Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) (13 page)

“Like private boxes and Sunday brunches with guys in white tuxedo jackets and gloves serving mimosas or mint juleps to old women with more plastic surgery than a wax museum?” Generally, I didn’t like anything that had to do with exclusive clubs of any kind.

Bitch. Slut. Whore.

“I take it you had a bad experience?”

“No.” I lied. He had me pegged. My nose tilted up snootily.
 

“Okay.” He smiled shrewdly, unconvinced. “Anyway, I go to the track to study the horses. My dad used to take me down there when I was a kid, showed me how to draw the horses. They’re beautiful animals.”

“Your dad? Is everyone in your family an artist?”

“Pretty much.”

“Does your dad live here too?”

His face darkened. “No.”

Had I asked something I shouldn’t have? I took a sip of my lemonade so I could avoid saying the wrong thing again. It was my specialty, after all.

Chapter 10

“You ready for some mentoring?” Christos asked abruptly. He finished the last swallow of his lemonade.

“I guess so, yeah.” I was finally thinking of him as Christos, although I wasn’t sure if I liked that.

“Cool. Let me grab something.” He walked out of the kitchen and returned a minute later holding a box of of crayons. The big kind with tons of colors. “Okay, let’s go make some art.”

I wrinkled my nose. “With those? Aren’t crayons for kids?”

“Are you saying kids don’t make art?”

“Well, I mean, not
real
art.”

He raised his brows. “Really? I hope you never tell any kids that. I’d hate to see their sad faces when you break it to them that their refrigerator drawings are not art. Come on, let’s go.” He led me outside.

“I didn’t mean it that way!”

He smiled back at me as he held the front door for me. “After you.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“Yep.”

“Where are we going?”

“To make some art.”

The road downhill from Christos’ house led toward the downtown area by the beach. I kept glancing at him, wanting to say something, but all he did was smile back at me. I sort of liked it.
 

We turned onto a walkway that led to the town library. “What are we doing at the library? I thought you said we were going to make some art?”

He held the door for me. “I did. And we are.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” This way. He led me through the library to one of the meeting rooms. The door was open and a ton of little kids were inside. There was a sign taped to the door that said “Drawing with Christos 1:30pm.”

“After you,” he said.

I walked in the room and Christos followed. When the kids saw him, they went crazy.

“Christos!” they all shouted.

I felt like a deer in headlights. What the heck was I supposed to do? I jumped when I felt Christos’ hand on my back.
 

He leaned and murmured into my ear. “Follow my lead. You’ll be fine.”

He walked to the front of the room and I joined him. Being in front of this many people, even if it was kids, made me nervous.

Christos cracked a huge grin. “Hey everybody!”

“Hi Christos!” the kids chorused.

“Say hello to my friend Samantha!” He motioned toward me.

“Hey Samantha!” they all said.

I blushed from head to toe.
 

“Who wants to draw today?” Christos asked.

“We do!” they cheered.

I noticed that the kids all had blank paper in front of them. Buckets of crayons were interspersed between them on the tables.

“All right. Does everybody know how to draw a cloud?”

“Yeah!” they shouted.

“Pick out a color, any color, and start drawing!”

The kids were excited as they dug through the crayon buckets and picked colors.

Christos was about to step away from me when I hissed at him through gritted teeth. “What do I do?”

“Help.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know how to draw a cloud, don’t you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”

“So help them draw clouds.” He winked at me. “But don’t be too hard on them. Don’t tell them what they’re doing isn’t art,” he smirked.

I wrinkled my nose and flashed a sneer at him. I knew better than to tell kids something like that. Was he trying to make a point? I sort of got it, sort of not.

Christos and I walked around the room, helping the kids.

Some kids made yellow clouds, some green; clouds that looked like scribbles, clouds that looked like rectangles. It didn’t matter to them. The children had so much fun, and they projected their glee so freely, it permeated my critical insecurity.
 

I had a blast. I wasn’t worried about anyone doing anything “correctly.” A very different vibe than my Life Drawing class at SDU. There was no pressure.

