Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) (11 page)

Adonis was cool as could be. “Yup.” His smile widened and he unsheathed his deadly dimples. “Now that I’m here with you.”

I forced myself to break his gaze. So I looked at his abs. Wrong move. I clamped my mouth shut before I licked my lips, or his abs. Gulp! Help!

“What’s up with the black fingernails? I don’t remember those. You going goth on me?”

I folded my arms across my chest, trying to hide my hands. Why’d he have to go and mention my nails?

Emo. Goth. Witch.

Was there an ice cream truck somewhere? I needed some quick.

His smile widened as he examined my body, making me feel further self-conscious.

“I don’t remember you being so tan the day we met,” he said appreciatively. “It’s a good look for you. Now you blend in with the locals.”

I liked the sound of that! My ice cream urge faded away. “Oh, Mads has been taking me to the beach every day. I can’t believe it myself. I’ve never been tan in my entire life.”

“No? Where are you from?”

“D.C.”

“That explains a lot.” He chuckled.

“Be nice!” I swatted his knee. I had a valid reason for touching him. I swear it wasn’t a prelude to more touching. I needed to keep him in line. As if. “What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?”

“That first day I saw you, you were so fish out of water. Good thing you had a chaperone.”

“Who? You?”

He nodded.

I laughed. “Yeah, right. I can hold my own.”

“You sure?” He laughed.

I think in that moment I turned clinically insane. There’s no rational explanation for it. I leaned forward and tried to punch Adonis on the shoulder, but he leaned back as I swung, causing me to miss. I fell on top of him.
 

My nose was an inch from his. I’m pretty sure he had the smallest pores known to man, if he had any at all. Up this close, his eyes were incredible. I tore my gaze away and looked at his…lips. They looked so soft, I wanted to lick them with my…

“What are you two doing!” Madison gawked. “Call the rape police! Jake, help your friend! Sam’s going to have her way with him.”

“Everything looks copacetic from where I’m sitting.” Jake chuckled. “You need any help, bro?”

“No, I’m good. Just got this hottie on top of me threatening to slobber all over me. Nothing I can’t handle.”

I climbed off of him. “Quit making fun of me!” I pouted.

Adonis was confused. “Who’s making fun of you?”
 

“You’re calling me names.”

“What? Hottie?”

“Yes,” I whined.

“You’ve gotta screw loose, babe.”

He called me babe. Swoon? No. Liar. I hated it when guys bullshitted me.

Adonis leaned back on his arms. His chest flexed and bulged.
Oh god.
He scrutinized me. “Yo, Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“Is it just me, or is Samantha a total hottie?”

“One to ten? I’d give her a nine.”

Huh? I glanced behind me in both directions. They couldn’t be talking about
me
.

“I think you’re going a bit far,” Adonis said shrewdly. “I’d call it 8.75”

“It?” I sneered. “I’m an it? Whatever. Jerks.”

They all chuckled at me.

“You should see the look on your face,” Madison snickered. “You look like someone broke your dollhouse. Learn to take a compliment. You’re gorgeous. Own it.”

Coming from Madison, I could sort of believe it. But I was pretty sure she just wanted to build my confidence. Coming from Jake or Adonis, it had to be a ploy to get my pants off for a quick thrill.

There was no other rational explanation.

“Oh, dude,” Jake said anxiously. “I totally forgot I promised to take my lady out today. She’s been waiting for me for over an hour. We gotta split.”

Madison smirked at me and rolled her eyes.

“All right, let’s roll,” Adonis said. “Take it easy, ladies.” The two of them picked up their surfboards and trotted up the trail to the streets above.

“What a jackhole,” Madison spat. “I should’ve known better. Both those guys are too good to be true.”

“Sorry, Mads. If I’d known, I would’ve warned you. It figures.” I was bummed for Madison, and I was bummed that Adonis was gone. Why did he have to keep dropping into my life only to jump back out of it just as quickly?
 

Welcome to my AD/HD social life. Starring Adonis, whose last name I didn’t even know. Why did I bother? I was better off with him gone anyway.

Despite the speed with which Adonis came in and out of my life, I felt so much better after seeing him, knowing he wasn’t in jail.
 

