Page 48 of Fast Currents
“Me too!”
“Me three!”
There was a rush on Clay and Smoky, the rest of our students eager for their turn to hold the rabbit. Smoky’s nose grew increasingly twitchy, overstimulated by all the small hands touching her fur.
D’Andre was holding Smoky when his expression turned to one of revulsion. “Shepoopedon me.”
“It’s okay, D’Andre. Let’s put her back in her cage. She probably needs some privacy.” Clay took the rabbit from his arms. The little boy held out his hands, disgust in every twist of his features. “You’ll be okay. Let’s go to the sink, and you can wash up.”
A few minutes of vigorous scrubbing later and D’Andre returned to his table.
Clay looked relieved when our young charges boarded the bus, and I couldn’t blame him. The chaos of the animals and our students meant we didn’t get nearly as many finished projects as usual.
The high schoolers were more nonchalant about their live subjects, their interest in the petting zoo fading in favor of something more familiar – each other. They sketched away at their drawings, half-heartedly watching the animals while their real focus shifted to the kind of teenage drama that had nothing to do with goats or rabbits.
Gangly sandy-haired Cooper leaned in close to Nessa, nudging her with his elbow, his voice low as he whispered something just for her. She giggled, tucking a strand of dark hair behind one year, her lashes sweeping down before flicking back up in that deliberate, practiced way all teenage girls seemed to master without trying.
Nessa swayed closer to Cooper—they were more interested in each other than their sketch pads. Maybe they were just as interested in petting after all. Just not the innocent kind that involved fuzzy animals.
“The hormones in here are getting to me,” Clay mumbled in my ear.
I grinned, trying to mimic Nessa’s lash-sweeping maneuver. It hadn’t escaped my notice that he’d been admiring my backside a few minutes ago while I’d been helping Lilla with her drawing of the alpaca, George. “Are you sure those aren’t justyourhormones?”
He settled an arm around my shoulders, at once familiar and new. I snuggled closer. Even a few weeks ago, my first instinct would have been to stiffen. To pull away. But Clay had charmed me as surely as he charmed everyone else.
We finished class with the older kids and sent them on their way before welcoming the seniors to the barn. They arrived in small groups, much like the first night of class. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, but that might have had something to do with it being Mr. Blacksmith’s turn to bring drinks. After Gran Fenwick’s impromptu wine tasting at their first session, they’ddivvied up classes and assigned volunteers to furnish booze. Edwin Blacksmith ran a small gin distillery near Roche Harbor, and he treated his liquor like an art, which I could appreciate, even if I wasn’t a gin girl.
He'd brought his own tasting table. While I respected the commitment, enough classmates were tipsy that Clay and I would need to give half the class rides home.
Gran Fenwick had found a kindred spirit in George, settling down near the alpaca with a tiny snifter of gin. She sketched studiously, and I was a little afraid to interrupt her. But a quiet Gran was probably a scheming Gran.
“Everything okay over here?” I asked.
“Yep. Just trying to get this right.”
I peeked over her shoulder. And wished I didn’t. She’d drawn George. Sort-of. If George were a minotaur. The very human head was disturbing. And familiar.
I choked out, “Is that … Mr. Reyes?”
“Yep.” Gran nodded serenely.
She’d done a good job with his likeness, which only added to the surreal effect. George’s fluffy alpaca body, with Ollie Reyes’s jowly but still-handsome features. And a very human-looking appendage. Welp. I knew where Gran stood on the internet-old question of minotaur peen.
Loud and proud, a very erect member jutted from the minotaur-alpaca’s front legs.
I coughed. My airway still felt tight. Obstructed. Maybe it was secondhand embarrassment for Mr. Reyes. If he got a look at Gran’s drawing before he finished for the night and decided to retaliate, I might end up with another senior in Chaz Underwood’s naughty corner.
I eyed Edwin’s gin table. How bad would it be if I drowned my sorrows and Clay had to cart me home too? I caught his gaze across the room. Something in my expression must have warnedhim. He sidled over, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. Wordlessly, I gestured to Gran’s drawing. He choked off a laugh. I pinched him below the ribs.
“Has Mr. Reyes seen this?” I whispered, too low for Gran to hear. “Too many more of these, and Chaz is going to need a bigger curtain.”
Clay’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and I glared. Sure. It was funny to him. But both our names were going to be on the program for the charity event. Did he really want his name associated with lifelike minotaur porn?
Pride warred with dismay. Gran had turned into a damn fine artist over the last few weeks. If she’d been a worse student, Mr. Reyes wouldn’t be quite so recognizable.
“Be right back,” Clay said.
I watched him make a beeline for the gin table, pause, and continue on to Shirley’s workstation, as if he too had considered fortification and thought better of it. Unless we rubbed the gin in our eyeballs, there was no unseeing what Gran had drawn.
