Page 63 of Sinful as They Come
“Looking good, looking good.” Brodie suddenly nudged me to my left.
Looking over at his painting, I snorted at his work. He had painted some flowers in a vase. Well, tried to, anyway.
“Nice job,” I chuckled, looking at the splotchy mess he created.
“Hey, I did my best. We can’t all be future artists like you.”
Future artist. Yeah, right. Who was gonna buy my shit? That wasn’t a living unless you already had money. Or the right connections. Lucky me – I had neither.
Shaking away the thought, I focused on the clock. Only a few minutes until it was three. Just a few minutes until freedom. Well, I had thirty minutes of freedom – because the rest of my afternoon and night were going to be spent working.
We were down to two minutes left of class when there was a soft knock on the door. I focused on the entrance, staring at my exit, beyond excited to get out school but also dreading my five hour shift of fixing up cars.
My eyes narrowed when I saw who opened the door up.
Why the hell couldn’t I get away from Holly Sutton?
There she stood with a little smile on her face and a folder in her hands.
Holly and I had barely talked after our encounter. After she had cried there in the woods. That was the only time I had ever seen her be so vulnerable. She had no issue giving me shit. No issue arguing with me over the dumbest stuff. That was the way I liked her – because a teary eyed, sobbing Holly Sutton was a whole other story. It was weird seeing her without her confidence, and all because of fucking Carter.
“Oh, Miss Sutton.” Mrs. Blaine smiled from her desk. “What can I help you with?”
“Hi,” Holly greeted. “I was wondering if I could talk to your class about a little project The Chronicle is working on?”
“Oh, of course. The floor is yours.”
I elbowed Brodie. “What the hell does she want?”
“You’ll see, you’ll see.” He waved ahand at me.
“So, The Chronicle is going to have a focus on twelfth grade projects for our major monthly issue. We’ll be looking at stuff from shop students and, of course, our artists – you guys,” Holly said, standing at the front of the room. “So, we’ll be taking photos of your work, interviewing you, and publishing all of it in our special addition. You can pick anything you’ve made, whether it’s something you made in class or at home. This is the third year The Chronicle has been showcasing works like this, so it’s pretty exciting. If you’d like to sign up, just write your name and details down on this list and I’ll get in touch!”
“What a fucking nightmare,” I mumbled out of breath. I watched as a few giddy students got out of their chairs and approached Holly, presumably writing their names down on her stupid, pink piece of paper.
“You’re not gonna do it?” Brodie asked.
“Is that a joke? Also, you must have already known about this stupid project, so why didn’t you warn me she was gonna come in here?”
“What do you mean? You’re the best painter in this class. Hell, you’re the best painter in the whole school. You should do it.”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. The shrill ringing of the bell had me rushing out of my chair as I grabbed my bag off the ground and left my canvas at the back of the room to dry. “Feel free to sign up if you want. Not my thing, though.”
“It’s a good opportunity, don’t you think? I’d do it, but no one wants to see my crappy flowers.”
I just shrugged. “Not interested.”
I walked past Holly, ready to leave the room. I knew full well that Brodie planned on staying inside to talk to her. I didn’t want to see her face. Not after what happened. The whole camping trip had been more than an awkward encounter. Seeing her cry like that was beyond uncomfortable. And I didn’t want to feel sorry for her. Holly didn’t deserve any compassion.
I had every intention of heading to my truck and waiting for Brodie inside, but someone placed a hand on my shoulder. Mrs. Blaine. She looked at me with big eyes and guided me over to Holly before I could protest. It was hard to be mad at her. She was the only teacher who ever saw any kind of talent in me, the only teacher who encouraged me with art. I already knew what she was trying to do.
“I gotta get to work, Mrs. Blaine,” I tried to tell her.
“Oh, this will only take a minute.” She winked. “Holly, dear. I think it’ll be great to have Sawyer sign up for that. I’ve always said Sawyer is our most talented painter.”
“Me too.” Brodie chuckled.
I glared at him and he quickly shut up. “Uh, this isn’t really my kinda thing.”
