Page 9 of Eye of the Hurricane
The more I trip over my own words, the less tense she looks. I think it might even be a smile I see quirking at the corners of her perfect lips. An exasperated sigh falls from her mouth.
“Freshman year?” she asks, her tone finally softening some.
“Technically. I took a gap year,” I admit and she rolls her eyes.
“Why do I feel like you’re trouble?” she asks, popping her leg up behind her to fix the strap of her high heel. My eyes fall to watch and then drag back up her creamy legs, to the matching dress, and then back up to her face.
A dissatisfied look falls on her face. Probably because I just shamelessly checked her out as she was trying to talk to me. “See?” She points at me. “Trouble,” she says, shaking her head at me. I throw my hands up.
“No trouble, promise,” I tell her. The look she gives me tells me she doesn’t believe me for a single second. Given this first impression, I can’t blame her.
“You ever go to parties?” I ask, raising a brow at her.
“Yes? I go to parties. Doyougo to parties?” she asks with a laugh.
“Not college parties, never been to one.” I shrug. Katherine smiles and one dimple pop.
“There’s one tonight, I can get you the invite if you want to go,” she says with a shrug. If she’ll be there, count me in. The only thing I learned on my first day of college is that I will do whatever I have to, to be around her.
“That would be awesome. Will you be there?” I ask. A smile creeps up on her face again.
“Yes. I’ll be there.” She laughs. Her laugh is warm and sweet like honey. It’s absolutely addicting.
“We could go together?” I offer, shamelessly making one last effort. She rolls her eyes but this time, she does it with a smile so big that I catch the dimple carved into her left cheek cheek. The one in her left cheek is much deeper.
“I think I can make it there on my own. I’ll see you there,” she says but her tone has lost its edge. She turns to walk away but I call out to stop her.
“Your number!” I call out, taking a step in her direction. She turns around giving me a ‘in your dreams’ look. “For the party info,” I add and once again, her edge is gone.
“Right, okay. Give me your phone.”
I hardly know this woman but I’m certain whatever she tells me to do, I’ll be doing it.
No such luck today. No run-in with a pretty blonde on my way to Vine’s office. Just a churning stomach and a racing mind.
A lot of those feelings fall away when I walk into her office. It’s all bright yellows, sunflowers, and sunshine. Like the sun threw up in the room. The first time I saw it, it felt childish. Every time since, it’s just reminded me of Kat.
“How’s your summer been, Ares?” Big bright red spirals bounce as she stands to greet me. There’s hardly a spot on her face that’s not covered in freckles. It suits her. Her smile is bright and warm.
“It’s been good. A little chaotic, but good. How has yours been?” I ask, mostly out of respect. Not that I don’t hope her summer is good, I just have more important things to talk about.
“Summer has been lovely! What brings you in?”
“My portfolio. I’ve been thinking about going with more than just painting. I was thinking of including photography.” She opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off, rushing in more word vomit. “I don’t know if my photography is good enough, though.”
“I’ve seen some of your work over the last couple of years, it’s good. Show me some of the pieces you’re thinking aboutfor your portfolio,” she requests, looking at me expectantly. I pull out some of the pieces I’ve had in mind for it, showing her a mix of photography and paintings.
She smiles sweetly at each piece, nodding along as she looks over my selections. It’s hard to gauge her true feelings, though, because Vines always seems to smile.
“Well, I think some of these are definitely contenders…” She trails off as she recollects my pieces and aligns them on her desk. “Can I be honest?” she asks, and my heart sinks. This feels like a precursor to being told my art sucks. Still, I nod.
“Technique-wise, it’s all there. There are very few pointers I could give regarding your composition. I would imagine you don’t have much trouble selling these pieces?” She poses the last part as a question.
“No ma’am,” I reply.
She nods, a small confirmation to herself before continuing. “As a whole, there is a… dullness lingering in your collection. It feels like it lacks emotion altogether. It would be one thing if the tone and visual cues were negative, because negative emotions can make for equally beautiful art to positive ones. But your current portfolio feels absent of any strong emotional connection. These pieces, they feel like projects, obligations. Creations you were forced to make.”
The words sting and I’m not sure why. But she’s right. Almost all of the pieces I’ve included are projects I was assigned over the years.
