Read Online Will Work for Prom Dress by Aimee Ferris - Free Book Online
Authors: Aimee Ferris
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David nodded with a tight smile and then walked fast toward the exit.
I fought the urge to run after him. There was no point. I could tell him that Zander was just a friend, but he probably wouldn’t believe that anyway. I didn’t owe David anything, but it hadn’t even occurred to me that I’d run into him.
Zander studied me with the same intensity he had used on the photography exhibit for a long minute before shrugging and looking away with a small smile.
“I’m sorry.” I had no idea why I was apologizing, but it just felt like the thing to do.
“No worries.”
I motioned toward the exit. “That was just—”
“Let me guess. The pompous no-talent art hack?”
“Yes.”
“I figured.”
We stood in awkward silence in the narrow archway until a woman in a big fur coat brushed past me and nudged me into his chest. I didn’t remember his wearing cologne in the design studio, but the light citrus scent seemed perfect for him.
“Maybe we should stand somewhere else,” I said.
Zander reached down and took my hand again and swung it lightly. “Want to go sketch?”
I let him lead me to the much less busy sculpture hall. I was feeling a little too confused by his sudden interest in sketching, or maybe the fact that we seemed to be walking through a museum holding hands, to be in charge. He picked out a small room with two female bronze figures on opposite sides of the gallery. Between the two sculptures was a wide flat bench.
“Perfect! Which do you want?” he asked.
“We’re not sketching the same one?”
“Not unless you want to shred the last bit of confidence I have left in me today,” he said with a laugh.
“Okay. I’ll take her.” I pointed at the young mother figure and left the dancer to him.
“Good.” Zander placed my sketchbook and the box ofpastels on one end of the bench and then sat cross-legged facing the other with a thick triangular stick of charcoal and his own pad. “Give those pastels a try for me.”
“Are you sure? I brought charcoal pencils, too.”
“I’m more of a steady black-and-white sort of person,” he said over his shoulder. “You, on the other hand, exude all these flashes of brilliant color where you least expect them.”
I smiled and picked up a dark purple. As soon as the soft chalk of the pastel smoothed over the textured paper, I felt all the confusion and stress melt away. Even when I felt Zander lean against me, back to back, it just felt warm and natural. As I added the final shadows of my figure’s contours to my sketch, he finally broke the comfortable silence.
“I’m not, you know.”
I leaned down and blew aside some loose chalk dust the pastels had left behind. “Not what?” I grabbed the deep blue to touch up the mother’s cloak.
“You know … into Ken dolls.”
My hand faltered and a slash of bright blue spilled onto the white background. I swallowed in an attempt to control my voice. “Oh. Good. I mean. Not good, not that there’s anything—”
“Gotcha.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
His hand touched my shoulder, and I looked down at his fingers holding out a gray rubbery eraser. I took it and decided I’d better keep my mouth shut before I made any further blunders that might be tougher to erase.
Chapter Seven
Anne made a rare early-morning school appearance to make up for the fact that she had been an absentee best friend the night before. The smell of floor wax was strong this early in the day, and I counted the ugly offset linoleum tiles as we walked toward our lockers. I found it easier to think things through if I distracted the frazzled surface of my brain with something else. I thought of this process as mental doodling.
“I didn’t sleep at all. I really needed to talk to you last night about all of this,” I said.
“I told you, T-Shirt and I were heading back and he got nailed by that lousy cop in Batville. It’s a total speed trap. The road goes from fifty-five miles per hour down
I fought the urge to run after him. There was no point. I could tell him that Zander was just a friend, but he probably wouldn’t believe that anyway. I didn’t owe David anything, but it hadn’t even occurred to me that I’d run into him.
Zander studied me with the same intensity he had used on the photography exhibit for a long minute before shrugging and looking away with a small smile.
“I’m sorry.” I had no idea why I was apologizing, but it just felt like the thing to do.
“No worries.”
I motioned toward the exit. “That was just—”
“Let me guess. The pompous no-talent art hack?”
“Yes.”
“I figured.”
We stood in awkward silence in the narrow archway until a woman in a big fur coat brushed past me and nudged me into his chest. I didn’t remember his wearing cologne in the design studio, but the light citrus scent seemed perfect for him.
“Maybe we should stand somewhere else,” I said.
Zander reached down and took my hand again and swung it lightly. “Want to go sketch?”
I let him lead me to the much less busy sculpture hall. I was feeling a little too confused by his sudden interest in sketching, or maybe the fact that we seemed to be walking through a museum holding hands, to be in charge. He picked out a small room with two female bronze figures on opposite sides of the gallery. Between the two sculptures was a wide flat bench.
“Perfect! Which do you want?” he asked.
“We’re not sketching the same one?”
“Not unless you want to shred the last bit of confidence I have left in me today,” he said with a laugh.
“Okay. I’ll take her.” I pointed at the young mother figure and left the dancer to him.
“Good.” Zander placed my sketchbook and the box ofpastels on one end of the bench and then sat cross-legged facing the other with a thick triangular stick of charcoal and his own pad. “Give those pastels a try for me.”
“Are you sure? I brought charcoal pencils, too.”
“I’m more of a steady black-and-white sort of person,” he said over his shoulder. “You, on the other hand, exude all these flashes of brilliant color where you least expect them.”
I smiled and picked up a dark purple. As soon as the soft chalk of the pastel smoothed over the textured paper, I felt all the confusion and stress melt away. Even when I felt Zander lean against me, back to back, it just felt warm and natural. As I added the final shadows of my figure’s contours to my sketch, he finally broke the comfortable silence.
“I’m not, you know.”
I leaned down and blew aside some loose chalk dust the pastels had left behind. “Not what?” I grabbed the deep blue to touch up the mother’s cloak.
“You know … into Ken dolls.”
My hand faltered and a slash of bright blue spilled onto the white background. I swallowed in an attempt to control my voice. “Oh. Good. I mean. Not good, not that there’s anything—”
“Gotcha.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
His hand touched my shoulder, and I looked down at his fingers holding out a gray rubbery eraser. I took it and decided I’d better keep my mouth shut before I made any further blunders that might be tougher to erase.
Chapter Seven
Anne made a rare early-morning school appearance to make up for the fact that she had been an absentee best friend the night before. The smell of floor wax was strong this early in the day, and I counted the ugly offset linoleum tiles as we walked toward our lockers. I found it easier to think things through if I distracted the frazzled surface of my brain with something else. I thought of this process as mental doodling.
“I didn’t sleep at all. I really needed to talk to you last night about all of this,” I said.
“I told you, T-Shirt and I were heading back and he got nailed by that lousy cop in Batville. It’s a total speed trap. The road goes from fifty-five miles per hour down
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