back. “I texted her to come, but she’s stressing about her math class. She’s got a midterm tomorrow.”
“Oh, damn,” I said, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Is she okay? She told me how she hates math.”
“She puts too much pressure on herself,” Natalie said sympathetically. “She’s so smart, but she gets in her head about it. She’s always been able to see the good in other people, but she doesn’t see it in herself.”
My heart felt tender, like I was holding Lydia inside it and trying to wrap her up with all the softness I could muster.
“She thinks you’re awesome, by the way,” Natalie told me, munching through another chip. “She won’t stop talking about what a genius you are with painting, and how we all should’ve hung out with you sooner.”
I felt sunbeams shoot through me from my scalp to my heels. It was all I could do not to flush red on the spot.
“So anyway,” Natalie said, like she hadn’t just given me the world, “what are you up to this weekend?”
I stammered out something about working and taking it easy, and after that Cliff changed the subject to the renovations at his parents’ gym. We hung out until the restaurant swelled with the dinner shift, and then I hugged them and took in more of their profuse compliments before we parted to our separate cars.
* * *
Ricky and I met up at the neighborhood clubhouse on Thursday night. We sat in his car with the windows rolled down, right next to a gardenia bush whose sweet scent wafted toward us on the breeze. It was the first time I’d seen him since Samuel’s party, and he seemed like himself again, or at least he was doing a really good job of acting like it. I told him about my experience painting Cliff’s portrait, and how Natalie had offhandedly mentioned that Lydia thought I was awesome.
“You are awesome,” Ricky said, smiling at my delight.
I rolled my head back. “Ugh, I’ve got such a bad crush on her.”
He laughed through his nose. “I already know that.”
“Yeah, but … it’s bad. I’m worried I’m reading too far into things with her, that I’m getting excited for nothing. How can I tell if she’s interested in me?”
“Do you get any vibes?”
“Vibes?”
“Yeah, vibes.”
“I mean, she acts like she enjoys being around me, but she’s like that with all your friends. I mean, what if—what if she’s not—”
“What if she’s not like you?” Ricky suggested.
I stared at him. “I was going to say ‘like us.’”
He shifted in his seat but didn’t acknowledge what I’d said. “You’ll never know unless you try. And after you’ve tried for a little while, you’ll feel it in your gut if she likes you. Have you followed up on her suggestion to paint her portrait?”
“No…” I began, and he frowned at me. “Well, what if I don’t get it right?”
“You got Natalie’s and Cliff’s right.”
“Yeah, but I can see them, you know? Natalie and Cliff put their whole selves out there. I feel like I have a read on them, like I can stand back enough to see who they really are. It’s harder to do that with someone who means something to you—or could mean something to you.”
Ricky’s eyes flitted between mine. “Like … it would be harder for you to paint my portrait than theirs?”
“Yeah,” I said emphatically. “I mean, if you wanted me to I could, obviously, but it would take me—”
“No,” he said abruptly. He paused. “I mean, no thank you. Maybe later.”
I stared at him, trying to figure out what that meant. Was Ricky worried about how I perceived him?
He seemed to read the question on my face. “Ignore that,” he said, sweeping his hand over the steering wheel.
I chewed my lip, thinking. I knew he could tell I had follow-up questions, but he didn’t help me get there.
“I wasn’t gonna mention this,” I said, watching him carefully, “but Cliff asked me if everything was okay with you at Samuel’s.”
The whites of his eyes shone in the dim light. “What did you tell him?”
“That I thought you were tired.”
He searched my eyes. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. I promise.”
He nodded, his eyes flitting away from me. “Thanks.”
“Of course.” I hesitated. “But are you sure you don’t want to talk about Tucker and that girl?”
He huffed in frustration, dropping his head back against the headrest. “Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want to be your project, or Cliff’s, or anyone else’s. You said you wanted to