Page 27 of I Knew You Were Trouble

I pull at my tank top, trying in vain to cover up my midriff. What was I thinking? Belly shirt in mid-December? Bad girls aren’tstupid.

Tristan and Raina walk in, and by the size of their eyes when they look me up and down, I’ve achieved the desired effect—look nothing like I usually do.

I copied Miss Barley as much as I could without looking like I was copying her. She looks like an adventurous artist. Her typical tank-over-sports-bra style was still pushing it out of my comfort zone, so I eased my way in there with a cut-off tank that covers all of my bra and zero of my belly button and paired it with blood red bottoms that drawstring shut and hang super low on my hips.

I have never shown this much torso in my life—even while swimming. Bikinis were for naughty girls, or so my Sunday school teacher said. But even if I used that as my excuse, I’m just not the type of girl who would feel comfortable with a sunburnt belly button.

My shoulders slump, dropping the tank down enough that my stomach isn’t dangling out for all to see. I went sans apron, too. I’m a rebel, now. I killed a spider and everything.

“Hey.” I attempt a head nod toward my classmates as they walk in. Raina and Tristan sit down almost in unison. Tristan—who is right next to me—offers a nod back that probably looks a million times cooler than what I did.

“You gonna stay the whole class?” he asks. His tone is light-hearted and not mean, but still… my heart is a buzzing bee, and I let out this snort laugh that I end up choking on.

“Uh, y-yeah, yup. It’s all good here today.” I pat my stomach, jolting because I almost forgot my stomach was bare.

Almost.

Just kidding, it’s all I can think about.

“I like your pants,” Raina says, leaning around Tristan. Her hair is piled up on top of her head, a few curls bouncing around her face. “They look super comfortable.”

“They are.” They’re not. “Thanks.”

I try not to pull at my clothes any more than I already have. I’m obviously bringing way too much attention to them.

Besides, I’m only here to tackle another fear—the fear of the penis.

My diligence not to look at any canvases but my own has paid off, since I know a few painted genitalia surrounds me. I’m also not going to tackle looking at the actual thing when it—I mean he, Zach—walks in and strips down. But I will tackle being in the same room with it for an hour.

I take a calming breath, letting it sputter out in wisps. I’m with penises all the time—they are a part of life. Just because this one will be uncovered doesn’t make it any different.

Yeah… I’ll go with that.

Miss Barley sets that same cushioned fold out chair in the middle of the room, and we patiently wait for Zach to grace us with his heavenly body. Will he change his mind about me if he sees my new wardrobe? Or the fact that I’ll sit and paint throughout the entire class without announcing bowel movements?

I toy with the inside of my lip. My canker sore is healed up for now… until I put another hole in my mouth from my nervous habit. My phone sits heavy in my loose-fitting pants, and I dig into the deep pocket for it.

Pete’s at work tonight, but he’s not one to shy away from texting while on the clock—just one of the many things I’ve scolded him about. I glance around me, making sure Raina and Tristan are distracted by their conversation to notice I’m about to snap a selfie.

Pretending to take a picture of my painting, I click the camera quick, capturing my outfit as best I can.

Holy bologna, my hair is so frizzy! Instead of slicking it back into a perfect pony, I attempted the fun bun, but it looks like a bird built its home on my head. Instead of sending the pic to Pete for his opinion, I shove the phone into my pocket and take out the disaster of my hair.

Right as I’m ripping the elastic from the ratted strands, Zach pushes the classroom door open, bare-footed and blue-robed.

“Welcome, Zachary,” Miss Barley says, her usual greeting. I duck behind my canvas, but only so I can frantically run my fingers through my nest hair.

“Same place as last time?” he asks her, and there’s aflumpthat echoes around the room, his robe already on the floor.

“It’s penis time,” I whisper to myself.

“What?” Tristan asks.

“Nothing.”

Forget my hair. I need to loosen up anyway, so I’ll just leave it frizzy and hanging every which way. I’m an artist, darn it! And I will concentrate on my art.

I sit up straight, grateful I chose a canvas so large that I don’t see Zach from belly button down unless I make an extreme effort to look. My eyes burn a hole straight into his as I dip into my deep maroon and start on the tattoo that crawls from his neck and across his shoulder.

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