“I know, but you’re getting there,” I say, trying to focus back on my drawing. Except I can’t think of anything to draw. My mind has gone totally blank, I can’t envision anything; hell, I can’t even think where I’m supposed to start. Just a line, and then another line. I huff and lean my head back.
“Stuck?” Nathan asks without looking at me.
“Sort of.”
“I get that way sometimes too. When I’m writing.”
“Oh yeah? Any tips for getting out of it?”
“I’m not the artist here.” He grins. “Maybe draw something around you?”
“Like?”
“That, my Padawan, is all up to you.” He points at me with the eraser end of his pencil.
“Have I ever told you how helpful you are?” I ask.
“No.”
“Good, because you aren’t.” It doesn’t occur to me how mean that could sound until I’ve already said it, but Nathan’s just laughing away.
“You asked,” he half sings. Maybe he’s right, except there really isn’t anything in this room that I know. Well, there’s one thing. But would drawing Nathan be too creepy? He’s sitting still enough, and there’s enough light.
You know what? Screw it.
It’s weird to have a Nathan that isn’t moving or talking with his hands. He’s in the thick of it, the gears in his head turning. He’s even sticking out his tongue a little, and I hate to admit that it’s totally adorable.
In fact, I don’t think there’s one imperfection. Not the bumps on his chin, the small cut on his cheek that I’m guessing is from shaving, the slight circles under his eyes. It all feels on purpose. I don’t think Nathan Allan is capable of accidents. He doesn’t seem like the type.
I start with his pose, a skeleton. Easy enough, his back against the wall, both knees propped up so he can balance his notebook, because he’s where he belongs, in his own environment. I wonder what that feels like.
The hook of his nose to his mouth might be my favorite part, the straight lines suddenly curving right down to his mouth. But then he starts chewing on the end of his pen, and I just have to huff and roll my eyes. I’ll get back to that later. It’s his smaller details that will be the hardest to capture. The freckles across his nose, the shape of his brow, the way the corners of his eyes slope down just a little.
“Hey.” His voice makes me jump. Guess I was in deep. “I don’t get this one.” He hands me his notebook. God, how long was I out like that?
“You just need to find b.” I look over the question. It’s complicated. In fact, I’m really not sure it needs to be on an algebra quiz, it looks so advanced.
“I got that, Einstein, but that really isn’t helping.”
“Einstein was more into physics, though you aren’t far off.” I scoot closer to him. “Here, rewrite the equation with the log terms on one side.”
“Then you rewrite the substitution, right?”
“Yeah. And now you can solve it like you normally would,” I say, pointing to the newly formed equation.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it.” He grins, showing off those dimples again. I watch him quickly move through the rest of the problem until he finally comes to the answer, showing it to me for approval.
“Yep. That’s it.”
“Oh God, man, I could kiss you.”
My heart sort of sinks in my chest. “Yeah.”
He types in the answer, and I move back to my spot, grabbing my sketchbook before I sit on it.
“Okay, let’s see it.” Nathan sticks out his hand.
“Huh?”
He turns his laptop so I can see the screen. There’s a big “Congratulations” and a “Click Submit for Extra Credit” underneath it. “I finished the quiz, and you said you’d show me what you’re drawing when I was done.”
“Oh, it’s really nothing.” I can’t show him this. Jesus, what if he thinks I’m some weird stalker?
“Uh-huh. I called on you twice to help me out, and you were so focused on that thing you didn’t even hear me. So I really doubt it’s nothing.”
I didn’t even realize. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s cool. At least I know I can solve logarithmic equations by myself.” He closes his laptop and moves to sit next to me. “Now, show me.”
“You’re going to think I’m weird.” I flip open to the drawing.
“Well, you already sort of are but—” He stops when he sees what I’ve done. This is exactly what I was afraid of. He hates it, or he’s creeped out by it. I wonder if he’ll just yell at me or do something worse. I don’t think I can handle Nathan hating me.
“I’m really sor—” I start, but he stops me.
“Ben.”
“What?”
He takes the sketch pad from my hands, staring closely at the drawing. “You drew me,” he says, reaching toward the drawing like he wants to touch it, but at the last moment he stops himself. I guess he thinks he’ll mess it up or something.
“It’s not that good.” My voice isn’t much more than a murmur. Right now, my mind is pretty occupied with trying not to grin like an idiot. “It’s not even close to done.” There are no details in his clothes or his hands. Even the background is nearly blank, simple lines to fill in for the posters and pictures on his wall.
“You’ve got to give yourself more credit than that.” He starts to trace a hand along his nose. “You even got my freckles.”
“It’s okay.” I shrug.
“Have you ever thought about showing off your art?”
“Where would I even do that?”
“I don’t know. But people need to see your stuff. It’s amazing.” He looks back at the sketch pad, staring in silence. And I feel my heart thudding in my chest.
I’m walking through the empty halls of the school. It’s sort of eerie to be here when things are quiet. But Thomas has to stay after school today, some meeting about exams and graduation and spring break. I really can’t believe it’s March already.
I’d go to the art room, but it feels weird being there after hours. Plus, last time I did that, the janitor walked in on me, and there’s really nothing more awkward than just sitting around while someone else is cleaning, all while you try your best not to get in their way.
I wish Nathan was here to help pass the time. I texted him, but he hasn’t answered yet. Must be studying or something. His algebra exam was today, and I want to know how he did.
He tried his best to teach me a few tricks about the essay I’m supposed to turn in by the end of the week, but I’m hopeless. Something about getting the words from my brain to the computer. It just isn’t working. That and Chaucer is really boring.
My mind is a million miles away right now, and I’m not paying attention to where I’m walking, so when a classroom door bursts open, I run right into someone, which makes both of us fall onto our butts. I can’t really blame anyone but myself.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” The papers they were carrying fly everywhere, and it’s not until they’re all settled that I realize I ran into Meleika.