That night, I cleaned off my black nail polish before bed, and I didn’t eat any ice cream at all.

I was so proud of myself.

I hoped the feeling lasted, and didn’t go away as fast as Adonis did.

Chapter 8

Mid-terms were coming up quick. I tried studying with Madison in the Main Library, but it was so crowded I couldn’t concentrate. We ended up at my place or her place most of the time. Romeo and Kamiko were often with us, but when it was the four of us, we barely got any studying done and ate way too much ice cream. Mmmm. Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. I mean, it’s okay when you do it with friends, right?

I was acing Fundamentals of Accounting, as well as American History and Sociology, which I was none too happy about. It was further proof that my parents were right. Studious Sam. That was me. Gag.

Life Drawing was another story. We didn’t really have a mid-term. Instead, Professor Childress gave us an evaluation during office hours.
 

Because everyone had such a wide range of skills, it wasn’t really possible to grade our work in black and white terms. There was no right or wrong way to draw. It was more about our personal progress. I liked that. We had to submit three of our best drawings from the first day of class, and three from the most recent class, for review.

I knocked on the open door to Professor Childress’ office, my drawings under my arm.

“Come in, Sam.” He stood up and shook my hand. Such a gentleman. His office resembled a one-room museum gallery. It was lined with dark wood bookcases full of carefully arranged art books. Various sculptures dotted his desk, the shelves, and every other horizontal surface. Hanging between the bookcases were several paintings.

The paintings were nudes reminiscent of the life drawing poses from class. They were really good. I walked up to one of them and admired it. “Wow, who did all these paintings? They’re awesome!”

“Thank you.” He smiled warmly.

“You did them?” I hoped I didn’t sound too skeptical.

“Yes.”

“You rock, Professor Childress!” Now I was brown nosing. I never got it right.

“Thank you very much, Sam. I try, but I assure you, none of these paintings came easily.”
 

He was so humble it was killing me. “I wish I could paint as well as you. I mean draw. I’ve never painted anything before.”

“Maybe you should try.”

“Painting? No way. I can barely draw.”

“If you haven’t tried it, how would you know?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I bit my lower lip and raised my eyebrows. “I don’t know, drawing’s hard.” Geesh, did I sound like Barbie? But it was the truth. Drawing was a struggle, unlike all my other classes.

“Yes, it is. But it gets easier, I promise.”

“I wish it came as easily for me as accounting did. Need me to set up a balance sheet for you?” I grinned.

He chuckled and winked at me. “If I do, you’ll be the first person I call.” He laced his fingers together on the desk and looked at me over his glasses. “So, you’re here for your evaluation.”

“Yeah.” I handed him my drawings.
 

He slid his glasses into place and looked them over. I was pretty sure he was going to tell me I sucked, and should withdraw from his class, rather than risk an F.

“Your improvement is exceptional. You have quickly grasped the concepts I’ve demonstrated during class.” He leafed through the drawings. “I’ve seen marked progress from week to week.”

“Really?” That was news to me.

“You have talent, Sam. You may not see it, but I do.”

Blink.
What?

“Have you considered seeking out an artistic mentor?”

“No.”

“While you do indeed have a flair for drawing, it takes effort to develop your skills to the next level, as well as the proper guidance. Are you minoring in art?”

“No, just taking it as an elective.”

“Have you considered majoring in it?”

Was he serious? “Uh, not really. I’m majoring in Accounting.”

“Well, that’s a bigger question for you to ponder at length. For the time being, I’d like to suggest a mentor.” He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, and jotted something down. “A mentor will expose you in more depth to a range of artistic principles we don’t have time to cover over the course of a single term. Make an appointment to visit his studio. I think you will find it fascinating to see how a real artist works.” He folded the paper in half and slid it across to me. “I’ll contact him and let him know to expect an email from you.”

I took it without looking at it. Professor Childress was beyond humble. Based on his paintings I’d call him a real artist. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to paint as well as he did.
 

I was curious about this mentor, because if the professor didn’t consider his own amazing work “real” art, I could only wonder what mysteries awaited me at the mentor’s art studio.

“It’s safe to say that as of the middle of the term,” Professor Childress said, “you are solidly in A territory, as far as your grade is concerned. I believe you can go well beyond that.”

