16. Quinn
CHAPTER 16
QUINN
B y the time my first class on Monday rolls around, I feel like I’m spiraling.
My parents’ words kept swirling in my head throughout the rest of the weekend and well into the evening. I hadn’t been able to focus on my assignment for drawing class that’s due this morning. I stayed up all night forcing myself to draw, to put the damn lines down on the damn paper and not think about touching them when they all felt wrong anyway.
I definitely didn’t stare at the project for thirty minutes, picking out everything I loathed about it before I rolled it up and snapped a rubber band around it, tucking it next to my backpack before stumbling into bed.
I didn’t wake up late or have to rush to take a shower because there was graphite smeared all the way up my arm and on my face from where I’d been leaning on my hand while I slept. I didn’t skip breakfast, coffee, and makeup while Rory yelled at me to hurry up so we could make it to class on time.
Just kidding. That all happened .
I sit at the end of the row, having dragged my chair to the furthest possible spot allowed after tacking my work to the wall with the rest of the class. The drawing room today looks like a gallery, the overhead lights spotlighting our creations, cheery chatter happening all around as we spent the first thirty minutes of class roaming throughout the room, examining each other’s projects.
Rory sits to my right, Reid on her other side. I hardly greeted him when we met up for class and I could tell that he wanted to sit next to me, to talk to me, which is why I shoved my chair between Rory’s and the wall and slumped in it like the nervous wreck I am, chewing on my lip until I tasted blood.
It’s not the action of being critiqued that I’m worried about. It’s a drawing class for fuck’s sake, I’ve been getting feedback on artwork for years, it’s engrained in my system by now. I’m fretting over the fact that there’s nothing I like about this piece and I don’t want to show it off at all, even if it’s just for a measly grade.
I don’t want anyone looking at it.
“Who wants to start?” Beatrice asks from her own chair, looking around the room expectantly. I wish presenting last meant that there might be a chance time would run out of class before we could get to mine, but with just less than three hours here, there’s no way anyone is getting left out of critique today.
The bright side is, we might get out of class early and then I can run to the coffee shop and down the four espressos I’m in dire need of before Creative Writing. It’s going to be a late night on campus for me with my Art History study group tonight, and I’m already dreading it.
“I’ll go,” Reid offers, raising his hand. Sweet Reid, always up for anything .
Beatrice gestures to his work and the class quiets down as he explains his piece.
Our task for this project was simple: draw a composition of the human body in any position, along with the skeletal form in a similar pose. This helps us learn about the structure under the form that supports the human body. The skeleton is used as a guide that helps with proportionally placing parts of the human figure.
Reid’s drawn a female form that’s lying on her side. Her long hair is swept over her shoulder and I examine it for a while, wondering if this is a reference photo he’d found on the internet, or something he’s captured in real life.
It’s none of my business, but I’m curious nonetheless.
The skeletal form is drawn a few inches above the figure, and he’s done an extremely good job of sketching it. I can see the straights where he’s gone in with his ruler, Reid’s signature technique, and I admire the flat, sharp lines that he’s brought over from his architectural studies.
“The first thing I see when I look at this is the placement of the figure,” Wynter says when Beatrice asks for commentary. She twists a chunk of her brilliant white hair around her fingers as if she’s nervous, her cheeks a dusty pink. “She’s lying down and looking relaxed, which stands out amongst the group because when the models are posed, they’re usually stiffer, making the form appear less natural.”
Reid’s freckles disappear with the blush that overtakes his face and I know that his project is not based off of an internet picture.
I shift in my seat, nervously. That hadn’t been anywhere close to the first thing I noticed about the drawing, and if this is how every comment is going to be, I’m so screwed.
I sink further into my seat when Beatrice begins calling on other students for their critiques .
By the time we reach my piece, we’re in the middle of the group of works and everyone seems to be getting into the flow, adding comments and rewording critiques that have come before. Size, color, brightness, subject, contrast, and more are all mentioned, and we breeze through my project without any groundbreaking comments. After Rory’s we’re allowed a fifteen-minute break before we continue with the rest of the class.
