Running Lean (12 page)

S
tacey stroked a charcoal stick across the newsprint paper attached to her drawing board. Pleased with the line, she smudged it with her pinky finger, softening the edges to make a shadow. The muscles in her forearm burned from holding her arm up, and her hand trembled against the paper. She lowered her arm to let the blood flow back and used the time to study the model seated on a stool in the middle of the studio.

The male model was shirtless, but wore a sheet draped over one shoulder, belted with a drapery cord so it looked like a toga. His biceps were impressive, but his bushy chest hair grossed Stacey out. Some old farmer. And though he was supposed to be sitting still, his mouth and jaw kept moving like he was chewing something. Stacey envisioned a Styrofoam cup filled with tobacco spit sitting on the bench seat of the man’s battered pickup truck. Yuck.

“What … are you doing?” the teacher barked behind her.

Stacey jumped and dropped her charcoal stick. It broke at her feet.

Mrs. Chandler touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Stacey. I wasn’t talking to you.” The teacher swung around and confronted Noah Dickerson, whose easel stood to Stacey’s right. “This is a figure drawing class, not drawing for comic books.”

Resisting the urge to peek at Noah’s drawing, Stacey squatted to pick up the shards of her charcoal stick.

“I’m a comic book artist. This is what I do.” A dark-haired, angel-faced troublemaker, Noah could charm most any girl right out of her sneakers. Except, maybe, Mrs. Chandler.

“You are not a comic book artist.” The teacher’s voice reflected neither anger nor amusement. She sounded bored. “You are a high school student in a figure drawing class. Take advantage of the model, Noah. You don’t get opportunities to study the human form every day.”

“He’s a geezer in a sheet. No offense, but that’s not very inspiring.”

“You’re wasting your time and talent.”

Her concentration ruined and her charcoal in intolerable tiny pieces, Stacey gave up and stole a glance at Noah’s drawing. He had deftly sketched the outline of a warrior, sitting in the same position as the model. He’d added a dragon-crested helm and a two-handed sword in a scabbard at the man’s hip. Creative, if slightly out of proportion; Noah’s drawing was way more exciting than Stacey’s.

“I’m wasting my time and talent if I don’t follow my heart.” Noah made anarchy sound so noble.

Mrs. Chandler drew a long, audible breath. “I’m not going to argue with you. If you cannot follow simple procedure—”

“Procedure? Aren’t we free to express ourselves in art?”

A long silence followed. Students in the circle around the model slowed their sketching motions to stare. Zoe moved away from her easel to crowd Stacey’s left side and gawk.

“Noah, I am going to make a recommendation to your guidance counselor that you should not be allowed to take an arts elective next year.”

“What?
What?
” Noah’s confident demeanor crashed like a skateboard stunt gone bad. His mouth hung open as the teacher strode away.

“That’s time,” Mrs. Chandler called to the class. “Three-minute break, then one more quick pose.”

The model stretched his limbs and shot Noah a scathing glance.

Stacey unclipped her sketchpad from her board and turned to a new page. Her fingertips left smudges on the clean paper. Why did such a beautiful medium have to be so messy?

Zoe leaned in close. “Unbelievable,” she whispered.

At the sound of paper ripping, Stacey looked at Noah. Shaking his long hair away from his face, he ripped his drawing a second time. And a third.

“Ooh, too bad,” Stacey said. “I liked it.”

He stopped moving. “You did?”

“It was good. If you go for that whole Marvel, DC, Dark Horse kind of thing.”

Noah blinked. “You’re into comics?”

Stacey could feel Zoe’s breath on the side of her face.

“I like manga.”

“But you draw …” He gestured toward her easel.

Stacey grinned. “Just following procedures.” She moved a little closer to him so she could lower her voice. “Don’t let Mrs. Chandler get to you. Believe me, I know how it feels to be beat down for your art. My father is always on me, like I should be doing something
sensible
with my life. But like you said, you gotta follow your heart.”

Noah’s lush eyebrows puckered, but he nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.” His expression softened. “Pretty cool. This whole year, I didn’t know you were into comics.”

Because the whole year he’d never said two words to her. Cute guy talking to the fat chick? So not Noah’s style. Unless he was like, like …

No, don’t think about it
.

She turned away, busied herself with her sketchpad. In the center of the classroom, the model got ready for another pose.

“Can I see some of your manga work?” Noah asked.

Zoe let out a squeak. Stacey’s cheeks warmed. She hadn’t meant for the conversation to go the direction Zoe obviously thought it was going. Noah had a reputation for finding and dropping girlfriends practically every week.

“They’re in a sketchbook at home. I-I could bring it in one day, maybe.”

Points of light from Mrs. Chandler’s spotlights glistened in Noah’s bluish-gray eyes. His full lips curled into a smile. Kissable lips and long black lashes, and not a hint of a pimple anywhere on his face. Artsy, angst-filled appeal. No wonder girls fell for him.

Calvin, think of Calvin
.

“Cool,” he said.

Would her heart have trembled more if he’d said, “I love you”? Stacey blinked and dragged her gaze away. Crazy thinking. Noah Dickerson was trouble. Period.

The model sat on the stool with one knee hitched up, his back turned toward Stacey. Probably to spite Noah. The guy had a full crop of hair on his shoulders. Eww.

“Ten minutes for this one,” Mrs. Chandler said, strolling behind the circle of easels. “Use this time to capture the general shapes of the form and the perspective of his limbs. Those of you facing him, pay attention to the foreshortening of his leg. Don’t make it too long, and I don’t want to see any stumps.”

