Chapter 4 Gianna #2
‘Are you deranged? Ryker fucking Edwards just asked you out. In front of almost half the entire campus. It was like a public declaration of love.’ Monique’s grin stretches across her face.
She takes a calming breath with her eyes closed before looking up toward the ceiling, splaying her palms wide in offering.
‘God, you can take me now. My life is complete.’ I playfully shove her.
Both of us tilt our heads back in laughter.
‘Were you really going to hit her?’ I ask.
‘I mean …’ Monique considers her words. ‘If I had to. But then your hot hero came swooping in to save the day.’
‘Stop it.’ I link arms with her once more. ‘There’s no way Ryker was serious.’
‘Even if he wasn’t, that was still the coolest thing ever!’
‘It was pretty cool,’ I agree as we giggle down the hall.
Spotting the stairwell that leads to the ground-level lecture halls, I make a split-second decision, break our link and grip the railing to head down.
‘Where are you going?’ She frowns after me. ‘We have Renaissance Lit.’
‘I’m going to the art room,’ I call back as my fingertips tingle. ‘I’ll catch you later.’
When I reach the art room, the doors are closed, which usually means it’s empty.
I cheer a little on the inside. I love it when no one else is there.
Sliding the large wooden door open, I cut across the rows of tables and head to the sunroom on the side.
It’s designated for graduate students, but Professor Quick lets me use this space for my work.
I’m pretty sure he knows I skip class sometimes to come here, but he turns a blind eye.
Just like he did in high school. He’s the only teacher who crosses the grounds to teach in both buildings.
There’s a reason he’s my favourite member of the department.
The scents of paint and clay mix in the air.
The kiln in the corner has warmed up the room, and I push up the sleeves of my sweatshirt.
Outside, a band of light makes its way through the clouds and tree canopy before filtering through the windows lining every wall.
The space gets hot in the summer, but on days like today, it’s perfect.
The art rooms have become my place of solace. A calm place in the storm.
On the table closest to the door sits my work, exactly how I left it.
I’m in the middle of making paper wall hangings.
It’s a tedious task to stick each piece of tissue paper and stretch it to the size I want, but my project is already looking ethereal and I’m determined to see it through.
Slipping my bag off my shoulder, I let it fall to the ground before pulling up a stool.
I use the sink attached to the left wall to fill a container with the part water, part glue mixture and then settle into my space, crossing my legs.
Don’t sit like that! You’ll get a hunchback. I hear Ma’s voice ringing in my ears. Out of spite, I round my spine so much that my body forms a C.
Digging through my bag, I pull out a packet of Razzles, tipping out a few until I find two lemon-flavoured ones.
I pop them in my mouth and bite down, letting the citrus flood my tongue, while I find my amethyst crystal and place it near my work along with my diary and class schedule.
My mind empties as my hands methodically move through the motions of dipping a tissue sheet in the glue mix and layering it onto the board.
I always get a little lost in the moment.
If I had to describe the feeling of peace, this would be it.
‘What are you making?’
I jump, my hand instinctively going over my heart. I look to the doorway, taking in Ryker’s form.
‘Oh, you scared me.’ I breathe a little sigh before gesturing to the board. ‘I’m making paper.’
His knuckles rap along the wooden table as he makes his way over.
His eyes land on an old polaroid camera sitting on a nearby bench; a mix of vintage and DSLR cameras have been left out after yesterday’s photography class.
He picks it up and examines the buttons before switching it on and looking through the viewfinder.
I bring my hand between us just after it flashes.
The camera whizzes and produces a white sheet of film, which he shakes between his fingers a few times.
‘Paper?’ His brow furrows as he approaches, placing the camera and polaroid facedown next to us.
‘Well, I’m layering tissue paper to create my own textured paper. I want to create large, transparent sheets and hang them from the ceiling as a form of installation art.’
He considers this for a moment. ‘Can you teach me?’
‘You want me to teach you how to make paper?’ I repeat in disbelief, a small laugh escaping my lips. ‘The Ryker Edwards wants to make paper?’
He drags a stool over, letting it screech along the hardwood floor. ‘Why not?’
I feel the heat of his body as he sits next to me, his scent mixing with my sanctuary. I like it.
‘Because you ride motorbikes and play basketball and …’ I shake my head, searching for what to say. It’s impossible to put the essence of him into mere words. ‘I don’t know. You just do cool things.’
‘I think what you do is cool,’ he says with a shrug. His eyes catch the open packet of candy. ‘Razzles, huh?’
‘Yeah, I know they taste like chalk at first, but I like them. Pa used to buy them for me whenever we went to Paradiso together.’
‘What’s your favourite colour?’
‘Yellow.’ I push the packet toward him, a silent offering.
He winces. ‘No one likes the yellow ones.’
He tips a few in his palm and tosses them into his mouth. It bothers me more than it should that he doesn’t separate the colours.
‘I do,’ I admit. ‘Especially if they’re the sour ones.’