin’ on?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.
“My Color Theory project.”
His brows shoot up. “Ooh. Can I get a sneak peek?”
I think about it for a second. Weeks ago, I was steadfast against showing Wes my design work, but now I kind of want him to see it. To know another facet of me and what little talent I possess. So I wave him over, and his face alights with the kind of blinding smile that rivals the sun.
He dives across the bed in a motion that nearly sends me and my laptop flying off the mattress, before pulling himself up to a seated position beside me. I blink at him. “Wow. How much coffee have you had today?”
He snickers, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What can I say? I’m excited. I’ve seen the master at work, but never the master’s actual work.”
“It’s not done yet,” I warn, but turn my laptop screen to face him. I show him my file, forcing myself to watch his face. At first, his expression remains serious as his eyes scan over the design, but then his mouth breaks into a slow grin.
“You made that?” he asks, and I nod, nerves twinging my stomach. “Ivy. It’s beautiful. You’re, like, insanely talented.”
“It’s a take on stained glass to demonstrate simultaneous contrast and the relativity of color,” I explain.
He blinks, and I laugh at his blank expression, trying to find a better way to explain my project.
“How warm, cool, dark, or light a color looks isn’t just about the color itself.
It depends a lot on the colors surrounding it.
Simultaneous contrast is what happens when two side-by-side colors mess with each other and change how we perceive them. ”
Wes nods, his eyes going a little squinty. “I think I understand…”
“Here, let me show you an example.” I point to two of the blue shards of “glass” on my screen. "These two blues are exactly the same color, but because of the colors surrounding each of them, they look way different.”
Wes’s head cocks to the side, his eyes narrowing further. “I’m not calling you a liar, per se, but those blues do not look the same, Ives.”
Using my track pad, I drag both shards off the art board, so they’re next to each other. As soon as they’re free of the other colors in my design, it’s clear as day that they’re the same.
“Holy shit,” Wes says, his face inches from the screen. “My whole life is a lie now.”
“It’s pretty trippy.”
“That’s insane.” He leans back, shaking his head. “Do the pinks now.” I drag two of the pink shards off the art board the same way I did the blues, proving to Wes that they were the same color all along. Wes stares at my computer in disbelief. “How did I never know about this?”
“The same way I never knew about—what do you call it? Biomarkers in disease pathology?”
He smirks. “Well, that one’s to be expected. Can I see more of your work?”
This time I barely hesitate. “Sure. If you want to.”
I spend the next half hour showing Wes more of my art. I take him through the other two projects I’ve done for Color Theory so far and the pencil sketches I did in Drawing 101 first semester. Then, I show him my high school portfolio—the work that got me into Stratus.
As I explain the thought process around each piece, he listens with rapt attention.
He asks questions about the mediums and techniques I used and how I felt about the finished work.
He seems genuinely fascinated, sincerely impressed, and it’s such a drastic change from what I’m used to that it’s difficult to wrap my head around.
My family always treated my art like a frivolous hobby.
Like a waste of time. Like anyone could do it if they had nothing better to do.
But Wes…Wes takes the computer in his lap and studies each piece with the thoroughness and care exhibited only by my art teachers. His eyes roam the artwork, soaking in every brushstroke or pencil scratch or vector line depending on the medium.
“I had no idea you were this skilled,” he says, his voice soft and almost reverent. “It’s really incredible.”
“I’m okay,” I say with a shrug.
“You’re too modest.” He nudges my shoulder with his. “Can I have one?”
At first, I think he’s kidding. But when his face remains intent, my brows rise up. “You want one of my art projects?”
“Hell yeah. Whichever one you don’t mind parting with. Or are they all hanging up in your parents’ house somewhere?”
That question earns him a laugh, though this one leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. “No. No, they’re not hanging anywhere. They’re sitting in the portfolio in my bedroom at home.”
“Seriously?” His brows pull together, a crease forming between them.
“If my daughter had that kind of talent, I’d be telling the entire freaking world.
I’d be one of those obnoxious parents who can’t get through a conversation without bringing up their kid.
