Chapter Twelve
Lexi
Art class…not my strongest subject. But I do love the fact that I can express myself and get out of my head for a bit.
Nate was supposed to share this class with me, but he decided last night to switch out for physics, per his parents’ request. So it seems like I’ll be all alone. Bummer.
I settle down at my station and sort through my paints, waiting for the teacher to arrive. What I love most about art class is that you can’t fail. All you have to do is try. I’m a pretty decent student, but I get stressed out a lot about getting good grades. I don’t want anything to get in the way of following my dreams. So it’s nice to have one class where I can unwind and just enjoy myself, even if my drawings and paintings look like a five-year-old did them.
My eyes widen in surprise when Brock peeks his head inside, his gaze surveying the room like he’s not sure he’s in the right place. It’s only the third day of school and he still doesn’t know his way around.
I’m about to call out to him and ask which class he’s looking for, but he nods to himself and walks inside. Wait a sec. Is he in my art class? I haven’t compared my schedule with him like I did with the rest of the gang, so I have no idea what classes we share.
He must not see me because I’m all the way by the window and is about to lower himself at a station across the room. I call out, “Brock!” and wave my hand.
His gaze shoots to me, and a surprised and excited smile takes over his face. He grabs his backpack that he lowered to the floor and hurries over to me. “Hey. I didn’t know you’re in this class.”
“Yeah, I take art every semester. I mean, I suck at it, but I like it. Gives me the chance to sit in peace and quiet and reflect.”
“Cool, that sounds like something I might need. Is this seat taken?”
“Yeah, by Brock Hastings.”
He chuckles before lowering himself at the station next to me. “I didn’t take a lot of art classes at my old school, but I’ve always wanted to. I figured I should give it a shot this semester and see if I like it.”
“Good call. Who knows, maybe you’ll be the next Picasso.”
“Ha. More like a No-casso.”
That has me giggling.
Oh my gosh, why am I so freakin’ happy that I share this class with Brock? Maybe because like bio, I finally have a chance to have him all to myself? Okay, maybe that sounds rude and selfish, but I’ve always loved our moments together alone. I want to have them again, so desperately.
“By the way, I’m going to be thanking you a million times for bringing me that spaghetti and meatballs leftovers for lunch,” I tell him. “I’ve missed eating your mom’s cooking. She must have perfected it over the years because this was the best it’s ever been.”
Brock taps his lips as he thinks. “Maybe, but I suspect another reason.”
I lean in close with my brow raised. “Ooh, a superhero power? Maybe she has a mutation that turned her into the best cook in the world. Her new name is… Chef Woman.”
Brock bursts out laughing. “Chef Woman?”
“No, you’re right. Your mom is so much more than that. I’ve always admired how strong and independent and fearless she is. So let’s see…Kickbutt Woman.”
Brock laughs again. “She’d love that.”
I raise my chin proudly. “So you can thank Kickbutt Woman for the yummy spaghetti and meatballs.”
“And Kickbutt Man.”
“Huh?”
“I suspect the reason why the food came out so delicious was because my mom and dad cooked it together.”
“Aw, really? That’s so sweet and romantic.”
“Right?” He sits back in his seat with a content smile. “I wish I could have a relationship like that one day—”
“Good afternoon, students!” A boisterous voice says as a woman walks into the art room. “My name is Mrs. Jackson and I can’t wait to share art with all you eager young people! I know you all know each other very well, and I’d like to get to you know all as well. So let me call attendance so I can familiarize myself with each and every one of you.”
I’ve always been like the last kid called, since my name is West, so I kind of space out as she goes through the names. When she calls out Brock Hastings, he raises his hand and says “Present!” in this adorable way that makes me want to… I don’t know, like squish him or something.
He and I are getting along so well, thankfully. I mean, I still feel something between us. Something that’s still preventing us from growing as close as we were when we were kids. Maybe we’re tiptoeing around each other, both of us scared we might say or do the wrong thing?
“Alexis West?” Mrs. Jackson calls.
My hand flies up. “Lexi, please.”
She beams. “Lexi. Got it. Now that I’ve gotten to know all of your names, let’s start today’s class.”
We’re assigned to pick any object we want and paint it. I look around for something interesting and unique, but there’s nothing too exciting in this room. Then an idea hits me and I grab my backpack. I carefully remove the blue whale keychain Brock gave me and place it on my station.
Brock leans in close. “Are you going to paint the whale? Nice.”
His face is pretty close to mine. I can see my reflection in his gorgeous blue eyes. I can stare into them for hours and hours.
He must realize it, too, because he pulls away and rummages inside his backpack for something to paint.
“You are my model for today, awesome whale,” I tell my whale as I adjust it near my easel. “Time to show the world just how amazing you are.”
“You think a pen is too boring?” Brock holds up his pen.
I raise a brow at him.