Over the next hour, Christos had them add the sun, their home, their families, their pets, or anything they wanted. One boy added a dragon brushing his teeth; another added an airplane with a frog for a pilot. A cute little girl with pigtails drew herself riding a unicorn jumping over a rainbow. I hadn’t done anything like this since grade school. Why had I ever stopped?

At various points, I watched Christos with the kids. He had as much fun as they did. They obviously loved him. He complimented every one, told them how wonderful their drawings were, no matter how good or bad an adult might have considered them. He was a natural.

One little boy asked Christos about his tattoos. “Why do you have drawings on your arms?”

“Because I love art so much, I draw on everything I can. Even my arms!”

“Does your mommy make you wash them off?”

Christos chuckled. “No, she doesn’t make me.”

The boy rubbed a finger across Christos’ tattoos. “That’s good. I bet they’re hard to erase.”

“They are.”

“I have a really good eraser at home, if you want to borrow it,” the boy said enthusiastically.

“Thanks, Benji. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Was this the same guy I’d met on campus? The ladies man? Maybe it was fitting he had two names. A split personality wasn’t out of the question with Christos Adonis Manos. The good: Christos. The bad: Adonis.

I would have to remain on my guard with him.
Or should I say, “them?”
Because this Christos guy seemed too good to be true. I wondered how long it would take for Adonis to pop back out.

“Time’s up, everybody,” Christos said at the end of the hour.

“No!” the kids groaned. Many of them hunched over in abject defeat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here next Saturday.”

“That’s a million years from now!" one girl pleaded.

“You can make it that long, Emily.”

Emily sighed like she was sighing her last breath.

We said goodbye to the kids and walked out. One of the librarians was waiting for Christos. She was gray haired and very grandmotherly. “You always do such a wonderful job with the children,” she beamed.
 

“Thanks, Mrs. Elders.”

“We’re so lucky to have you.” She turned to me. “Who’s your friend?”

Why did I like it so much that Mrs. Elders called me Christos’ friend?

“This is Samantha. Meet Mrs. Elders.”

We shook hands. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Are you going to come back with Christos next time? I peeked in earlier. You were a natural.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, the two of you are a terrific team. You make a great couple.”

I blushed again and stared at my toes. I was so overtaken by the harmless statement, I forgot to check for Christos’ reaction.
 

When I did, he was already cracking his customary grin. “Thanks, Mrs. Elders.”
 

“Say hi to your grandfather for me.”

“I will.”

We walked outside, into the San Diego sun.

“What now?” I desperately hoped this wasn’t the end of our first mentoring session.

 
He held up his box of crayons, and some blank paper he’d taken from the library. “Now
you
get to make some art.”

I smacked his arm lightly. “I thought we just did.”

“We helped. Now you get to incorporate what you learned from the kids into your own art.”

I wasn’t sure how that was supposed to work, but I was game.

We walked down to the boardwalk and went to a coffee shop with outdoor seating. The people working the counter obviously knew Christos, especially the teenaged girl working the register. She fawned over him.

We ordered drinks. I ordered an Italian soda. He ordered an iced tea, and insisted on paying for both. We sat down at a table right on the boardwalk. Hundreds of people of all ages walked, rollerbladed, or bicycled by. Was this October? With weather like this, I was never going back to D.C.

Christos opened the box of crayons and offered it up to me. I selected one. “What do I do?”

“Make art.”

I hesitated.

“Don’t think about it. Do what those kids did. Remember, there are no rules.”

He picked a color out of the box and drew a random shape, then filled it in. He picked another color and made another random shape around the first one. Then he picked a third color and did the same.
 

I could do that. “Can you hand me a piece of paper?”

“Use mine.”

“What?”

“Draw on mine. We’re making a work of art together.”

I had never done that before. It sounded like fun, but I was afraid my part wouldn’t be very good.

He stopped drawing and looked at me through his lashes. “Go ahead and draw, Samantha. There’s no way to do it wrong.”

His eyes were a force of their own. In this instance, they didn’t ease my nerves. They heightened them.

“Relax. There’s no grade. No one’s going to tell you it isn’t good enough. We’re just coloring.”

“Like third grade?”

