Critiques weren’t nearly as painful as I’d feared; Tamora had not, in fact, painted her still life with her ladybits, and Chris wasn’t too obvious in his glances at me when critiquing my piece. I did find myself a little tongue-tied when talking about his painting (which was stupid because it was a picture of plants— nothing remotely romantic there), but it could have been much worse. I made sure to linger after class, slowly covering up my carefully mixed paints and ensuring nothing in my painting would drip or smudge. Mostly though, I just wanted to make it awkward for Chris to wait around for me, which worked—he left with Jane and gave me a little wave on the way out. She grinned like a madwoman, in an I told you so sort of way.
“I’m pretty certain it’s not going to run away,” Ethan grumbled from his stool beside me. He was fully dressed to enter the Michigan night, his beanie scrunched up in his hands. “Though my stomach might, if you don’t get your ass in gear.”
“I’m stalling,” I muttered. I counted slowly in my head, imagining Chris and Jane walking down the hall, potentially lingering to look at the senior theses. “Because someone invited someone else to come to a concert tonight, and now she has to fend off all the awkward interactions before then.”
“Someone needs to stop talking in third person,” he said as I slid on my coat. “Seriously, girl, what’s your problem? The boy’s cute and interested. You’ve worked hard. Don’t you deserve a little senior fling?”
I knew he was trying to be funny, and I knew he had my best intentions in mind, but his words pissed me off more than he knew.
“I told you,” I said slowly, trying so hard not to grit my teeth. “I’m not dating. I’m not sleeping around. I am off limits. And I would appreciate you respecting that and not trying to set me up with a stranger.”
He actually leaned back a little.
“Sorry,” he said. “I just . . . I don’t know, I’m sorry. I thought it might be fun for you to have someone. Because, you know, I’m always with Oliver now and I feel bad making you be the third wheel.”
I shook my head. “I don’t mind. I love Oliver. And I love your stupid face. I don’t need anyone else.”
And I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want to be hurt again.
I pushed those thoughts away, suddenly reminded of the crystal on my altar. Mom had always been spot on in her premonitions. Why hadn’t she been more on target that night? Why hadn’t I? My anger ebbed, replaced with a numbness I’d spent years cultivating. You deserved what happened, that’s why. And that’s why you don’t deserve to date.
“Fair enough,” he said, breaking through my inner diatribe. “Still friends?” He held out his arm and I took it, slinging my bag over my other shoulder. I hated the fact that it reminded me of taking Brad’s arm. I hated that it almost made me miss him.
“Till the end,” I replied.
Together, we wandered down the hall, my feet dragging and Ethan practically pulling me along. He did, however, let me stop near Tina’s display of rings. I’d passed by it every day this week without actually giving it any pause. Then again, I had spent the last few weeks putting up with her crazy K-pop music in the studio while she frantically hammered and sawed and drilled her rings to perfection. We weren’t in silversmithing together—she was in the advanced class, and I was just in intro—but I’d seen her in the studio during open hours. Her work was good. Really good.
“She’s improved a lot this term,” I said, almost but not quite touching one of the rings carved into an ornate teacup and adorned with tiny ruby swallows. “I mean, did you see what she was putting out before?”
Ethan shrugged, glancing both ways. The hall was empty and open, the sky outside so dark it was impossible to tell the time. I knew he didn’t like critiquing work out in the open, and I felt the vibe too—it was almost sacrilegious, in a way, especially in here.
“It is pretty impressive,” he said. Which was an understatement. Last term, the girl could barely solder copper. Now she was blending fine silver and even gold into her pieces, both of which were notoriously temperamental to work with.
I looked over to one of the more intricate rings, which was a delicate lace of silver wire.
“Jesus H. is she using diamonds?” I asked. Because there, in a nest of filigree, was a stunningly cut stone as clear as ice.
“Probably not,” he replied. “Even here, I can’t imagine her leaving anything that expensive out in the open.”
Islington didn’t have a theft problem. I mean, really, where would students run? Lost computers always showed up the next day, either exactly where they were abandoned or at the student’s door with a note saying, “You left this in the library.” But still, all this silver and gold in the open was kind of . . . well, asking for it. Which wasn’t a phrase I used lightly.
Ethan glanced at his watch. “We should get moving. Oliver’s going to be pissed if we miss the concert for anything.”
“Fair,” I said, and let him guide me down the hall. As we walked, I paid a little closer attention to the seniors’ work lining the halls. My own would be up there in two weeks. Some of the kids had put up a good fight (and gone down swinging) while a few others were just stunning. Would I be one of the stars like Tina? Or would I be like Jeremy’s crappy line drawings?
My stomach flipped at the thought of all the students walking down this very hall and judging my culminated work in judgey-judgey silence.