Page 146 of Beyond the Lines
I bite back a laugh. Previously, that expression would have made me think she hated me. Now I know it means she’s terrified and covering it with sarcasm. But while she’s terrible at masking her feelings, I’ve tried to put a shield over my nerves in this moment.
The room has that end-of-semester quietness—the suffocating, everyone-holding-their-breath kind. Twenty students with their final projects displayed, waiting for judgment. Our still life series sits on the easels in front of us:Declan and Lea – Life Beyond the Lines.
My hockey skate, battered from years on the ice. Lea’s postcard from Paris, creased at the corners. A ridiculous T-shirt from Marie’s Diner with its cartoon pancake declaring“STACK ME UP!”And, most importantly, our first sketches of each other.
“Hey,” I murmur, squeezing her hand. “Whatever happens, we’re good.”
She exhales slowly. “I know. I just… this matters.”
It does, but not because we need the grade and to be selected for the select seminar. It matters because these pictures tell our story—how we found each other, lost each other, then found something better when we stopped fighting what was right in front of us.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Probably Linc asking what beer to bring tonight. The party. Right. I still need to clean my apartment before everyone shows up, and I don’t dare let Lea get involved. The woman organized my bookshelf by color last weekend.
“You’re smiling,” Lea whispers, her breath warm against my ear.
“Just thinking about your color-coding addiction.”
“It’s called ‘having standards,’ Andrews.” But she’s smiling too.
“Your standards include alphabetizing my protein powder…”
She presses her lips together to suppress a laugh, and I feel ridiculously proud of myself. Making her laugh is a rush that never gets old.
It’s strange how much has changed in just a few days. After Mike’s injury, after everything between Lea and I came out into the open, I expected… I don’t know, an explosion? A nuclear winter? Instead, since the dust had settled, things have been great.
And now, instead of sneaking around campus, Lea stays over at my place almost every night. We hold hands walking to class. She wears my hoodies even though they hang to her knees. We’re disgustingly domestic, and I can’t get enough of it.
Professor Lucas clears her throat, and I snap back to attention. She’s standing in front of our project now. Suddenly, mybreath catches, and I hope like hell she likes our work. But at the same time, it also doesn’t feel as big as it once did.
My art career doesn’t hinge on one class.
I’ve got my whole life to draw.
Although I stillbadlywant a spot in that seminar.
“An interesting choice,” she says, studying our still life. “Most students go for traditional—fruits, flowers, bottles, and people—but you two went autobiographical.”
Lea’s grip on my hand tightens.
“The execution is technically proficient.” The professor leans closer, examining the detail work on the hockey skate. “But it’s clear your individual styles have informed each other. The bold lines here—” she points to a section I drew, then at one of Lea’s “—balanced by these softer transitions.”
I hold my breath.
“What interests me most, however, is the progression in the series.” She flips through her notes. “Your initial practice pieces showed two artists with distinct, almost combative approaches. By the final project, you’ve developed a visual dialogue. The pieces speak to each other.”
Beside me, Lea makes a small sound of relief.
Professor Lucas straightens up. “I’d like to see you both in the select seminar.”
Wait.
What?
“Both of us?” Lea blurts out.
The professor nods. “The invitations will be official by week’s end, but yes, you’ve both secured spots.” She allows herself a small smile. “Sometimes suffering does produce the best art, after all, and some things worthwhileoutsideof art, it seems, unless my eyes deceive me…”
As she moves on to the next project, Lea turns to me, eyeswide, and mouth slightly open. I know that look. It’s the ‘holy shit’ face she makes right before she comes. But, in this moment, this might be the only thing better than sex with her, because it’s both of us taking ahuge gigantic fucking massive step forward.
