Chapter Twenty-Four
Carly
The best thing about art class is that we’re not graded. The worst part? It’s my last class of the day, and we only meet once a week. Too bad we can’t have only one advanced class instead of every day.
I enter the classroom and take my spot toward the front of the room. My easel and canvas are exactly where I left them last week. My painting of the landscape of my hometown is sort of good—for an amateur like me. I’m excited to continue and see what the finished product will look like.
As the room fills up, I prepare my paintbrushes and the rest of the things I’ll need to resume my masterpiece.
Most of the kids are chatting and laughing, some are complaining how much they hate this class.
Their friends agree and claim they wish they could skip and go for a drive into town.
I hope they don’t because Miss Moreno would be devastated if her students ditched.
“Hey.” Someone plops down at the station on my right.
Glancing up, I find Ryder sitting there, a hesitant and guilty look on his face.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt.
His lips lifting in a small smile, he says, “Coach thinks this class will be beneficial to me, so here I am.”
“Beneficial?”
He dips his head. “Been dealing with personal stuff. You saw how much I sucked at practice yesterday.”
Yeah, he wasn’t at his best, but that happens sometimes. “It’s okay. You’ll do better next time.”
He pushes his stool closer, facing me. “Thanks, Carly. I’m really sorry I was a jerk to you on the bus ride home from the competition. I was trying to catch you all day to apologize, but it didn’t work out. I’m glad I have the chance now.”
I just stare at him, noticing the genuine regret in his eyes, and shake my head. “It’s fine. You don’t need to apologize.”
“But I do. I treated you like garbage. After apologizing and trying to fix our relationship, I messed it all up.”
I just continue watching him.
“I don’t want to go into what was bothering me,” he goes on. “It doesn’t matter because what I did isn’t excusable. I want us to be friends, if you’re okay with that.”
“Yeah, I’m okay with that.”
He smiles. “Cool. Thanks.”
As he talks more about how bad he feels, my head starts spinning. What could he be going through that Miss Moreno thinks art class will help? Why was he so upset the other day and so distracted yesterday at practice? I get that he doesn’t want to tell me, but I’m so curious.
Ryder must be able to somehow read my thoughts because he smiles unsurely, plowing his fingers through his hair. “It’s just family stuff, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
Now that he mentioned his family, it dawns on me that I don’t remember seeing his parents at the competition. Maybe they couldn’t make it? Did he perhaps get into an argument with them before we went on stage or something?
Smiling lazily, his eyes roam around the room. “It’s so cozy here. Feels like a place someone can get lost in.”
“That’s how I feel when I paint. And then the bell rings and I don’t want to leave. Sometimes Miss Moreno lets me stay an extra half hour. But of course I can’t do that now because of dance practice.”
“So you know how to paint and stuff?”
“I mean, I’ve been taking art since freshman year, so I know a thing or two.”
His eyebrows furrow and…does he look nervous? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ryder Bennett this nervous before, except by the dance competition. “So maybe you can teach me a thing or two?”
“Sure.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
“But really, I think you should just paint what you feel.”
He nods slowly, eyebrows dipping even more. “What if I don’t feel anything?”
“Pick something that means something to you. Like maybe football or your injury. You shouldn’t be afraid to be vulnerable. That’s the point of this class. You’re free to express yourself however you want.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “You sound like Coach.”
I laugh. “She has said it once or twice or a million times.”
He chuckles, too, the sound so pretty I can’t help but stare at him. For the past few days, he was so gloomy and aloof. It’s great to have the old Ryder back. Though I can’t help but notice he still carries a lot of pain in his eyes. It’s more than it was in the past.
Miss Moreno enters the room and instructs us to continue our paintings.
She heads to Ryder to publicly welcome him to the class, then returns to her desk.
Girls wave, smile, and squeal at him because he’s in this class.
He gives them his typical, charming smile that just makes them squeal more.
Then his eyes land on me and his smile drops.
Clearing his throat, he says, “Sorry,”
I wave my hand. “No, by all means enjoy your fans. I know they make you happy.”
I turn to stroke my paintbrush on the canvas and feel him frowning. Not at me, but at himself. I don’t know why he cares how I feel about him and his fans. He’s free to do whatever he wants. Even though it annoys me that the girls are always chasing him, it’s really not my business.
“Look, Carly—”
“I think we should focus on your painting.”
His lips snap shut and he nods.
“Choose a topic that means something to you,” I tell him. “It can be something fun, serious, whatever you want.”
“Right. Football.”
“Okay.”
He eyes his blank canvas like it’s a death sentence. “So I draw a football field…?”
“You’re the artist. It’s only your first time, so no one expects you to delve deep, but maybe one day you will. We’re not graded in this class and you’re free to paint or draw whatever you want. But most importantly, have fun.”
He bends close to me, waggling his brows. “I sure am going to have fun because I’m sitting next to the awesome Carly who’s going to take us to nationals with her amazing dance routines.”
I snort. “I barely got us past the first round, but thanks.”
“Maybe, but this new routine is sick. We’re going to make waves for sure and everyone will wonder who the heck are these Harrington Bay Academy Eagles and how are they demolishing everyone?”
Laughing, I playfully shove his chest. “Yeah, right. Maybe in your dreams.”
He catches my hand. “Why just in my dreams? You’re so talented, Carly, you can do anything.
