Better Than Running at Night (19 page)

The only sound in the room was the projector's fan.

"This is called
Nude at a Counter,
" he said. "Original, right?"

Nobody laughed.

The drawing was so elegant. Every muscle was there. The emotion was powerful, but subtle.

"I think everyone's felt like that woman before," Ralph said.

"Yeah," I said. "I have."

"Oh, you don't have to flatter me because I'm your teacher. I'll give you good grades anyway."

"No, it's true," Sam said. "That's rad."

Slide after slide was just as touching as the first one. All of them were sad women. Some were nude, and others were draped in sheets or loose dresses.

"Charcoal is my favorite medium," Ed said. "You can get the best gradations and it gives you more control than paint."

"Do you always use the same model?" Ralph asked.

"Good question, Ralph," Ed said. "Sometimes I hire a model, not always the same one. But for the draped figures I use a mannequin I built. The joints are articulated, so I can move them to the position I want. She's more flexible than a real person, and she sits still longer, that's for sure!"

The last slide was of a woman lying on her stomach in bed, partially draped by a sheet. It was a side view, and one arm hung limply over the edge of the bed. A single finger grazed the floor. That arm said everything about how she felt.

After seeing Ed's slides, I knew why I had come to art school.

On my way out of the garage, I got stopped by a weight on my shoulder. It was Sam's hand. He asked me if I wanted to get some dinner and hang out. I felt bad about having given him the cold shoulder earlier in the week, so I said I would.

It was Valentine's Day, and I was supposed to meet Nate at a party on Artist's Row later. I had thought I'd take a nap before the party, but the nap seemed less important than not insulting Sam.

"Um, I want to give my final project to you, if you don't mind," he said on our way to the dining hall. "A ladybug for Ladybug."

His eyes bulged, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just said.

"Oh, Sam, thanks," I said. "I don't know if I have anyplace to put it though."

"Well, maybe I could hang on to it for now."

"You should keep your projects," I said. "Someday down the road you'll want to see how much you've improved."

"I don't think I'll ever build anything like this again." He shrugged.

"Well, my mom gave me enough ladybug stuff as a kid to last me a lifetime. I bet you don't have anything ladybugish in your room. You need it more than I do."

"Right." He pulled his cap over his eyes. "If you don't want it, you should've said that to begin with." His steps quickened.

"Wait," I said, rushing to keep up with him. I put my hand on his arm and tugged.

He stopped walking and turned to face me.

"I'm not trying to be mean to you," I said. "I'm sorry if it's coming out that way."

He looked at the ground. "Yeah, it's okay," he said. "It was a dumb idea, anyway."

"So, are you, like, dating that guy Nate?" Sam asked when we sat down to dinner.

"Yeah," I said. "I guess you could call it dating."

"You know he's an asshole, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've just seen how he is. He's a player. He treats girls like shit."

"Maybe," I said. "But he's different with me."

"Different with you than with all the other girls he fools around with? I swear, that guy would do it with anything that has a vagina." He covered his mouth and gasped. "Sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay," I said. "I've heard that word before. But
anyway,
he's not fooling around with anyone except me right now."

"Is that what he tells you?"

"Yes, and it's true. Let's not talk about Nate anymore, okay?" My face was hot. My heart was pounding.

Sam rolled his eyes. "The nice guys always lose. You've got to be a complete jerk to get a girl. Even a nice girl."

The dining hall air was stiflingly stale.

"I've got to go home and change," I said. "There's this Valentine's party tonight."

"Oh, on Artist's Row?" he asked. "Yeah. I'm going there, too. I can come with you. I mean, I can wait for you to change. Man, I keep saying the stupidest things. I'm trying to make us better friends, but I'm just screwing things up."

"No, Sam. Don't worry so much," I said. "You're doing fine."

"Will you give me another chance to fix things?" he asked. "Maybe if we walk to the party together."

"All right." I didn't want to disappoint him again.

As we started down the snowy hill, Sam asked, "Do you mind going up to Dunkin' Donuts with me? It's still early."

"Okay."

I waited outside while he bought a few doughnuts.

"For the party," he said when he came out. "I get hungry when I smoke."

At my apartment, Sam wiped his feet on my doormat. Then he wiped them again. And again. And again.

"You can come in now," I said.

"I don't want to mess up your floor."

"I think you got all the snow off a few wipes ago."

He stepped inside. The door hit his backpack as it swung shut. "Nice place," he said, wrinkling the Dunkin' Donuts bag with his fingers.

I gathered my dress and makeup and headed for the bathroom.

"Don't do that," Sam said. "I'll go in there. You stay out here."

"That'll be weird, though," I said. "You waiting in the bathroom."

"I can wait outside."

"It's pretty cold."

"Then I'll wait in the bathroom."

"No," I said. "I'm going in there."

"It's outside or in the bathroom," he said. "Your choice."

"Bathroom."

"Just tell me when you're ready." He didn't take off his backpack or coat before entering the bathroom.

I changed into a clingy black dress I'd bought on Main Street a few days earlier especially for this occasion. I thought of telling Sam he could come out now, but I didn't want him to watch me putting on my makeup.

I wore bright red lipstick, the kind you only see on models in makeup ads. I did my eyes up with black eyeliner, but not in the tacky thick way I used to. I hoped I wasn't overdressed. But hey, it was a Valentine's party; I had to dress a little risqué.

"Okay, I'm ready!" I called.

The door opened slowly. Coat still zipped, backpack still gripping his shoulders.

He blinked hard, then opened his eyes wide.

"What?" I asked.

"I know you don't want to hear this," he said, "but I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so beautiful."

