first floor and I could use that stairway, I rush over to the main corridor, my mind pulsing with ideas of what they could have wanted from me.
Five
Nervous tension has me looking over my shoulder every time I'm in between classes and walking through the halls. It only gets worse when I get near my last hour, art, the only class I share with Dante.
I busy myself by grabbing my project from the back and making sure my pencil lead is sharp. I've already gathered my example sheets from my backpack so in theory I'm ready, but instead of getting started I'm too busy waiting.
I know the second he walks in the door, and not because I was looking. I know because I hear Delaney, announcing their arrival. “Bye Dante! I'll see you after class.” He grunts a non-verbal reply.
“Hey,” he acknowledges me while dropping a well-worn notebook on our shared tabletop.
“Hi,” I squeak, sounding like a mouse. I'm on edge, I don’t understand why he and the other two boys were looking for me.
Dante clears his throat and twists in his stool, angling in my direction. But before he can say anything Mr. Adams claps his hands together, calling everyone's attention to the front of the room.
“With only one week left before your portraits are due, I want to spend a few minutes with each of you to make sure everyone is headed in the right direction. As you all know, three of the top portraits will be selected for the county exhibit.” He slants his head forward and peers at the class from under his brow. “There are several scholarship opportunities available to those selected.” Mr. Adams glances at Dante as he finishes.
Dante makes a fist on the table, his fingers clenched so tightly his knuckles go white from the pressure. His head is dropped low, not looking toward Mr. Adams at all. There's definitely something bothering him about what Mr. Adams is saying. Maybe he really wants or even needs that scholarship.
I take a quick second to examine his clothes. My first impression tells me he's not hurting for cash, but that really doesn't mean much. Maybe he's on his own for college. While my eyes pass over his snug black t-shirt, then trail down to his forearm, I notice his skin is darker than mine. Not tan, but more of an olive complexion. He has some thicker veins roping up from his inner elbow and a light dusting of dark hair smattered down to a chunky black leather cuff, which encircles his left wrist. His fingers slowly peel open and he stretches his hand a few times, releasing the pressure from how tightly he was gripping them. His wrist turns and peeking out from under the leather cuff I see a faint black line, like the beginning of a tattoo.
Does he have a tattoo under there? And if he does why would he cover it up? I speed through a few possibilities, ending on one of the few that makes any sense to me. Maybe he had an old girlfriend’s name tattooed there. Why else would someone go through the pain of a tattoo then cover it up?
Without thought, I peer up at him and see him staring right back at me. I blink quickly a few times. I can't believe I got caught staring at him, again. He must think I'm a total creeper.
“You have a tattoo?” The question pops out of my mouth without my brains permission.
Dante’s eyes widen and his brows shoot up. “How did you...?” The question trails off and he shifts, rolling his shoulders like someone just ran a hand over his back in a caress, and he's a big cat rising to meet the touch. His eyes even become heavily lidded. A soft sound comes next, like a content rumble while stretching just after waking up.
I snap my head forward. Not exactly sure what I'm witnessing, it seems like a relatively intimate moment, but who the hell is he sharing it with? Maybe he's crazy, maybe everyone is crazy, just their own brand of crazy. But I have no experience with this kind of crazy.
Is it getting hot in here?
My eyes must be as big as saucers when I finally look back up at Mr. Adams. I've missed half of what he's said, partly because I was staring at Dante, and partly because I still can't concentrate even though I've looked away.