Page 108 of When Ben Loved Tim

“Because my parents don’t let me,” Tim replies.

I roll my eyes, thankful he can’t see me. “So how did you learn?”

“We all had art classes when growing up.”

“You mean back in grade school?”

“Yup.”

I glance around his studio, which is filled with paintings both abstract and realistic. The art classes we had as kids didn’t impart such skills. It was mostly stuff like rolling clay into the shape of a snake or covering a balloon with newspaper strips dipped in glue.

“So you’re self-taught?” I ask in disbelief.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he replies. “I’ve watched my share of Bob Ross.”

Well sure, but Tim is doingwaymore than painting happy little trees. “Do youwantto take classes? Like in college?”

“Sort of. I’m going to study architecture.”

That surprises me.

“Are you into buildings and things?”

“Yeah.”

I glance around his studio again. While there are a few paintings of buildings, he seems to favor living subjects and the natural world. “Wouldn’t you rather just sell your paintings and make a living that way?”

Tim is quiet. For a long time. “My great-grandpa was an architect,” he says at last. “It’s the only visual art that my father has any respect for.”

I’ve never even met the man, but sometimes I wish he’d get run over by a car. Or maybe Tim just needs someone to advocate on his behalf, because if he can accomplish this much on his own, he has the potential to become one of the greatest artists of the era. But not without support.

“I’d like to meet your parents,” I say casually.

Tim scoffs. “Very funny.”

“I mean it!”

An incredulous expression appears from around the canvas. “Why?”

I have a list of reasons, but only one that could sway him. “Because your mom camethis closeto catching us. What would I have said to her? If you introduce me to them, then at least we can have a few excuses prepared.”

“Like what?”

“We could hide a backpack in your room and put some of my old stuff in it. I’d pretend I left it there on accident and called you so I could run by and pick it up.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I have an assignment due in the morning!” I say, making myself sound distraught. “I’m so sorry for disturbing you, ma’am. I didn’t want to wake anyone up. That’s why I didn’t knock or ring the bell.”

“I told him he could come right in,” Tim says, getting into the act. “Sorry, Mom! We didn’t mean to spook you.” He nods, as if it could work. “We’ll start with that actually. You can come over when my parents are home and say you forgot something. I’ll introduce you to them then.”

He seems happy before ducking behind the canvas again. I am not. “I want them to actually get to know me,” I press. “Think how panicked your mom would have been if she’d seen me for real that night. A brief impression might not be enough for her to remember me. Not under those circumstances.”

“I’ll make sure they get a good look at you.”

“Andit would help if they had a sense of who I am. Like if I make a good impression, they’ll be more likely to believe me if I get caught.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them what a great guy you are.”