"Thanks, Sam."

It's strange; that was the most direct thing he'd ever said to me, but it felt the least awkward. Flattering, even. I wanted to go back and hear him say it again.

We made eye contact for a few seconds and this time I looked away first.

No, I told myself. You can't think of Sam that way.

Almost everyone in the basement was dressed in red. Hearts dangled from strings taped to the ceiling. Ella Fitzgerald was singing "Lover, please be tender..."

In a dark corner, a group of topless girls with red hearts painted on their nipples waited for a camera to flash. They were trying to coax a flat-chested friend into joining them. But she was either not as daring or not as drunk as they were, because she maintained her position against the wall, fully clothed, arms folded across her chest.

I was so amused by this scene that I almost didn't realize the photographer at whom the well-endowed girls were puckering their lips was none other than Nate Finerman. Two of the girls, I realized, were Maura and Sloane.

One girl busted her way out of the group and grabbed the camera from Nate's hands, pushing him into her former position. The girls immediately pounced on him, fighting over who got to be closest to the male of honor. Sloane wriggled her way to the center for one of the photos and stuck her vinyl miniskirt-clad leg across Nate's waist.

At some point during the photo session Nate noticed that I was watching and he winked at me. He tried to walk toward me, but the girls yanked him back. When he attempted an escape, they tackled him to the floor. He poked his face out from among the girl pile and gave me a
What can I do?
face.

I almost left the party at that moment, but when I turned around I ran into Ralph. He had a question he'd been
dying
to ask me.

"Ellie, I've just got to know. Have you considered
wearing
your three-D project?"

"No."

"Well, maybe sometime next semester we can collaborate on an outfit. I
love
the idea of wearing your insides on the outside."

Nate had finally escaped from the mountain of girls. He ran up to me and pulled me around so I wasn't facing Ralph anymore.

"Hey, sexy," he said.

"I want to go," I whispered.

"Why?" he asked. "You just got here!"

"Nate, I just have to go."

"Oh, come on, wait for me," he said. "I want us to leave together. It
is
Valentine's Day and all. Plus, it's the last night before you leave. Let's hang out just a little longer."

"Well, okay," I said. "But not
too
long."

"I've been thinking all day about being with you tonight. We'll mingle a while and then meet up." He kissed my forehead.

Ralph was gone by the time I turned back around.

I wandered the basement, looking for familiar faces. It was
painfully evident that I didn't know many people. And this was a pretty small school.

I found Sam sitting alone in a corner, smoking a joint.

"Hey, Ellie," he said with squinty bloodshot eyes.

"Hey, Sam." I sat down next to him.

"You want a hit?"

"No, thanks." I did, however, share his last doughnut. Boston cream.

"Saved it for you," he said.

I hoped my face wasn't as red as it felt.

He balled up the Dunkin' Donuts bag and stuffed it in his backpack.

"What do you keep in there?" I asked. "That thing looks like it weighs you down."

"Just stuff. I like to be prepared."

He put out his joint and slid it behind his ear. Then he rooted through his bag and pulled out his Diskman and headphones.

"There's this," he said. "And these." A handful of batteries. "The Diskman eats them up. And I keep this around in case I run out of batteries." He yanked an adapter out by its wire. "None of it would be any good without these." There must've been at least a dozen CDs. All Phish and Grateful Dead, as far as I could tell.

Then, of course, he had his rolling papers, tobacco, and lighter.

Next was his monster-size hardcovered sketchbook. He showed me a page with a tallied list. There were three categories: dough
nuts, muffins, and bagels. Each flavor had a single mark beside it. Except one. Boston cream had three.

"You finished?" I asked.

"Tonight," he said, beaming.

"That's a lot of stuff to carry around all the time."

"It gets heavy sometimes," he said. "But it's comforting to keep the things I need with me wherever I go."

Nate found me. Said he wanted to leave. Held his hand out to help me up.

"We'll finish this conversation later," I told Sam clearly, so Nate would hear.

"Right on," Sam said after lighting up again. He waved good-bye with his joint.

Nate and I walked slowly up the rickety basement stairs and didn't say anything until we got outside.

"There's cream on your chin," he said without looking at me.

I wiped it off and licked it from my fingers.

"There's a nipple mark on the corner of your mouth," I said.

It was smudgy, like the kiss marks you get from your grandma.

He wiped at the wrong side.

"No,
there.
" I pointed closely at the mark, but didn't touch it.

He never wiped it off completely.

"So have you been hanging out much with that guy?" Nate asked.

"I guess," I said. "Sam and Ralph were the only other people in my Foundation class, and Ralph is a little hard to handle at times."

"That Sam guy probably thinks he can get girls by being all quiet and mysterious, but it's all an act. You know that, right?"

"Maybe," I said. "Why don't you like Sam? You don't even know him."

Our shoes crunched on the snow. Like it was a snack.

"You know, I just have a hard time seeing people with fast food," he said. "This is so embarrassing to admit because I know it sounds crazy. But it's especially hard seeing them with you."

"Sam didn't have fast food."

"Dunkin' Donuts!" he cried. "They may not serve burgers, but they're just as much fast food as Burger King. They have a drive-thru, for crying out loud!"

"You watched us eating doughnuts?"

"I just happened to see. Why, were you trying to hide it?"

"Of course not!"

Nate packed a snowball with his bare hands.

"This doesn't make any sense," I said. "You know I have more sympathy for your problem with fast food than anyone, and I'll always feel weird walking into a McDonald's because of your dad. But if I want a doughnut, I'm gonna eat a doughnut!"