Plastic Hearts (5 page)

My pulse picked up as I entered the art studio that would hold my class for the next four months. It wasn't the class itself that scared me; I was walking into a room full of strangers whom I would join three times a week for two hours as we shared our intimate thoughts through art. The people in this class would probably end up knowing more about my inner thoughts than any friend or family member. Art was a way to express everything that I was feeling during a given day; some days it all came out rainbows and sunshine, but on others it was clouded by darkness. While most of my friends had journals or laid out their inner feelings through multiple Facebook posts, I had chosen to draw and paint in my family’s pool house. My parents weren’t particularly fond of my love for art, but had agreed that the ‘little hobby that I would simply have to grow out of’ could be done out of sight.

When I walked past a circle of easels in the center of the room, I noticed art desks in sets of two; there was only one set open and it just happened to be in the front row. If I wouldn’t have had to deal with Jade this morning I would have made it to class in time to get a better seat, but of course things didn’t work out that way. That girl really needed to invest in an alarm clock and a decent amount of self-discipline.

I put my bag down and grabbed a new notebook and pencil as the professor cleared his throat, signaling the start of class. "Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Greg Thomas and I’ll be your instructor for the next 16 weeks.”

Greg Thomas couldn’t have been more than five foot seven and wore a ridiculous pair of dark jeans pulled up a little too high on the waist and a patterned button down western shirt. His glasses looked like they hadn’t been updated in years and he had longer hair in the back, some of which was combed forward to his forehead in order to hide an obvious bald spot. I couldn't help but ponder the idea of submitting him to the TV show, What Not to Wear, or the movie Clueless. I needed to find his Miss Geist and set him up.

"This semester we will be going over many different art types, from Abstract to Portrait to Still Life. I know some of you may already have a niche you would like to concentrate on, but this is Art 101 and it’s required for all Art majors. Consider it a stepping stone to your future." He began to write week one goals on the board when the door directly to his right opened, causing everyone to focus their attention in that direction.

At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me because it was Sexy Stranger from the club. He was dressed the same as the other night, wearing faded blue jeans that sat low on his waist and a brown leather jacket over a fitted white t-shirt. One thing I hadn’t noticed before was the amazing color of his eyes. They were the shade of green sea glass and, with the reflection of the light, they showed a vibrancy I didn’t know eyes could possess. He looked around for a second, realizing the seat next to me was the only one open. I realized I was staring and quickly looked down at my notebook, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me. I talked to him for all of five minutes the other night, but something about him unnerved me. I couldn’t place it, but I was definitely feeling a level of uncomfortable that I wasn’t used to. As he took the seat next to me my eyes betrayed me, trying to get another glimpse of the new guy. When our eyes met, I felt extremely uneasy, wishing there was a hole to climb into. Eye contact had always been an issue for me; I was afraid someone would see through me and would realize that I wasn’t who I pretended to be.

"Excuse me. What’s your name?" the instructor asked, bringing my focus back to the front of the room. He was staring directly at my new neighbor with a look of annoyance that I usually only saw from my father.

"Dane Wright,” he said, drawing my attention back to him. The hot guy from the club had a name…and a deep masculine voice that had me silently begging to hear more. He looked in my direction and winked before turning back around to face the instructor. My heart rate picked up again; I’d be lucky if I got through this day without having a freaking heart attack. I didn’t know a thing about this guy - besides that he went to dance clubs and attended an Art class - but my body couldn’t stop reacting to him. I never had this type of reaction to guys, ever.

"Okay, Dane Wright, why don't you tell me what time this class starts?" Mr. Thomas asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Even in his awkward state of fashion, he looked intimidating.

Dane took a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. "It begins at 9am according to my schedule. If you would like to look at it, I can make you a copy." Dane smiled and looked back at our classmates to see how many were getting a good laugh from the scene he was causing. For whatever reason, this lit his fire. I felt like someone had put me in a time machine and sent me back to high school.

