Page 29 of Breakaway Goal

Her brow lifts with surprise and interest. “Businesses to art? Wow. Suddenly decided you don’t like money as much as you thought you did?”

I chuckle. “Something like that.”

We lift our canvases to carry into the storage room where the class is keeping them until next session when we’ll add the finishing touches.

“Yours is incredible, too!” I exclaim, impressed by the way she’s starkly contrasted the vivid colors on her canvas. “It reminds me of a Patrice Edwards painting.”

Her expression brightens. “I’ve been obsessed with her ever since I went to the exhibit she held in New York back in June. Maybe I’ve been painting too much like her, but I just can’t stop thinking about how blown away I was seeing her work in person. There’s no way an image in a book or on a computer can do her textures justice.”

I gasp. “You went to that exhibit? I’m so jealous.”

We talk about some of our other favorite artists and biggest influences as we walk out of the art building. It feels nice to talk with someone in person who actually understands all my art references. Jasmine’s always willing to lend an ear to my art yappings, but she doesn’t really get why certain paintings or artists excite me like a fellow art major would.

“Hannah, by the way.” The girl holds out her hand.

I return her smile and shake her hand. “Maddie.”

“Did you have lunch yet?” she asks. “I’m meeting some friends at the dining hall for lunch. They’re all art majors, too. One of them even has Figure Drawing with Clarkson, so I’m sure you’ll bond over your shared suffering.”

I feel excited at the prospect of making more art major friends. I’m still keeping in touch with Yun-he and Ayanna from the party Rhys took me to. “Sure!” I exclaim.

My first instinct is to cringe at myself for coming across as over-eager, but I manage to suppress it.

Being too concerned with how I’m perceived, worrying that any little thing I do could somehow make a bad impression, is one of the key drivers of my social anxiety. I’m trying to be mindful of my own tendency toward self-criticism to keep it from holding me back like it has.

In the dining hall, Hannah leads me to the table where a big group of people are already sitting—including one I recognize.

James, from my Figure Drawing class.

He’s in the middle of laughing at something someone else just said. His smile is carving dimples into his cheeks and showing off his straight, white teeth. He has a great smile. Great eyes, which look even nicer when they’re crinkled in laughter. Not to mention great hair, blonde and thick, curling slightly at the ends.

He's cute. Really cute.

But, for some reason, it’s like I only …recognizehow cute he is. I don’tfeelit. My stomach doesn’t flip, my heart doesn’t do anything funny, there’s no dancing of sparks over my skin, no feeling shooting up and down my spine. It’s nothing at all like when I see …

I push the thought from my mind before I can finish the sentence.

Hannah greets her friends as she takes a seat. I sit next to her.

James turns towards her to say hi, and his eyes lock with mine. The traces of laughter melt from his face. But his expression only drops for a moment before something glimmers in his eyes and his lips curl up again.

“Maddie,” he says, sounding surprised—pleasantly surprised? “Hey.”

Okay, now Idofeel a little something, with his warm chestnut eyes resting on me with that glimmer in them.

Hannah introduces me to the rest of her friends, but after a couple minutes James and I settle into a conversation just between the two of us. We laugh about how rough a grader Clarkson is, and I ask him about what kind of art he’s most into.

“I do ceramics and some sculpture,” he answers.

“Oh, cool! I have, like, no experience with any of that,” I say with a laugh. “I mostly just paint. But I’d love to take an intro course in sculpture or ceramics one semester if I have time in my schedule. Do you have any pictures of pieces you’ve made?”

He takes out his phone. “I post a lot of my stuff on my Instagram, actually.”

My stomach shifts a little as my nerves flutter. Is he asking for us to exchange Instagram accounts?

He answers that question by following up with, “We should follow each other.” And I’m sure I’m not imagining the smirk that’s tilted wryly on his lips while he says that.

Now my nerves flutter with more energy. I recall my conversation with Jasmine from our first night at Lane’s and Rhys’s place, and a feeling of tension mixed with excitement streaks through me.

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