“That wasn’t so bad,” She says when we stand to stretch. Her back pops as she twists and I wince. That sounded painful.
She and Reid trail me from the room because I’m in dire need of water before I fall asleep in my chair. Most of the class is milling about in the hall, chatting softly to one another or hiding their heads in their phones as if the most important thing has happened while we were in class.
Ironically, my phone buzzes and I slide it from my pocket, opening the group chat Slate has made and named Noisy Neighbors Club.
Slate:
Any1 want 2 grab lunch?
I see Rory checking her messages too and lock my screen, tucking back into my pocket. I’m not in the mood to see anyone right now unless they have a coffee the size of my head in their hand.
“I really liked your project, Quinn,” Reid says when I stand from the water fountain, wiping the droplets from my chin with the back of my hand. Classy, I know, but a girls gotta hydrate. “That pose was impressive.”
I shrug, trailing slowly back to class. We still have a few minutes before we’re due back. “Eh, it’s nothing special.” It’s really not. Rory’s male form on his knees is better than the simple yoga pose I put mine in. I refrained from wondering if her form was based off of a similar pose she put Ace in. If so, she’s a lucky lady.
I should’ve recruited Slate to help me with mine. He has experience holding a pose for an extended amount of time and he would’ve happily done it if I offered him a few beers until I was done. My mind wanders to Knox, if he would’ve helped me if I asked. There are a thousand positions I’d love to see him in, namely, one with him?—
“Just take the compliment, Conroy,” Reid argues, slinging an arm over my shoulder and bumping my hip with his. I stumble, unprepared for the move but Rory’s flanking my other side and wrapping her arm around my waist. It’s more than a little comforting, like my friends know that I’m not feeling very cheery today.
I don’t deserve them.
I duck my head as we stalk back through the classroom doors.
“Thanks, Arlet.”
“I’ll be back late tonight,” I grouse with a hefty sigh. I’d actually love nothing more than to lie my ass in bed right now and bury myself in my phone on social media to avoid my own life for a bit, but, as a less than exemplary college student, I have things to do, classes to study for, et cetera, et cetera.
Except, the internet is fake anyway, and I’ll likely spend the time comparing myself to every photoshopped, filtered picture and video out there. Maybe I should take up reading instead. “I have study group for Art History tonight. ”
“Bummer,” Rory wrinkles her nose. She knows exactly what I’m going through right now, having taken the class last year. Professor Doff, the literal bane of my fucking existence. He’s an ancient man with what I swear is the goal to fail the most students Vulcan University—or any university—has ever seen.
He’s winning by a fucking landslide. I know this, of course, because compared to two months ago when the class began, almost half of the hundred students have already dropped.
“I know,” I sigh, rubbing my tired eyes. It’s going to be a long fucking night.
Rory offered to help me study, but I want to do this on my own. And by on my own, I mean complaining with whatever students come to the study session tonight. Hopefully, one of them knows their shit. Otherwise, I might have to schedule a meeting with the TA or Doff himself, and I would rather one of those ancient buildings crumple on top of me than do that.
If none of that works, then I’ll ask Rory to help me.
“Ace and I are going to order in,” she says, and it’s adorable how she blushes when she says his name. They’re not officially dating yet, but they’ve been hanging out a lot more recently. I bet he’s going to ask her to be his girlfriend soon. “I’ll get you something.”
“You’re a real-life angel, Rory Wilson,” I grin, splitting off from her as I head towards the library. “Don’t forget to lock the door or Slate will sniff you down like a bloodhound.”
Rory’s laughter follows me for a few steps and my mood feels a little lighter because of my best friend. I’m happy for her; she seems smitten with Ace, and she deserves it after that asshole Max treated her like trash right before summer started. She’d been miserable and it hadn’t been a good start to break. She seemed down even when she left for the famous Wilson Family Vacation, but was in better spirits when she arrived home, more than ready to finish our summer with a bang.