I’d be whipping out pictures on my phone like, ‘Say, have you seen Ivy’s latest masterpiece? ’”
I snicker because I could totally picture Wes doing that and shut the laptop. “Yeah, well, my parents aren’t like that. I had to beg them to let me major in graphic design.”
Though, to be honest, I didn’t really beg.
I just refused to go to college for anything other than design, and once they finally agreed, we argued about which school I would attend.
They were adamant I enroll in Harrington, which had a slightly better design program than Stratus.
Harrington had always been my first choice, but even though I preferred the campus and the class offerings, I couldn’t go. I wouldn’t go.
Not with him there.
Luckily, Stratus offered me a way bigger artistic scholarship, and that was that.
Wes slings his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into his side. He presses his lips against the top of my head and murmurs, “Thanks for sharing your work with me.”
“It only took me six weeks to work up the nerve.”
“Better late than never,” he teases before clearing his throat. He pulls back so he can look at my face, and I’m surprised to catch a rare sighting of nerves behind his eyes. My stomach knots in response as I try to predict whatever he’s about to say. “So I wanted to run something by you…”
I bite my nail between my teeth, eyeing him warily. “Okay.”
“My parents are in town tomorrow,” he states.
I blink at him, confused as to why he seemed anxious to tell me that. “Oh, really? Is there an occasion?”
“No, I don’t think so. They’re just making a weekend trip up to visit me.”
“Wow,” I say, knowing my parents would never show the same interest. “That’s nice of them.”
“Would you want to go to dinner with us?” he asks, his eyes fixed on mine. “They’re excited to meet you.”
My pulse speeds up, and I swallow against my suddenly dry mouth. “They, um, know about me?”
He laughs a little as though he finds my question silly. “Of course, Ives. I’ve told them all about you.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised by this admission.
I haven’t told my parents anything about Wes, and for good reason.
I can already imagine the look of horror on my mom’s face if I told her how much time I was spending with a boy.
I picture the wheels turning inside her mind as she comes up with a million different ways in which this could fuck up my life. “Are you sure they’ll want me there?”
He doesn’t even have to think about it. “I’m a hundred percent positive they will want you there.”
I study his face but find nothing but sincerity in his expression. “Well, what exactly have you told them about me?”
He grins like he was hoping I’d ask that exact question. “I told them how much time we spend together, and that you’re a saint for putting up with me. Honestly, they were impressed I haven’t gotten on your nerves yet.”
I give him a look. “They did not say that.”
“They did! And I told them I wouldn’t have passed my first speech without your help and that you essentially saved my GPA, my med school prospects, and basically my entire future career with your kindness, patience, and generosity.”
I blink at him. “Are you serious?”
He keeps going, his grin stretching wider. “I also told them your major and how artistic you are, though that was before I knew the full extent of your talents. Now I can go back and rave about them and how you altered my entire reality when you told me about that color relativity stuff.”
“Wes…”
“And then, of course, I had to brag a little about how cute and cuddly you are. And how amazing you smell. And how soft your lips are—”
I swat his arm. “You did not!”
He smirks at my horrified expression. “Okay, that one was a lie. But they’ll see for themselves how pretty you are in person…once you agree to meet them.”
He blinks at me expectantly, his eyes hopeful as he waits for my response. My heart’s still beating too quickly, anxious at the idea of meeting his parents, but I just can’t say no to the look on his face. I can’t.
“Okay, I’ll go,” I say softly, in slight disbelief that these words are coming out of my mouth.
His face lights up, but I rush out a disclaimer before he can speak.
“But, unlike you, I have no experience meeting parents, so if I do something weird or say the wrong thing or act like a freak, I’m sorry in advance. ”
“I highly doubt you’ll do anything weird or freakish, but if it happens, I’ll do something as equally weird and freakish to draw the attention back to me. And you know how much I love attention. Deal?”
I snort because it’s true. He does love attention. “Alright, deal.”
“Plus, my parents are very chill. They’re not judgmental in the slightest. There’s absolutely nothing to be nervous about.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not socially awkward around new people.”
He weaves his fingers through mine, stroking my palm with his thumb in a way that can only be considered maddening. “You’ll be fine. They’ll be as taken with you as I am. I promise.”