Page 20

Liza

H artley and I have a tutoring session today, and it’ll be the first time I see him since the home opener.

My stomach rumbles with sickness as I think about how that night went down.

I toss my backpack down and rummage through my things to find my sketchbook.

I need to start brainstorming ideas for the portfolio project with a clear mind.

I settle for a shaded grassy area under the huge oak tree at the center of all the old buildings that surround it.

I’ve spent countless nights thinking about this portfolio project and what I’d like to draw as my common theme.

One idea has consumed my thoughts, but it requires me to enlist the help of him.

My pencil dances along the thick art paper, carving yard lines, stands, and end zones.

Art always helps to clear my mind when it’s scattered.

After drawing a background I’m satisfied with, I stick my supplies back in my backpack and trudge across campus to our session.

Walking into the muggy library, I scold myself for not allowing enough time for a coffee stop before our session.

I make my way through the racks of books until I reach our study room.

I sneak a peek through the surrounding glass before entering to see a worn-out Hartley hunched over the wooden table.

His head rests in his hands as he massages his eyelids repeatedly.

My breath catches when I see what’s sitting across from him.

A large strawberry acai drink with a small brown bag, no doubt containing a chocolate cake pop.

My favorites, again. My tense muscles soften and a cheesy grin spreads across my face.

My hand shoots up to my chest at how sweet the gesture is.

“Hey.” I tentatively walk into the room, not sure how to act around him.

His head pops up from the tight grip of his hands as he shoots me a lazy smile.

“Sup, Goldie.” That smile forms into a mischievous grin I’ve grown to look forward to more than I’d like to admit.

Of course he’s acting like we didn’t cause a scene like two complete psychos outside of the bar the last time we spoke.

“Mine?” I grab the cold drink and tip my head in question.

He scoots the drink across the table. “All yours.”

“Thank you.” I peel the wrapper off the green straw and poke it through the lid to take the first sip. “You’re spoiling me, now.”

“It’s nothing.” He shrugs and grabs the back of his neck to rub.

Ask him, Liza. I place my drink on the table, allowing condensation to drip and pool around. Taking a deep breath, I muster up the courage to ask him the question I’ve been beating around the bush about.

“So, umm. . . I have to ask you something. . .” I refuse to make eye contact with those distracting pools.

He leans back in his chair, tipping the two front legs in the air. A picture of ease. “Hit me.”

“I have this project.” Tapping my fingers on the table nervously, I continue, “It’s an art portfolio, and it’s a big deal for me.”

Cutting off my nervous rant, he says, “Nice.” His soft tone encourages me to spit it out.

“The catch is, we’re not allowed to draw what we normally do. My professor wants us to ‘step out of our comfort zone’.” I reach up and show air quotes with my fingers.

“I like this guy.”

My bratty eyes shoot up and lock in with his. “I have an idea, but it would require your assistance.” I lean on the table, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Goldie.” He reaches across the table and grabs my hands in his.

Well, that’s new. “What do you need from me?” The tenderness in his voice rolls right off his tongue, and I really need to get it together before I forget what I need to ask him.

Gripping my sweaty hand tighter, he leans over the table, leaving little space between us.

Not sure how to handle our sudden closeness, I spring out of my chair and pace back and forth across the small study room.

“I want to draw the movement of football, but not just in one place. I’d like to focus on one player in different scenarios throughout the season.

” My voice picks up in excitement as I rattle on about the potential of how awesome this could be.

“I’m listening.”

“I want to draw a player in the locker room, getting ready for practice, on the practice field, after the game, on campus, during a game, the possibilities are endless.” I count each idea off on my fingers, suddenly inspired by how epic this could be.

“Do you want me to be your muse?” His cocky nature returns in full force.

“I do,” I reply with confidence.

“I’m in.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, I laugh. “But you don’t know the specifics, yet. What if it’s too much to handle?” I raise my finger to bite my pinky nail. “I’ll have to spend a lot of time with you for the next several weeks to get the shots I need.”

“Still not hearing anything that wouldn’t make my day better.” He winks.

“You’re sure? Like really sure? This is a big deal, Hart.”

“Liza, look at me.” His voice turns stern and serious as I lift my chin to meet his eyes. “I want to do this.”

“Okay.” I nod. “Thank you.” He moves to walk away from the table. “Oh no, no, no. Get your notes out so we can make sure you pass your quiz.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With that, we get to the nitty gritty of his art history content. He has a quiz later this week, so we double down on the flash card review, until he knows these artists like the back of his hand.

“I think that’s enough for today.” I slam my binder shut and shuffle the color coded flashcards I made him for this quiz back in a Ziploc bag.

Tossing the bag across the table, I say, “Keep these in case you need to review a few more times before the quiz. It couldn’t hurt.

” I sling my light book bag over one shoulder and turn to walk away before Hartley stops me in my tracks.

“Wait!” His volume evaporates the quiet bubble of the study room. “When and where do you want to draw me first? I’m at your beck and call.” He crosses his arms over his chest and bites his bottom lip, looking too good for me to drag my eyes off of him.

“Uhh, are you free tomorrow?”

He responds with a silent nod.

“We could start with a locker room session if you’re okay with that.”

“Let me run it by Coach. If we get there before report time, we’ll have the locker room to ourselves.”

“That would be perfect. Thank you again, Hartley. It means a lot to me.” My cheeks blaze in a fiery heat.

“See you tomorrow.” He juts his chin out, and my eyes linger on his last word longer than usual. I squeeze out the study room before I do something stupid like giving him a kiss on the cheek. Woah. Where did that thought come from?

I’m about to double, maybe even triple, my weekly meet ups with him. If I thought things were tough now, they’re about to get a whole lot harder. After taking the dark walk back to my dorm room, I’m spent. My key wiggles into the door, just as my phone pings.

Hartley: Got the all clear from Coach. Is 7 too early?

Me: Yay! Nope. See ya then.

Hartley: ;)