And I mean literally anything. That includes transforming our inexperienced dance team to the top of the top.
No one will know where we came from. Baaam!
We’ll be like dynamite.” He waggles his brows again, a wide grin on his face.
I push away some hair that’s curled around his forehead and getting in his eyes. Then, after I realize what I’ve just done, I quickly drop my hand. We’re not that close!
“It’s really great to see you smiling again,” I say. “You know, you kind of worried me.”
He searches my eyes. “I did?”
“Yeah. You were so down, I didn’t know what to think. But I’m really glad you’re in a better place now.”
“Thanks, Captain. Means a lot that you actually care.”
“Well, yeah. We’re friends, right?”
He smiles warmly. “Yeah.”
We stare at each other for what feels like forever before I pull my gaze away. “So try to paint. Whatever you feel, put it on the canvas.”
He inclines his head. “Will do.”
“Let me know if you have any questions.”
The room is mostly quiet as everyone paints. I focus on mine, but my eyes keep darting in Ryder’s direction. He dabbed his paintbrush into green paint and holds the brush over the canvas, hesitating. Then he nods to himself and paints a line.
“No idea what this is, but at least it’s something,” he says with an embarrassed chuckle.
“Go on. Don’t stop.”
Fifteen minutes later, he’s painted a green box, which I guess is supposed to be a football field? And a guy standing in the center.
He hangs his head. “Told you I’m bad at this.”
“This is so cute.”
His head lifts. “Cute? Looks like a five-year-old painted it.”
“So what? This is your first painting and you did well. Maybe you can give it to your mom when your parents come for Parents’ Day and she can hang it on the fridge.”
He gazes at the painting, his jaw clenching. “Doubt she’d want this lame thing,” he mutters. “Or that they’ll come at all.” He said the last part so low I’m not sure I heard him right.
“It’s not lame, Ryder. I think it’s very cute. At first, it just looks like a box, but the more I look at it, the deeper I understand it. See his face?” I point to the football player. “He’s so happy to be playing football. I bet that’s how you felt before every game.”
He nods. “Yeah, I did.”
“And this field? The way you painted it makes me think it felt like home to you. Like you were safe there.”
He gapes at me. “You got that just from looking at it?”
“Yeah, because you shared a part of yourself in the painting. You might think it looks lame, but I see a lot in there.”
“Wow. So not only are you an amazing choreographer, you’re an art guru.”
“No, it’s pretty obvious.”
“Because you know me.”
“No, because you put yourself in your painting.”
He looks at it, tilting his head from right to left. “Hold on. I need to add something. Don’t look.”
I busy myself with my painting until he’s done. After he tells me to look, I take in the changes that he made. He added a girl next to the football player. She has dark red hair and she’s wearing our dance uniform. She also has a bright smile on her face.
“Is that me?” I ask.
“Yeah. Now that I no longer have football, I’m still connected to it because I’m part of the dance team. And we perform by halftime. Because you put the dance team together, it gives me the chance to still keep that part of myself alive. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does. See, you’re getting the hang of this.”
He smiles.
I bend forward to get a better look at the girl who’s supposed to be me. “She looks like she’s exactly where she belongs.”
“That’s how you are. You’re going to be this awesome choreographer, your name will be flashing all over those Broadway signs.”
“It’s called a marquee and my name won’t be on there.”
“I bet it will.”
“Will not.”
“Will too.” He places his hands on either side of my face and looks into my eyes. Everywhere he touches me tingles. “You don’t even realize just how talented you are, do you?”
“If I was so talented, we would have placed higher at the competition.”
He groans. “Carly. Do I need to call Coach over here so she’ll tell you herself? And she’s the expert, so she’ll know.”
“No.”
His mouth lifts into a crooked smile. “Because you know she’ll say you’ve got a gift, right?” He nods at his painting. “Just look at her. She’s incredible. The person, I mean, not the painting.”
I’ve been hard on myself because we got last place, but I need to stop wallowing in the past. We have to win our next competition and the only way we’ll do that is if we have a confident choreographer.
“Okay, thank you for the compliments.”
He lowers his head. “Anytime, Cap’n.”
The bell rings, and many kids fly out of the classroom because they’re done with school for the day.
“You know, Coach was right,” Ryder says to me as we head to the gym for practice. “Art really does help with stress. I feel like I’m ready to focus on practice today. I promise I won’t suck like I did yesterday. Got a clear head and my heart is into it.”
“That’s good.”
“Ryder!” Girls from the team surround him when we’re a few feet away from the gym. They talk about different things, once again dragging him with them just like they did on the bus.
Sometimes I forget that he is who he is. When we’re together, it’s just me and him. Friends who are becoming closer. It’s like we’re in a bubble. But then it pops and I remember we’re in the real world. And in the real world, Ryder loves attention from girls.
I stop walking when he yanks himself away from them and makes his way to me. “Sorry. What were we talking about?”
“Ryder!” the girls chant. A few aren’t from the team and have come to watch him practice.
I shrug. “I don’t even remember.” His family stuff and stress, but I don’t want to bring it up because I don’t want to hurt him.
His face falls. “Oh, too bad. Anyway, let’s go inside. The team is waiting for their captain.”
We walk side by side as we enter the gym. Ryder stares ahead, but he must feel me looking at him because he turns his head and smiles. I return it.