Chapter Twenty-Eight Sera
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sera
On Monday, Luke asks if I want to go out to his soon-to-be part-time campus with him. He needs to drop off some paperwork he finally got back from his dad, and he says he wants me to see it.
“I know you’re mad at me for not reaching,” he says as we drive, “but it’s a great school, really.”
“I’m not mad at you,” I insist. “I just wish you would admit you have real talent that’s worth exploring.” Thinking about what Iris said, I add, “I think you could be an amazing artist and whatever else you want. You don’t have to be one or the other.”
“That sounds like a lot,” he admits as he pulls off the highway.
“And baseball, work, your family, school, friends, and girls weren’t?” I tease.
He blushes and laughs a little. “I guess you have a point.”
“Of course I do.” I poke him in the shoulder.
“I know you.” I gently poke him in the ribs and he smiles his gorgeous unfiltered smile.
He parks the car in a very empty parking lot, then unbuckles and slides to the middle of the bench seat, reaching for me.
I’m in his lap in seconds, unable to keep my hands to myself.
He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, and his cheeks are a little scratchy, his chin chafing mine as I capture his mouth in a kiss.
His hands make their way across all the sharp points of me, shoulder blades, elbows, wrists, and then he pulls me closer, his tongue moving over mine, liquid and slow. I’m instantly flushed with want.
“You do know me,” he murmurs as he takes a breath.
I groan a little too loud as his hands tense against my hips when I shift against him.
He takes another long, slow breath, holding me still.
“We shouldn’t. Not here.” But he doesn’t let go right away, and I take the chance to press my chest to his and kiss him one more time before I ease off his lap.
“Serious business to attend to,” I joke, once my heart rate is calm and my skin has stopped buzzing. I sneak a sip of his mostly melted iced coffee. “Shall we?”
Luke grabs his backpack, and we head to the main building. The campus is nice. Green and open, even if it is small. Luke drops his paperwork off in the administration office, and they hand him a thick folder and tell him he can start registering for classes as soon as today.
“Can we walk around?” I ask, and the secretary nods, sliding visitor badges over.
“You can’t get into locked buildings with these,” she says, “but the main building is open. You’re welcome to come to orientation even as a part-time student, so anything you can’t see today you can request to see that weekend before classes start the following week.”
It all feels so soon. I’ll be nineteen by then, and I feel a small thrill at knowing I’ve made it further into adulthood. It’s the little achievements that matter.
“Let’s go see where you’ll be going to class and stuff,” I say to Luke once we’re back in the hall. “Maybe check out the library for a good study spot?” I wink.
“Sure.” He takes my hand in his, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles.
“And for the day, can we just pretend that my heart transplant is scheduled and happening and there’s nothing to be anxious about in the next few months other than eight a.m. classes and staying in touch while you’re here and I’m in Boston?”
Luke’s lips quirk up. “I can do that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I lean up and kiss him on the cheek and then pull him down the hall.
We wander for a while, poking our heads into large, empty lecture halls dark with wooden paneling, and long, bright computer labs. The library doesn’t have many secret corners, sadly, but it has some cozy study rooms along one side and a beautiful view of the quad.
“The business finance professors are this way.” Luke points down a sad-looking hallway and starts down it.
“I wonder if the guy I interviewed with is here. He’s from Northport too.
” Luke seems excited, and I try to feel the same.
But it sounds so boring compared to who he actually is, even though I know what he ends up doing for work won’t define him or change him.
The offices are all closed and quiet.
“They’re probably getting the last few student-free days of summer vacation in. My dad’s always grumbling about kids showing up at his office before classes even start at Emerson,” I say. As we pass the next hallway, I notice a splash of colorful art hanging on the wall. “What’s this way?”
Luke shrugs, and we go to check out what turns out to be the art wing.
Student artwork decorates the hall. Most of the studios are closed, but we find one propped open by a paint can.
I raise my eyebrows at Luke and pull the door open.
The room has a high ceiling and long, clear windows against the far wall that let in beautiful light.
There are four sections, one in each corner, that look like they belong to artists of different mediums. A sculptor, two potters, and what must be a screen printer, whose desk is littered with small tins of paint, carved wooden print blocks, and a stack of silk screens.
We wander toward the window and look out. The early clouds have cleared off, and the sky is blue and brilliant.
“Can I help you?” a voice says from the doorway, and we both jump.
