Yesterday, she gave me an easel and a canvas and told me to paint the first thing that came to mind. Mariam had been texting me about cardinals during lunch, and how they’re Mariam’s favorite bird. So that was the first thing I blurted out.
And I painted a cardinal, just like I’d been told to.
“It’s a nice contrast, especially with the red,” she tries to joke. At least I think it’s supposed to be a joke. “Do you like painting, Ben? You’re very good at it.”
“Yeah.” I actually enjoy it more than drawing. I guess maybe it feels fresher, since I can’t do it as much as I want to. I couldn’t exactly drag out paint sets at home, and at Wayne, art classes weren’t much to write home about.
Not that they were worse, and I learned a lot. Things were just definitely stricter there.
That’s when the bell decides to ring. I scramble to get my paint and brushes into the sink. “Oh, take your time, kid.” Mrs. Liu pats my shoulder.
“Sorry, wasn’t paying attention,” I say, my hands already stained with the watery orange.
“It’s okay. I wanted to ask you something anyway.”
“Yeah?”
“I noticed you’re going out to the courtyard during your lunch.”
Jesus, I’m ready for everyone to stop being obsessed with where I go for my lunch break. “Oh, yeah, not a cafeteria fan.”
“Well, if you ever want to come in here and work …” Mrs. Liu pulls a small key out of the pockets on her smock.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course. I’ve got a good feeling about you, Ben.” She slaps the key down on the counter. “But just a warning, I don’t give too many chances.”
“I’ll be careful. I swear.”
“You better.” She winks at me and goes back to her office. Near-unlimited access to the art room? Most definitely not a bad thing.
It’s an uphill climb to Friday, but I get there. Between homework and trying to catch up on all my classes, it’s nice to just have a night to myself. Hannah and Thomas both decide they want to go out to dinner; I decline the invitation, figuring they probably want some time to themselves after everything I’ve put them through.
Plus, this way I can draw without interruption, and I don’t really have to worry about walking in on them or intruding on their space. Nights alone at home were rare, and normally I reserved those times for more drawing or marathoning Mariam’s videos.
“So, what’re we doing tonight?” Mariam’s voice echoes through the speakers on my laptop. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a night like this. Just me and them, talking while we both work. It’s actually relaxing.
“Nothing special. What’re you working on?” My eyes drift from the TV to my computer to my sketchbook. I’ve been sketching so many ideas for paintings over the last few days.
“Speeches. I’ve got to get ready for this conference. And I’m looking at dates for the next tour.” They show me their notebook. Even just a single page is crammed to the margins with their messy writing. It never fails to amaze me that Mariam can speak in front of hundreds, or in some cases, a thousand people, without a care in the world.
“Sounds like a fun time,” I say.
“Yup.” They pop their lips. “What about you?”
“Drawing.” I show them the sketch pad.
“Nice, when are you going to give me a new header for the channel?” Mariam leans on their hands and bats their eyelashes.
“That would require the right tools, my friend.” Some kind of drawing program on the laptop, probably a drawing tablet too. Too much for me, especially since those things cost money.
Mariam just rolls their eyes, the master of the eye roll. “Want to see my latest haul?”
I smile. “Always.”
“How about new scarves?” They lean back to show more of the scarf wrapped around their head in the frame of the webcam. It’s hard to tell from here, but the material looks glossy, and the bright red really goes well with their lipstick.
“I love it.”
Mariam and I have had long conversations about being religious and nonbinary. For Mariam though, their hijab represents comfort, security, a connection to their faith. They could spend hours talking about how it made them feel. In fact, they made a whole series on their channel last year, what being Shia Muslim and being nonbinary meant to them.
For a second, I remember what Mom told me that night. How God doesn’t want this. Mariam’s the only reason I can’t believe that.
“I bought a few more, but this one is my favorite. Oh!” They reach off-camera for something. “And this sweater.” Mariam stands up quickly, pushing their desk chair out of the way, and twirls in front of the camera. It’s one of those that sort of looks like a cloak, but it’s cut so it won’t fall off you or anything. The kind I was always sort of jealous of when I saw them in stores, out shopping with Mom.
“Oh my God.”
“I know, right?” Mariam twirls again. “I’m never wearing anything else. Thirty percent off too!” They do a little dance. “Not that I’ll have much of a chance to wear it at home. The lowest it gets here is like sixty degrees, if we’re lucky. But maybe on tour.”
“I’m jealous.”
“You’ll get there one day, Benji. I promise. When you’re designing logos and painting masterpieces, no one can tell you what to wear.”
“Yeah, right.” Technically no one could tell me what to wear now, but I know exactly what would happen if I dared to go out in public dressed like that, or in some of the cool-looking polka-dot dresses I’ve seen online, or maybe in calf-high boots I know would never fit my feet.
I settle into the couch and go back to my drawing. I’ve been thinking about portraits for a while now. There’s always been something about faces that just feels so interesting to me. I spent the last few days saving photos of various models I found online, their smooth faces and sharp lips, eyebrows perfectly plucked and eyes like they’re piercing you.
I heard a car pull into the driveway. Instead of the headlights dimming and the engine cutting off, it just sits there idling.
“Weird,” I whisper to myself.
“Huh?” Mariam asks.
“Nothing.” I resume drawing. “Hannah and Thomas just got home.”
“So how are you liking the new school?” Mariam’s in front of the camera now.
“It’s fine.”
“Any new friends threatening to take my spot?”
“None so far.” Nathan kept trying to get me to come to lunch with him, but once Mrs. Liu let me in the art room, any hope of that was crushed. He didn’t seem too bothered by my rejections though. It was almost like it was becoming a game to him or something.
I glance back out the window. The car is still there, just sitting in the driveway with the engine running and headlights shining through the curtains.
“Everything okay? You seem a bit spacey tonight.”
“Hannah and Thomas are just sitting outside in their car.”
Mariam starts laughing to themselves. “Maybe they’re making out.”
“Gross.” I crawl toward the window, pulling back the curtains as slowly as possible. The driveway isn’t that long, but it’s still too dark to really tell the color or make of a car. Not that I would’ve known anyway. There are cars, trucks, and SUVs. That’s pretty much the extent of my car knowledge.