“Beyond an A?”

He chuckled. “Well, an A is the highest grade. But I was thinking in terms of your overall potential.”

“Thanks, Mr. Childress.” I beamed.

He stood up and shook my hand. “See you in class.”

When I walked outside. I don’t think my feet touched the floor until I was halfway down the hall.

I opened the paper the professor had given me. It had a name and an email address.

Christos Manos.

Why did that name sound familiar?

I was so busy studying for mid-terms the rest of the week, I nearly forgot about the mentor. But I’d taped the note to my desk lamp so I wouldn’t forget.
 

Friday afternoon, after my last exam, I sent a quick email out to Christos Manos. That evening, I received a reply. It contained a street address and requested, “Come on Saturday. Tomorrow. 1:00 p.m.”

Where did this guy get off thinking my schedule was totally open? I mean, it was, but still, it would’ve been nice if he’d asked
me
when
I
was available.

Professor Childress had called this Manos guy a “real artist” so maybe he was super busy. Maybe he had some big gallery show he was preparing for.

Snooty artists. Maybe being an artist was lame and I was better off in accounting.

Whatever, Debbie Downer.
I knew I was jumping to conclusions and making rash assumptions. Professor Childress was nice. I trusted he wouldn’t set me up with some jerk mentor.

What would this Christos Manos be like? I pictured someone like Professor Childress, but taller, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair and those 1950s style hipster eyeglasses, but that was a guess. I had no way of knowing. The whole thing was so uncertain.

I called Madison for encouragement, which she claimed required doughnuts, so she drove over to my place.

We walked to a place I’d discovered in my neighborhood called Thai Doughnut. They made the most amazing apple fritters ever. We bought one apiece and walked to the beach with them.

I plucked a yummy morsel off my fritter and popped it in my mouth. It was still warm. Yum! “Have you seen Jake since the beach?”

Madison had a mouth full of apple fritter. She covered her mouth with her fingers. “You mean Lady’s Man?”

“Literally.”

“Hell no. He sure was flirty with me, considering he had a date with his lady that day.”

“Guys are dogs. I’m sure they had a double date with Adonis and Tiffany, or whatever Plastic Playmate he’s seeing this week.”

Madison and I had discovered that practically everyone on campus knew who Tiffany was. Apparently she liked to throw Delta Pi Delta parties on her Daddy’s yacht in the harbor. And tell everyone within earshot, whether they were interested or not.

“Oh, you know what?” Madison asked, licking cinnamon glaze from her fingers. “I saw Adonis totally snub Tiffany on campus the other day.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. I had to look some stuff up at the Main Library, and Adonis was there with a couple of girls.”

I frowned and took a huge bite of my fritter. “That guy always has a harem wherever he goes. He’s a total player.” I grimaced while chewing on a big wad of cinnamon-sugary fatty doughiness. What did I care if Adonis was a lady’s man, or who he hung out with? He was no more than an acquaintance.

“Well, from what I saw, Tiffany isn’t in his harem anymore. She was totally hanging on him and he gave her the brush off. She was super pouty and stormed off. The two girls with Adonis got all snooty and catty after she left. I could tell Tiffany was crying.”

“Really?” I almost felt sorry for her. “She’s better off without him.” She had her Daddy’s money anyway, or so I’d heard.

“Well, I thought you’d like to know.”

“Why would I care?”

“Seriously, Sam? You’re always talking about Adonis. It’s an obsession with you.”

“It totally is not.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh,” she smirked.

Madison finished the last bite of her apple fritter and wadded up the waxed paper wrapper. We tossed our trash into one of the garbage cans along the cement pathway and strolled down to the surf to get our feet wet in the ocean. I wore flip-flops pretty much 24/7 at that point. The sun glowed gold above the horizon.

“So, tell me about your mentor. Is he, like, a serial killer? Do I need to call the cops if I don’t hear from you by, like, four o’clock tomorrow?”

“Probably. I’m sure he’ll turn my skin into canvas for his next painting. I’ll be immortalized in some random museum for all time. Make sure you come visit and leave flowers next to wherever they put me and say a prayer for me every year.”