Page 7 of Something Like Winter
“This was your mother’s idea. I had the carpet taken out so you wouldn’t get paint on it. We can always lay it again when you move out, but try not to get paint on the walls.”
A studio? Tim felt so relieved that he laughed. He wasn’t against getting a job, but he didn’t want to work for his father. “Cool! So I can move all my stuff in?”
“Anytime you want.”
Tim turned in a circle, viewing the space in a new light. “Can I cover up the window in the door? I don’t want people looking at what I’m doing.”
“That would be fine.”
Tim stopped short of asking if he had the only key. He could always go through his father’s keychain sometime and snag any duplicates. Tim was never fond of showing his paintings to other people, and he was planning one that would raise uncomfortable questions if anyone saw it.
“Ready?” Thomas asked.
“Yeah. Thanks. This is really good.”
They talked cars on the way home, conversation coming effortlessly. Once back home, the adults poured drinks and discussed subjects that bored Tim to tears, but this made it easy to slip away.
Loading up his car with painting supplies, and feeling more free than ever, Tim headed toward his new studio. He could hardly wait. There was so much he needed to get out of his head, ideas that hounded him until they were released on canvas. Or in some cases, images that he needed to exorcise for his own well-being.
In the backseat was a canvas with a rough sketch. The dark eyes were apparent, but the shape of the face around them was drawn in light lines hard to see. If someone were to look close enough, they would discover the features were male, even though they shared traits with his ex-girlfriend. Except in the drawing Corey was older, enough so that when he made a pass at Tim, it wouldn’t have felt like his kid brother was hitting on him. Old enough that Tim might have given Corey a different answer.
Chapter Three
Tim shifted in the hard plastic seat and resisted moaning in miserable boredom. Had he really wished for the school year to begin? At the front of class, a thin woman with wiry gray hair read passages from a book. The idea was to entice them, since they were about to read it themselves, but so far nothing much of interest seemed to happen in Holden Caulfield’s life.
The words blurred together, Tim’s mind turning to sex as it always did when he was bored. When his brain checked out and left his body in charge, it only ever wanted a few basic things. This class was almost over, and getting hard now would be inconvenient when the bell rang, so Tim tried to find something else to occupy his attention.
He covertly eyed the other students. The guys didn’t look so different from those back in Kansas, except for a handful who dressed like cowboys. The hats weren’t there, at least not in class, but the picnicpatterned shirts and massive belt buckles were. Girls in Texas favored more makeup and often wore their hair up. Literally. Hairspray must be in constant short supply here because a lot of the hairdos—especially the bangs—were sculpted to defy gravity.
Tim felt someone watching him and caught them in the act. A girl, and a pretty one at that. She had a little of the heavy makeup and sprayed hair, but it worked for her. Ramrod thin with pale blonde hair, she wore an open expression that made her appear timid, like a woodland creature. Their eyes still locked, Tim gave a tentative smile. She smiled back, adorable as a doe.
Beyond her was a bear, a hulking package of muscle squeezed into his desk chair. The guy looked like he belonged in college, maybe as a linebacker on the football team. He seemed annoyed at the exchange Tim and Little Miss Doe had shared. The guy had blond hair and green eyes too—not the same shade as the girl’s, but he could be her brother. Or boyfriend, since they didn’t share any family resemblance. Tim returned his attention to the teacher, keeping his eyes averted even when the bell rang and he left the class.
Time for lunch. Tim strolled around the cafeteria, checking out the vending machines full of sugar-free drinks. He got a lemonade, and though he was hungry, he didn’t line up for food, not wanting to be the pathetic new guy sitting alone at a table. Making new friends was more daunting than he’d expected. In Kansas he’d been around the same people all his life and knew who everyone was, even if he never interacted with them. And he had been popular. Here, he was a nobody.
But that anonymity was what he wanted. Tomorrow he would swallow his pride and sit alone, but today he went outside and walked around the school, enjoying the weather. When the bell rang, he went back in for his other classes. In U.S. History, the teacher didn’t seem interested in starting the year quite yet and let them “get settled,” as he put it. This meant everyone could talk. Tim had a conversation with a girl who was nice enough, but her cheeks kept flushing like they were on a first date or something. They didn’t have much in common.
When the school day finally ended, he was eager to get to his car and head home. The new house was close enough that he could make the trip a long walk or a short jog, but today Tim had driven. He wanted to make a good first impression, and this didn’t go unnoticed.
“Nice car.”
Tim turned, his hand on the Mitsubishi’s door handle. The guy eyeing his car like it was a naked woman was stocky, bordering on chubby. But his clothes were all designer-label, and his hair might have been highlighted, since it was darker underneath than on top. One thing was for sure: No common barber had ever touched those locks.
“Thanks. Just got it for my birthday.”
“Sixteen?” the guy asked.
“Seventeen.”
“Ah. Well, that’s what I got for my sixteenth.”
The guy pointed to a cherry-red Porsche. Several people were
gathered around it, most of them watching Tim and the guy talking. Little Miss Doe was there, as was her huge companion and a number of other beautiful people. High school royalty. Farther away was their court, the people not quite in their inner circle but desperate to be.
“You new here?”
“Yeah. Just moved down this summer.” He held out his hand, giving the other guy a firm grip. “Tim Wyman.”