A little TLC always helps, and I sure could use some of my own right now instead of lugging open the library doors and searching for the reserved study room.
When I arrive, there’s only one other student there. I can’t blame anyone, because who the hell wants to go to a study group on Monday nights of all nights? The weekend just ended and people are still getting over their Sunday Scaries.
The blond head looks up from his book and when he recognizes me, his grin grows wide.
“Quinn.”
“Odie,” I match his blank tone, and when he pulls out the chair next to him, I plop down into it with a defeated sigh. “Fancy seeing you here.”
He’s wearing a Vulcan University sports jacket and there’s a patch with two hockey sticks crossing over each other. I figured he was a jock by the way I have to hunch in my chair when I sit next to him in class. His shoulders take up two seats alone, but now that I know he plays hockey, the weary part of my can finally relax. Thank fuck he’s not on the football team. Rory would never forgive me for fraternizing with the enemy, even if all we’re doing is studying.
“Fancy? Me?” He teases, leaning back in his seat. “Not like those coffees you like, Quinn. Now those are fancy.”
I laugh, digging around in my bag for my book, but come up empty.
Fuck. Me.
“It seems like I’ve forgotten my textbook at my apartment,” I say bashfully, nervously glancing at my classmate. “Do you mind if we share? ”
Odie shakes his head, chuckling. “First, you’re late to class, and now you forget your textbook? No wonder you’re coming to this study group, Quinn.” He slides the book between us and I stare down at it. The page is open to something that I can’t say I recall seeing before in class.
Oh, I’m so screwed.
“Hey,” I exclaim, like he’s not completely hit the nail on the head. “You’re here too.”
He snorts. “I’m running the study session.”
My jaw slackens and my cheeks turn bright pink. “Seriously?”
Apparently, Odie’s not done laughing at me because he nearly keels over as a new wave hits him. I sit lamely in my chair, tapping my foot as I wait patiently for him to finish. His laughter sounds so similar to the one in my head, the one that accompanies a symphony of ‘ you can’t do this,’ and ‘you’ll never be good enough.’
“Yeah, really,” he says, wiping a fake tear from his cheek. Asshole. “I’m a history major, which means that every kind of history is my jam.”
“Oh, Odie,” I beg because that’s the best fucking news I’ve heard all day. Who would’ve thought that a hockey jock would actually be my guardian angel in disguise? “Please, help me. I’m completely useless at this shit.”
He gives me a pitying look, planting the front legs of his chair back on the ground before slinging an arm over the back of mine. “I’ll make you a deal. You write down that coffee order of yours so I can get it every time I go to the coffee shop from now on, since you’ve still never brought me one, and I’ll help you pass Doff’s class.”
I stare at him, wide eyed. “That’s it? That’s all you want?”
His smirk turns wicked and he winks when he asks, “ What else are you offering me? Want to come be a cheerleader at my game this weekend?”
I elbow him in the ribs, enjoying the way my shoulders ease with our laughter. Odie has been a real saint since the day I was late to class, now so more than ever.
“Nope, no,” I cross my arms over my chest, glaring playfully at him. “You already said what you wanted. There’s no changing now.”
Odie rolls his eyes and I turn back to the book, startling when I catch sight of someone standing outside the glass to our study room, staring directly at me. I’m surprised to see Knox, dressed in a black cable knit sweater and his usual dark jeans. His brows are furrowed, onyx hair tousled in a way that makes my heart stir.
My lips part and I feel like I’ve been caught doing something that I shouldn’t be. Knox stalks away before I can even let out a breath, but it doesn’t matter because every word has eddied from my head anyway.
“You know that guy, Quinn?” Odie asks, staring after him.
I shrug a shoulder, “He’s, uh, my neighbor.” My voice comes out more nervous than it should. I blink hard, shaking myself out of the funk I’ve suddenly slipped into. Knox looked like he actually cared who I’m sitting with and he didn’t look very happy about it. Dragging my gaze from the window to Odie’s book, I ask, ignoring my confused and muddled mind, “So, what are we starting with?”