“Yeah, thought so. I guess I’ll paint that globe. Why is there even a globe in here?” He gets up and fetches the globe that sits in the back of the room.
When he returns, I say, “I think this classroom used to be a geography class.”
“That explains the globe.” He studies it closely. “Well, this has seen better days. Look.” He holds it out to me. “Australia is gone.”
I gasp dramatically. “How could they destroy Australia? Imagine, all those people and the poor lost koalas and kangaroos.”
“And platypuses. Don’t forget the platypuses.”
I clutch my heart. “Please forgive me, sacred platypuses.”
We both laugh.
Brock places the globe on his table and turns it so Australia isn’t visible. “There. Now I can at least pretend that the world is whole.”
For the next half hour, the students work in silence. Mrs. Jackson walks around the room, checking on our work. I peek at Brock from time to time and notice how hard he’s concentrating on his work. His brows are furrowed and he’s constantly pushing his bangs out of his eyes impatiently.
“Do I have paint in my hair?” Brock asks.
I blink at him. “What?”
“These bangs keep getting in my eyes.” He pushes them away again. “Do I look like Evie?”
Evie is Brock’s cousin, the oldest child of Mr. and Mrs. Hastings. She’s a super-talented artist and is also in a band with her husband, Noah, who is also Brock’s cousin. Evie tends to be a little scatterbrained at times and often gets paint in her hair. But that just adds to her personality and makes her so…Evie.
“Nope, no mini-Evies around here,” I assure him. “Are you going to cut your bangs?”
He stops painting for a second. “You think I should?”
“No, of course not! I love your bangs.”
He smiles. “Thanks. Me, too.”
We paint in silence for a bit, until I say, “How are Evie and Noah, by the way? I saw on Spill It! that there are rumors they may go on tour again. But I thought they were going to wait until the baby is a little older.”
Spill it! is a popular social media app created by Easton’s dad.
Brock raises his shoulders. “I haven’t heard anything about that. But they should be visiting me and my family over the weekend. Maybe I’ll get some intel.” He accidentally slides his paintbrush across his cheek, smearing it with green paint. “Ah, shoot.”
“I got you.” I grab a paper towel and move closer to him, my leg getting caught in his easel and making me lose my balance.
Brock catches me by the shoulders. “You okay?”
I’m once again super close to him. And completely entrapped by those gorgeous blue eyes.
“You okay, Lexi?” he asks.
I blink a few times. “Yeah, sorry.” I laugh sheepishly. “My foot got caught in your easel.”
“Sorry, I’ll move it.”
“That’s okay. It’s perfect where it is. My foot was the problem. Um, I should wipe away the paint before it dries.” I move closer to him and sweep the paper towel across his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath. I sense his eyes are pasted on me, but I don’t want to look up. Because I know I’ll get sucked into them again.
“Thanks,” he says when I’m back at my station.
“No problem.”
We’re once again quiet as we continue working on our paintings. I try not to frown at my work. Ugh, how could I make such a wondrous creature like a whale look so bad?
“Terrible,” Brock says.
“Right? I’m a shame to the whale community. My whale looks like a monkey.”
“What?”
I glance at him. “What?”
“Look.” He turns his easel toward me and shows me his painting of the globe. “Isn’t this the most horrendous painting you’ve ever seen in your life?”
“It’s not so bad!” I say.
“Thanks, but I’m clearly a No-Casso,” he says with a light laugh.
“And I’m a No-Vinci.” I turn my easel toward him.
“That’s pretty adorable,” he says.
“It looks like a five-year-old painted it.”
“I think it’s great.”
Why does that make my face heat up?
“What do you say, little whale?” Brock reaches for the whale and motions it swimming in the water. “I love it,” he says in a kid voice. “It’s amazing just like Lexi, who will be an incredible marine biologist and help save creatures like me around the globe.” He makes the whale swim toward his globe painting.
“That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Jackson says. “You guys should put your paintings together and hang it up in the hallway. It would give such a beautiful message. How important it is for humans to save endangered animals around the globe.”
Brock and I exchange a smile.
“Class will end any minute now,” the teacher continues. “I want to tell you what your next assignment is. Portraits. But not a self-portrait. I want you to pair up with the person sitting next to you and paint them. Look into their eyes, into their heart, into their soul, and capture the wonderful person inside. Look beyond the outside and try to dig deep to discover just who he or she is. You don’t have to work on your projects after school. We’ll work on them during class.”
The bell rings and students start gathering their things.
“Apologies in advance if my limited art skills paint you as a witch,” Brock says as he sweeps his backpack off the floor. “I wish I had the skill to paint you as I see you.”
I tuck some curls behind my ear. “Oh, thanks. Same for me. Don’t shoot me if I paint you like a troll.”
That has us both rolling.
“I guess we’re the perfect pair, then, right?” Brock says with a grin.
I swallow, wishing his words meant something deeper than that. “Yeah. The perfect pair.”