He didn’t have to. He just needed to support her and guide her. Right?
I tried not to sigh heavily as he suggested she start over.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t believe this.” He tapped her paper. “I can’t see your point of view on the paper. I can’t understand it. And you can’t explain it to me.”
I stopped what I was doing, not wanting to look but finding it hard not to. Everyone else listened in too.
Cassie glowered. “Fine. You know what I see? I see years of goddamn ballet lessons I hated, years of instruction, and years of being told I couldn’t goddamn eat what I wanted to eat. That’s what I goddamn see.”
I grimaced.
Wow. We had different memories of ballet, huh? I wondered if that’s how I’d felt about ballet. I had tits and an ass, which seemed like it might have become a problem for me at some point.
“There’s no need to curse.” Professor Pullman sniffed in pompous outrage. “Continue, then.”
I tried to hide my scowl and probably failed.
What was his problem with Cassie?
“Time’s up!” He raised his voice and stepped toward the model. “Thank you, Lola.”
She grabbed her robe, pulled it on, flashed him a quick smile, and disappeared into the supply closet to get changed.
Our classmates moved their easels to the back of the room. I followed Cassie, who had a slouch to her shoulders I didn’t like. I hovered as a few people said goodbye to me and walked out. Lola left with the professor and that left only me, Cassie, and a guy called Devin we were both friendly with. Devin was in the far corner taking his sweet time leaving the classroom.
I wanted to get home and couldn’t wait around much longer to say what I wanted to say.
Screw it. I stepped up next to Cassie, who was staring forlornly at her painting.
She jerked her head around, blinking in surprise. “I didn’t know you were still here.”
I placed my hand on her shoulder and her brow puckered. “I love your painting.”
She bit her lip. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not.” I sighed. “He shouldn’t give you such a hard time. As an artist, he should know that art is subjective. Just because he’s doesn’t get it doesn’t mean there isn’t a place for it.”
Cassie shrugged. “I’m supposed to paint what I feel when I see something. That’s what I’m doing. I see Lola and I hear Madame Renee berating me for putting on a pound. I remember my mother snatching a candy bar out of my hand and stuffing a carrot in its place. I see swollen and wounded feet, my toenails pushing painfully into my skin, forced by the pressure of being en pointe.” She flicked me a sour look. “I danced for ten years, and I was good at it. But I hated every minute. Misery. Never feeling good enough. Always hungry. You have to love ballet to want to go through that. For me it was restraining, and I was dying to break free. Which I did. And it was an angry, resentful, huge, explosive argument between me and my mom. We’ve never been the same since. That’s what I feel when I look at Lola. That’s what’s on the paper.”
“Then you’re doing what Professor Pullman asked. That’s all anyone can do. He needs to back off.”
“You’re right.”
I tensed at the sound of the professor’s voice.
Cassie’s eyes widened.
Wincing, I hesitantly turned to look at him.
Professor Pullman stood behind us and wore an unreadable expression. “As much as I don’t appreciate the discussion behind my back,” he said, raising one eyebrow at me, “your friend is right, Cassandra.” He sighed. “I … I misinterpreted your choices.” He gestured to the painting. “Jane is right. As an artist, I should know better. I’m sorry if I’ve been hard on you. I just … I wanted to make sure you were truly painting from your gut and not some leftover teenage emo … whatever.”
“Uh … thanks. I think.” Cassie grimaced.
“Jane, Devin, do you mind giving us a minute?” he asked.
I’d totally forgotten Devin was in the room. I shot Cassie a look, and she gave me a reassuring smirk. Gathering my stuff, I gave the professor a tight, embarrassed smile and hurried out of the room after Devin.
As soon as we were in the hall, Devin waited for me to catch up.
I’d spoken to Devin Albright our first week in art history. He’d asked to borrow a pen, and we’d shared some get-to-know-you