“S-sorry,” Luke stammers, “the door was open.”
“He’s starting here in a few weeks,” I add. “I wanted him to check out the studios.”
“Ah, okay. Welcome,” the young woman says as she makes her way to what must be her corner, the desk with all the printmaking supplies.
“These are great,” Luke says, gesturing to the drying rack next to her station. “Are you combining screen printing with linocuts?”
The woman nods and launches into a description of her project.
She lights up as she talks, and I can’t help but picture Luke and her making prints together, getting dinner after class, dancing at parties, maybe even dating.
The idea of it hurts, but I’m not going to kid myself.
Even though we agreed to pretend today, that’s a more likely future for him.
Maybe not this girl, but someone like her.
As we say goodbye and head back into the hall, I can’t help but get excited for him again.
“I can’t wait to visit you here,” I say, taking his hand again and sticking to our pretending-everything-is-fine plan. “I could sit in on your business classes and then come model for your art homework.”
Luke gives me a half-hearted smile.
“Wait, is it uncool to have your pre-college girlfriend come visit? I don’t want to cramp your style.” It’s a joke, but it’s also got some truth in it. “Abbi broke up with her boyfriend before Thanksgiving freshman year. She said it was too much.”
“No.” Luke stops, turning to me. He takes my hands. “I mean, yes, you should come visit. You’re not too much. I don’t want anyone but you.”
I don’t bother to say that he might feel that now, but hopefully won’t always, because he actually sounds upset.
“Okay.” I slip out of his grip and wrap my arms around him. “Then you’re stuck with me.”
“Happily,” he whispers into my hair.
“You’ll have to take me to try the terrible cafeteria lunches and talk about philosophy or psychology or whatever other classes you’re taking.” I laugh, pulling away from him and heading toward the door. We step back into the August heat.
“Or”—Luke swings his backpack around to his front and fishes out a couple containers of food and a bag from Lorell’s—“we could eat on the quad.”
“Sounds amazing.”
He lays out a beach towel on the grass in the shade of a big oak tree.
He’s packed drinks, sandwiches, fruit, and pastries.
We keep playing the what-if game, spinning imaginary scenarios of us together here or him visiting me in Brookline, or even in Paris next summer, now that my application is fully submitted.
Something about having plans in place makes it easier to invent dreams about the future, even if they probably won’t come true.
“Maybe we could do our own study abroad together. After I go to Paris with Maddy, I’ll know my way around, and we can see the art and soak up the culture.”
“If by culture you mean cheese, I’m in,” Luke says, grinning. The sun reflects the strands of copper in his hair. I reach out and play with it, and he closes his eyes.
“I want to go so badly.” I whisper it, in case the universe can hear and is keeping tally on my wishes.
“You will,” Luke says, opening his eyes.
“Maybe.” It’s as much as I’m willing to admit for now.
Luke is itching to sign up for classes, so while I polish off my sandwich, he creates his student account on his phone with the paperwork he was given and starts picking courses.
“Does this sound like too much?” he asks, passing his phone over. “They say to start with three classes if you’re doing part-time like I am, but that feels like so little.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Abbi would know. Or you could ask Izzy.” He nods and goes fishing for the last pastry before I get my hands on it.
I scroll through the list and frown. It’s all basics and business classes, nothing art, nothing literature, nothing that I know will interest that curious, visual part of his mind.
I find the course lists and look through them quickly.
“You should take this Graphic Design 101 class.” I show him the screen. “It fits with the days you’re here, and it’s only a pass/fail.”
Luke’s face falls a little. “I don’t know, Sera. I don’t really have the time…”
“Do it for me?” I finally ask, pushing past the silliness of our fake game to the reality ahead of us.
“Take it for me. Just the one class. And if you like it, take another, but if you don’t, then you don’t have to.
I just…I just don’t want you to miss out on a great opportunity.
And I might not be able to take classes like that, so maybe it’s selfish, but if not this first semester, at least in the first year? Promise? Just try?”
Luke watches me rambling. His green eyes are sad, like there’s a shadow over them. He takes his phone back and adds the class to his schedule.
“I’ll let you know how it goes,” he says as he pulls me into his arms and kisses me. This kiss is small and simple, not hot and desperate like earlier. This kiss feels like the kind we’d have ten or twenty years from now, comfortable and accepting, honest and real.