Page 33 of Catch Me If You Can

Caleb studies me. Like he’s trying to peel something back. I feel the nerves creeping up my spine. The truth gnawing at me and scratching my skin.

"Okay, I fucking hate it," I blurt out. I haven’t said that out loud and it feels like a whole weight just drops off my shoulders.

"Knew it. So, then why the hell are you there?"

"It pays well."

"You ever think of doing something with art? I remember your sketchbook."

I blink. "You do?"

"Of course. You werereallygood. I always thought you’d get into graphic design or something."

He props his arm on the couch beside my leg—so close. I feel his body heat. Or maybe it’s just my imagination.

“That’s actually…” I hesitate. I’ve never really admitted this before. “That’s actually what I’d love to do. I mean, one day.” I shrug.

“Can I see them?”

This takes me back. “What?”

“Can I see your sketches? You must’ve brought them here with you.” He says looking beside him on the ground. He spots my suitcase across the floor and makes his way to unzip it.

“Caleb, what the fuck–” I say jumping up. But by the time I scramble to him, I’m too late.

He’s already got my sketchbook, that I stupidly left on top of all my clothes, flipped open.

I sit on the floor behind him. My cheeks heat as he flips through the pages.

“You can’t just…” I nibble at my thumbnail. “You shouldn’t go through people’s things–”

“Nathaniel…this is…” he continues staring at my artwork. He zones in on a particular page, and I look over his shoulder to spot what’s got him so caught up.

My eyes widen. He’s staring at a sketch I made back in school. I knew I should’ve thrown it out. After everything but I just couldn’t.

You wouldn’t know it was of him if you just saw it. It’s a charcoal sketch of a young man, holding a microphone. He’s on stage, hair in his face, looking down like nothing matters but him and the stage. With blurred lines, and harsh lines, it’s a wonder if it was made with love or hate. Honestly, I could never tell.. After all, I created it after Prom.

Caleb swallows deeply, his fingers lightly grazing over the sharp lines drawn on the page. “Really…you’re incredible,” he mutters under his breath. “I always thought so.”

I’m not sure if he wanted me to hear that. But damn, it feels good that he does. He really was the only one I shared my art with.

“Let me know when you start selling these. I call dibs on this one.” He winks, holding up the page.

I roll my eyes.It’s all yours,I want to say. But, I don’t. Instead, I just look away. Waiting for this moment of vulnerability to pass. I feel too…closeto him.

He clears his throat, clearly picking up on my energy. "So, keep going. Tell me why you’re choosing to stay, if you hate it so much."

I tug at a loose thread on my shorts.

"The work’s okay. Co-workers are decent. Like I said, the money helps."

"What about your boss?"

The heat in my chest climbs up my neck. Shit.

"Well, I work closely with the Executive Assistant, James. He's... a little touchy."

Caleb barks out a laugh. "Touchy? Are we talking creepy uncle touchy or weird-dad-joke touchy?"

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