Mr. Thomas placed his hands on his hips. "Okay, Dane Wright. Look at the clock and tell me what time it is now."

"Well, Mr. Thomas, it’s 9:11am, but I’ve been in this chair for at least three minutes, maybe four,” he replied. This guy was arrogant and immature; I expected guys to be a little more mature by the time we hit college. I guess not everyone could live up to my expectations.

"Okay class, in honor of Dane Wright, the seat you’re in now is your assigned seat for the whole semester. I want our shining star right in the front row where I can see him. He will be in charge of fetching my paints when I need them during lessons and cleaning up any messes." There was another roll of laughter from the back of the classroom as Mr. Thomas returned to the board. I didn’t find it funny and I was ready to get class started. The sooner we got through this first day nonsense, the sooner I could put a paintbrush in my hand again.

Dane ran both hands over his short brown hair as he sighed and leaned over to grab something out of his bag. His arm lightly brushed mine as he sat back up in his chair, causing a shiver to run through my body.

"Your first assignment involves getting to know the person sitting next to you. The remainder of class today will be spent interviewing each other. You will have the opportunity to create a piece of art that represents your partner during class on Wednesday and we will present on Friday. You can use any method of art you would like. This will give us the opportunity to get to know each other and for me to see where you are with your art. Go ahead and get started."

And that was the cherry on top of my day; I had to actually talk to him. I slouched in my chair before sitting up straight again. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get comfortable.

He turned in my direction and I caught him looking me up and down like some sort of display in a museum. I didn’t think he remembered me and decided that might be for the best. His eyes stopped on my chest and I was pretty sure I saw his eyebrows rise slightly. Typical male, I thought. I quickly crossed my arms and cleared my throat, causing his eyes to shift back up. "We should probably get started on this project. I want as much information as possible to start my painting on Wednesday."

 "Well, why don't you start by telling me your name? The whole class already knows mine." He started to tap the eraser of his pencil on his nose while looking right at me with those eyes. It would be so easy to get lost in them. Those eyes could get me into a lot of trouble.

"My name is Alexandra Riley, but my friends call me Alex. I grew up in Greenwich, Connecticut and right now I’m majoring in Pre-Med, but my dream is to become a Graphic Artist which is why I slipped this class into my schedule. Anything else?" I removed my arms from my chest and reached for my pencil, writing Dane Wright at the top of my page. I couldn’t believe I just told him all that. That wasn’t something I usually admitted out loud, but for some reason I couldn’t stop myself. No going back now.

"Why are you Pre-Med if what you really want to be a Graphic Artist? Lots of people end up changing their major, but that’s quite a stretch." I didn’t look up at him, but I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was taking notes. I tried to discreetly peek over his arm to see what he was writing, but couldn’t read his handwriting. I would love to know what he thought of me after all of this.

"I have no desire to be a doctor. My father is a doctor and my sister just completed her residency. In my family, if you have a brain that’s what you’re expected to do. My parents are paying for my college tuition so If I switched I would have to take care of everything myself. Plus, they don’t really leave much room for negotiation." His brows drew together as he shook his head at me. I turned away, deciding a subject change was in order. "Tell me about you."

"I grew up right here in the city. I’m 22 years old and decided I was going to return to school and make something of myself. I really don’t want to work in a bar my whole life. Art is something that I know and something that I’m good at, so here I am." He sat up straight and removed his jacket, revealing his tattoo-covered arms. I couldn’t make out all of them without an obvious stare, but it was a collage of various images. It was almost like he started with one and just kept going until he couldn’t fit anymore on his arm. Usually, I was turned off by them, but something about the coloring and pattern made me want to explore every inch of his arms with my eyes.

"Did you design your tattoos?" I asked. I wanted to reach out and touch his marked skin. But I didn’t.

