Chapter 4 Gianna #3
He spots my class schedule. Picking it up, he examines it. ‘Damn, a three-hour Renaissance Literature lecture?’ He whistles. ‘Why’d you choose that?’
I shrug. ‘Monz chose it, and it kept Ma happy. Two birds, one stone type of thing, I guess.’
‘Ahhh, the old best friend and mother influence.’ Ryker nods a few times before returning the paper. ‘Is that why you like coming here so much?’ he asks, reaching for a piece of tissue. He pauses, watching as I gently dip my tissue in glue and place it flat on the board.
‘Well, art’s my major, but I like the quiet,’ I say, smoothing out the sheet. It’s more than that. When I create an artwork, I put everything I have into it. Every emotion, or sometimes even a memory … art is a way for me to freeze emotions and keep them forever.
‘Well, you sure found it,’ he says on the heels of a small laugh, soaking his own tissue. ‘It’s really fucking quiet in here, Gianna. You’ve always got your earphones in. Why don’t you put music on or something?’
He lets his tissue soak for a little too long and the piece breaks apart when he pulls it out. He frowns at the mess, as if it’s not doing what he told it to.
‘I can hear myself think this way. Here,’ I offer, grabbing a new piece of tissue. ‘Like this.’
I press a corner into each hand and place my fingers on top of his. I don’t feel butterflies so much as a fire that sizzles beneath my skin. Or an explosion of Pop Rocks in my stomach, one by one, until they make my body tremble and flare.
Our hands move as one, dipping the tissue into the cool mixture for a split second before pulling it out and laying it flat on the board.
‘Perfect.’ I smile.
When I look up, Ryker is staring at me. My chest swells, inflating with pride. I love his eyes on me. I don’t know what he’s thinking of or if he likes it too, but I don’t want him to look at anyone else like this.
‘Can I tell you something?’ He leans in close, with his elbows resting on the table. A burst of heat creeps its way up my neck.
Oh, shit.
All I can manage is a nod. His eyes stay locked on mine and I can smell the sweetness of candy on his breath.
‘I want you to know …’ He barely breathes, and all I can focus on is his mouth.
I’d give anything to know what he tastes like.
His lips are full and look so soft, even when they curl up into a sudden grin that snaps me from my daydream.
‘You look really suspicious walking around campus sometimes.’ He laughs, breaking the spell.
I lean back, dumbfounded. My face is so hot, I know I must be bright red.
‘What do you mean?’ I frown, willing the feeling away.
‘C’mon, Gianna.’ He raises his brows. ‘The way you walked in here was so suspicious. You were looking over your shoulder and sneaking around, like a little suspect. Anyone could tell, if it weren’t for the fact this place is empty, that you don’t have Art right now.’
I groan and busy myself by placing another tissue in the concoction. ‘I guess I could work on that.’
‘If you plan to keep on skipping classes, yeah.’
‘Wait, why are you watching me anyway?’ I accuse.
‘I always watch you.’
‘That’s a little stalkerish.’
He shrugs and we’re silent for a beat. I steady my hands with a task so I don’t get lost in the fantasy of his lips again.
Ryker stands, wiping his hands on a cloth before picking up the polaroid. He studies the snapshot for a moment, then pockets it as a blinding white smile splits his face.
‘Can I see?’ I ask. ‘I want to make sure I look okay.’
‘You could never take a bad picture. Come on.’ He offers his hand.
‘The lecture’s three hours, remember?’ I shake my head, laying down another piece of tissue. ‘There’s no way I’m showing up to Renaissance Lit now.’
‘I know.’ Ryker looks down at me with a gleam in his bright blues. ‘We’re both skipping class.’
‘What do you mean? Where are we going?’
‘Do you trust me?’
I fight an eye roll. ‘Of course I trust you.’
‘Well …’ He presses his palm forward.
I look down at my artwork, my breathing turning shallow as I chew on my bottom lip.
I want to go. If I don’t, I’ll just wait until Monique is free for lunch, then come back afterward.
At the end of the day, I’ll go home, avoid Ma, shower and then lock myself in my room to do more drawing.
Maybe eat. Maybe sneak into the kitchen after Ma’s asleep to make a sandwich.
Then later, in bed, I’ll lie awake only to dream about all the things I wished had happened in the day.
And then I’ll do the same thing tomorrow.
The same routine. Every. Single. Day.
I look at where Ryker stands patiently. So full of life, curiosity and fun. What does he do that makes him love life so much?
Screw it.
Energy buzzes underneath my skin and I’m sure my face will crack from the smile that stretches across it.
I use the same cloth Ryker did and wipe my fingers of glue before placing my hand in his, letting him lift me from my seat.
With his free hand, he reaches down to pick up my backpack, then he’s leading me out the doors, fingers interlaced in mine.
‘Hell yeah, Little Suspect.’