“Yup.” He grinned, and picked out another color. “Shapes and colors. No rules.”

I started coloring.

We sipped our drinks and added to our communal drawing shape by shape. When our drinks were empty, our drawing was done. I sat back and looked at it. It was a collection of seemingly random shapes, lines and colors. But it had an order to it, and I liked it.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “See? Art.”

“That’s art?” I was skeptical.

“Are you trying to tell me it isn’t?”

“Well, sort of.”

He laughed. “I’m going to have to take you to look at some abstract art.”

“Isn’t abstract art the kind were everybody says ‘My kid could do that.’?”

Christos frowned and smiled at the same time. “Don’t tell my dad that. He’ll knock your teeth out.”

“Your dad hits women?” I joked.

Christos rolled his eyes. “No. But he’d probably throw you in the nearest swimming pool if he heard you trashing abstract art.”

“Why?”

“That’s what he paints. Abstract.”

“Oh.” I was surprised by Christos’ drastically different demeanor in regard to the topic of his dad. When I’d mentioned him back at the house, Christos had seemed tense. Now he was enthusiastic. I guess everyone had mixed feelings about their parents, or anyone they loved. “Did I see any of your dad’s art at your house?”

“You mean my grandad’s house?”

“Yeah.”

“No. But you might have seen some of his work at the SDU museum.”

“Oh. Maybe I did.”

“Do you remember that huge painting of the brown and gray squares, with the accents of bright red and orange?”

“You mean the one that took up an entire wall?”

“Yeah. That’s my dad’s.”

“Oh. Is your dad in San Diego too?”

Christos face tightened. “Somewhere.” He swallowed some iced tea.

“Hey, Adonis!” A gorgeous girl wearing a sports bra, lycra shorts, pads and rollerblades spun to a stop on the cement boardwalk next to our table.

“Hey, Paisley,” Adonis smiled.

“Where have you been! I haven’t been over in forever!” She leaned across the railing and hugged Christos. Then she kissed him on the corner of the mouth. The kiss lasted longer than a hollywood peck, but it wasn’t making out, either.

Did I mention Paisley had a perfect body? The kind of body famous actresses hired for the butt close-ups? I’m talking Stunt Butt and Leg-Double perfect? Yeah, I hated her. Total bitch.

“I’ve been busy,” Christos replied.

Paisley turned to me. “Hi, I’m Paisley." She offered her hand.

“Sam.” I shook, doing my best to disguise my ire.

She glanced at the drawing. I wanted to cover it up. I felt stupid all of a sudden.

Paisley looked directly at me. “What are you guys doing?”

“Uh, coloring,” I mumbled.

“That’s awesome! Did you do this?”

“We did,” I said, a trifle defensively.

“I love it! I totally love coloring.” She eyed Christos. “Why haven’t you ever taken me coloring, Christos? It looks like fun!”

Did someone have a fly swatter for Paisley?

“It’s for school,” Christos offered. “I’m teaching Samantha about abstract art.”

“Oh,” Paisley said, confused. “Sounds like fun?” She looked at me.

“Yeah, Chr—I mean, Adonis, is a great teacher.” I felt like I didn’t want to share his name with her.

Paisley’s eyes gleamed and she chewed her perfectly plump lower lip. “Yeah he is!”
 

Why did I think Paisley was referring to something other than coloring?

“Sorry you guys, I’m in the middle of my work out. I’ve gotta blade!” She hugged Christos again and pressed her cheek against his. “It’s so good to see you Adonis. You should totally call me.”

“Good to see you too, Paise.”

Paise?
Gag.

“Did you need my number again?”

“I’ve still got it.”

“K. Nice meeting you, Sam. See you guys later!” She bladed off. Her ass looked perfect as she pumped her perfect legs. She wasn’t a bitch, but I still hated her.

I turned to Christos. The corner of my mouth smirked. “Who’s Paisley?”

“An old friend.”

“I bet.”

Christos chuckled. “Jealous?”

“No! Sort of. She has an amazing body. I mean, I’m not gay, but that girl has a swimsuit catalog body.”

“Yes, she does.” Christos leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. His muscles flexed magically.