"Yeah, I drew them out and a friend of mine did them in his shop. I have a dragon tattoo on my left arm and a guardian angel with my sister's name on the other. The other stuff just kind of happened out of boredom." I wanted to ask him why he had a guardian angel tattoo with his sister’s name on it, but I felt it wasn't any of my business. He must have noticed my hesitancy because he continued. "Jenna died when I was nine; she was five. Mom had picked her up from dance class and a truck ran a red light, hitting the rear passenger side directly where my sister sat." His eyes looked away from mine and he began to twirl his pencil on top of his notebook again. His face showed vulnerability and under his hard exterior, I saw something honest and sincere when he talked about his sister. I could only imagine the amount of pain losing a sibling would cause.

I placed my hand on his forearm. "I’m sorry,” I whispered. I meant it. My sister and I were very different, but I would be torn to shreds if I lost her.

"Enough about me, tell me a little more about yourself. How old are you?" There was a deep sadness in his voice, but it was obvious he was trying to push it down and hide it. All of a sudden having my hand on him felt really awkward so I quickly removed it.

"I turned 19 over winter break," I said as I picked up my pen and started doodling on my notebook. “What kind of art do you do, Dane?”

“I sculpt with metal. Sometimes I weld, sometimes I use fire to heat the metal and then hit it with a hammer to shape it. I can draw, but sculpting is the manly form of art because I get to use power tools,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at me. His rationale made me smile. Most guys I knew never got their manicured hands dirty and here was one who defined his manliness through his art by using power tools.

I glanced up from my paper. “I’ve never seen anyone do a metal sculpture before. I’d like to watch that sometime.”

“You can come to my place anytime,” he said, as he ran his tongue over his upper lip. I should be appalled by the underlying meaning of his words, but I couldn’t take my eyes off his lips long enough to let them bother me. The grin that formed on his face told me that he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Do you like something you see?” he finally asked.

My mouth went dry. I wasn’t used to being around someone so forward. When I looked back down at my notebook, it was covered in little hearts. I blushed as I quickly turned it over before Dane could see my newest work of art. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his grin widen and I wondered if I was already too late.

"Class, I hope you have everything you need to start the second phase of your project. Please take the last few minutes to start thinking about what you would like to do on Wednesday,” Mr. Thomas said, interrupting our exchange. Relief washed over me; I couldn’t stand to look at those green eyes much longer. I could, but I didn’t want to. I needed some fresh air. I grabbed my things and placed them into my bag before getting up from my chair. As I turned to leave, I heard his voice behind me.

“You looked beautiful the other night. Hope I didn’t cause too much trouble with your boyfriend.” I didn’t turn around to acknowledge his comment, but I felt my face turning red for the hundredth time in the last couple hours. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was happy that he remembered me.

I went to the student center to grab some lunch before heading to Anatomy. As always, Jade was sitting at a table in the corner of the room that was otherwise filled with boys. During the first week of school last semester, a group of freshman guys came over to flirt with us. I had a boyfriend and Jade didn’t date freshman. After we turned down their advances they never really went away and we’ve eaten with them every day since.

I spotted Jade as she waved me over to the table. "How was class?" she asked as soon as I sat down.

I sighed and gave her the short version of my morning class, including my run in with the Sexy Stranger from the club and our first project.

"Is he cute? I never really got to meet him because I was busy,” Jade said, looking at me with her big green eyes as if I was about to give her some big celebrity gossip scoop. She was a gossip addict; I could see her working for People or Us Magazine, taking pictures of famous celebrities. It would merge her two true loves.

"I guess he isn't bad. He has the most intense green colored eyes I’ve ever seen, but he really isn't the type of guy I find attractive. He has tattoos on his arms and wears a leather jacket. You would eat him up." He really was her type and I doubted that he wanted anything serious so I could see them working.

"You know, you should go after him. He might loosen you up some." She let out a laugh before continuing, "but if you really aren't into him, maybe you could get me his phone number?" She winked at me before getting up from the table. The thought of giving Jade his phone number didn’t make me happy. It was one thing to say it, but it was another to picture myself doing it.