Page 25 of Stealing for Keeps
I pull out my sketch pad and pencils from my backpack. Claire watches me but doesn’t say anything.
“I like to draw,” I offer, flipping to a blank page.
She nods, stare still on the book. “Can I see?”
“Sure.” I stop flipping and push it over to her.
Her lips curve up as she stares down at a drawing I did of Zelda for Wyatt. She keeps going, stopping at each page for so long that I start to get a little nervous. I’m notembarrassed about my sketches, but it feels different sharing them with her.
“There’s a lot of soccer balls,” she notes, one side of her mouth pulling higher.
“It’s my go-to when I’m bored and trying to look like I’m taking notes in class,” I say.
She hands it back to me. “I used to do that with my figure skating routines. I would sketch them out. I’d draw little figure skaters in varying positions all over the paper.” A small smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “Your drawings are much better than mine.”
“A figure skater, huh?” I can see it. She has that grace about her. Always poised and a little hard to read. I bet she lights up when she’s on the ice.
“Iwasa figure skater. I don’t do it anymore.”
Every little nugget of information she gives me just makes me want to find out more.
“How come?”
She moves her right foot with the boot out from under the table and glances down at it.
“I assume the boot is going to come off eventually.”
“Yes,” she says with a little sass in her tone. Then it takes on a slight edge that’s mixed with something else. Sadness, maybe. “It comes off in a few weeks, but I’m done skating.”
I want to ask why, but she drops her gaze to her paper, dismissing me. We fall quiet as we both go back to working, me sketching and her painting with watercolors. It’s nice. I enjoy being with her, even when we aren’t talking.
At the end of the class, I fold up my drawing and hand it to her. She eyes me with some trepidation before taking it.
“What’s this?” she asks.
We walk out of the classroom together. She’s still clutching the folded paper in one hand.
“I was inspired.”
She looks even more nervous at that, but slowly she unfolds it. Her feet stop moving as she stares down at it.
“It’s rough. I don’t know a whole lot of figure skating poses. The form is probably all wrong and—”
“It’s great,” she says, voice shaky. She doesn’t meet my gaze as she folds it back up. “You are really talented, Austin.”
That sadness I detected in her earlier resurfaces, making it hard to accept the compliment. Whatever her reasoning for not skating anymore, it’s obvious I hit a sore spot.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. It’s…” She trails off. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”
Chapter Eight
Claire
He drew me skating.
The backs of my eyes sting as I open my locker and grab my chemistry book for sixth period. The familiar chatter of my peers around me is all background noise, like I’m trapped inside a bubble and they’re all on the outside.
