Dating Makes Perfect - Pintip Dunn Page 0,17

to explore my art again in such an intense, concentrated way?

I’ll be expected to be serious in college. Focused on my economics courses. Not distracted by “frivolous” pursuits.

When I saw Mat on the list of students willing to volunteer their time to the art department for community service hours, I leaped at the opportunity.

Mat, being Mat, probably thought he would be offering up his good looks for students to paint. Serves him right that it’s his car—instead of him—that’s functioning as the model.

The first expression I picked for the Jeep is coquettish. No doubt you can buy the flirty lashes and hair bow in any car costume kit. But I’m also planning on exploring more subtle and complicated states of mind—another reason I couldn’t pick a medium.

Truth is, I’ve been feeling too much lately. And I don’t want to confess them to anyone, much less display them for the entire school to see. The thought of showcasing the emotions on canvas or in clay had me balking, hard.

But expressing my feelings through a car is unexpected. Playful. It creates both a distance and a shield, giving me space to explore these very real emotions in a safe way.

And if I get to embarrass Mat while I’m acing my art project? All the better.

Kavya slings an arm around me, and I rest my head on her shoulder. She’s so leggy that she makes me feel petite, even though I’m used to being taller than Mama and my sisters. “Thanks for helping me out,” I say.

“It is the last day to declare a medium. I was beginning to worry.” She snickers. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt that I’ll have front-row seats to Mat’s reaction. We could sell tickets to this event. In fact, we probably should.”

I grin. It’s no secret that Mat considers the Jeep to be his baby. She has a gender, probably even a nickname. He vacuums her carpets once a month. Washes her exterior weekly. Even when it rains. Especially when it rains.

Most pets aren’t this tidy. Except for cats, maybe, since they self-clean.

“What. Is. This?” a voice growls.

It sounds like Mat. It uses one-syllable words consistent with his primitive manners. But the voice is also two octaves lower than normal and more ferocious than anything I’ve ever heard.

I whirl around, and it’s Mat all right. His scowl is so deep that he’ll soon be in need of Papa’s wrinkle cream.

Kavya giggles nervously. “Whoa,” she murmurs. “Is he always this hot when he’s mad?”

I would sigh—if I weren’t too busy keeping a straight face. Is it the height thing? What else could explain my best friend’s bizarre attraction to Mat?

“Winnie,” he says slowly. Deliberately. “Can you please explain why my car is wearing your lipstick?”

Not sure how he has the first idea what shade of lipstick I wear, but okay.

“Meet my new art project,” I say brightly, using the acting skills I developed playing a bird during our middle school play. It’s harder than you’d think to squawk properly.

“Your. What?” He’s back to biting out each word as he walks slowly around the car, getting the full impact of my artistic vision.

“You were on the list of volunteers to help students with their final project. Mrs. Woods was thrilled when I told her my idea of depicting five human emotions via a vehicle.” My throat vibrates with the need to laugh. “I don’t have a car, as you know. So I thought I would use yours.”

He stops by the rear windows, as though he’s particularly flummoxed by the polka dots. Yay, polka dots! They haven’t let me down yet.

“You thought?” he echoes.

“Um, yeah.” For the first time, doubt creeps in. I’d wanted to annoy him, but I didn’t actually intend for him to get upset. “If you don’t like it, I’ll clean her right up,” I babble as the guilt sinks in. Why, oh why is it so hard to deviate from being good, even with my mortal enemy? “Better than new. You’ll never be able to tell she once had a pair of luscious ruby lips.”

“It’s fine, Winnie.” He shakes his head, his lips pressed together. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying not to laugh.

But I do know better. Forget funny. He doesn’t have a mildly amused bone in his body.

“I suppose I deserve it,” he says, jingling the keys in his pocket. “The naked comment was over the line. I’m sorry.”

Wait—what? Kavya and I exchange confused glances. Since when does the guy who’s