“And those of us on this side can stare at a flat, hairy back,” Stacey muttered.

Noah snorted. Stacey glanced at him and was rewarded with a white-toothed smile. Her cheeks warmed again.

“Like your hair, by the way,” he said. “Awesome colors.”

She mumbled thanks. To her left, Zoe’s hand sat motionless against her sketchpad.

Stacey felt like her clothes had suddenly gotten heavier, like the
air of the art studio, smelling of linseed oil and eraser crumbles, pressed in on her. She didn’t want to draw the man with the hairy back. Something trembled in her chest, and she imagined the pressure against her body was Noah’s stare.

Calvin!

She stared at the model, searching for some challenging detail she could sketch. There was a tricky space between his jawline and shoulder, but drawing it meant staring at the man-fur glowing in Mrs. Chandler’s floodlights.

She skittered broken charcoal across her paper, making tiny marks. Was Noah watching her draw? Her lines were off, hopelessly distorted. Black dust had coated her fingers and collected under her nails. Ugly. Filthy.

“Time,” Mrs. Chandler said. “And we’re done. Thank you for posing for us today, Mr. Stanley. Students, for your next independent project, you’ll be choosing another person in this classroom to work with, and each of you will be doing a portrait of your partner. The portraits can be full figure or partial—
with clothes on!
—and the finished piece should give us a sense of the personality of your sketch buddy.”

“Who’s going to be your
sketch buddy
?” Noah asked, grinning.

Stacey almost dropped her charcoal again. “Zoe. Probably. Yours?”

Noah’s smile twisted. He smoothed his swoop of hair across his forehead. The movement reminded Stacey of Calvin’s nervous hair-tugging habit. “Uh, I don’t know. Can’t really go with Katie, since we broke up over spring break.”

Nice way to tell her he was
available!

“Stacey can be your partner.” Zoe lunged into the conversation and practically jumped between them. “I don’t mind, Stace. Really.”

Stacey gathered her charcoal, kneaded eraser, and chamois cloth
from the easel tray and placed them in the decorated tackle box she used to store her supplies.

“Do you want to work together?” Noah asked.

Sketching that beautiful face. Spending time with the most alluring bad boy of South Stiles High School. Was this really happening?

“I’ve got a boyfriend already.”

Noah winced. “Huh? I was just asking—”

Her face burning, Stacey snatched her drawing board off the easel and hurried to the storage closet. At the studio sink she scrubbed her hands and dug the charcoal out from underneath her nails. When she returned to her easel to get her tackle box and purse, Noah was gone, summoned to Mrs. Chandler’s desk for a lecture. Stacey grabbed her things and fled.

Zoe met her outside the door and paced alongside her in the hallway, huffing as if they were on a jogging track. “Why did you turn him down? I can’t believe you did that. He was just asking you to do a project with him. What’s the matter with you?”

Stacey refused to look at her. “I have a boyfriend, remember?”

“Oh, right. Why spend time with Noah Dickerson when you waste it with a dumpy, dull farm boy who doesn’t know the first thing about art.”

Stacey whirled. “Stop it. Calvin’s my boyfriend, okay? He was my boyfriend before I met you, and he’ll be my boyfriend after—whenever. Deal with it.” Her knees felt rubbery, and her pulse hammered in her throat. “If you think Noah’s so special, why don’t you be his sketch buddy?”

“Stacey …” Zoe rolled her eyes. “He’s into you, not me. And there’s nothing wrong with working on a class project with him.”

“Calvin wouldn’t—I’m—Zoe, I love Calvin. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Oh, sure. But it’s okay for the farm boy to hang out with that biker chick.”

Stacey’s defense crashed into Zoe’s logic. What was the difference? There had to be a good reason. Because … because …

“I’m not interested in becoming Noah’s next ex-girlfriend.” There. That made sense.

But Zoe moved in closer. “Stacey, I know you’ve been with Calvin a long time, but it’s not like you’re going to marry him and become a farmer’s wife or something. I mean, I’m sorry, but you can do better.”

And maybe she could do with a better best friend too. Stacey blinked and glanced toward the art studio. Noah came out of the classroom, his swagger diminished. The angry pout touching his perfect lips tugged at Stacey’s heart.

Stop it!

She had to find Calvin. She needed to touch him and remind herself why she was devoted to him. Hearing his mellow voice would drive out all these crazy impulses. She hitched her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “I gotta go.”

Zoe flipped her hair. “Whatever.”

Okay, whatever. Stacey left Zoe to sulk and rushed toward the new wing of the building. If she hurried, she might catch Calvin at his locker. She bumped someone with her supply box, swung in a circle to apologize, then kept going. Her feet flew, just shy of running. The lines on the walls and tile floor made her dizzy. Her pulse thumped in her temples, and her breath came in gasps.

Danger. Slow down
.

And then she saw him. Her art supply box slipped from her fingers and clattered on the floor. Calvin turned to look, wide-eyed. Stacey jumped and threw her arms around his shoulders, and pressed her face against his soft cotton shirt. It smelled like fabric softener. The hint of aftershave at his neck sent a welcome thrill through her.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Gripping her shoulders, Calvin tried to ease her back.

Stacey dug up an excuse. “Can’t I just miss you?”

His fingers traced the contours of her shoulders. “Are you feeling okay?”

Stacey eased away and pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’m okay. Uh, Zoe and I had an argument. Sometimes she’s just … you know.”

He grunted. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I, um … I have something for you.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“A note?” She took it from his hands. How sweet was he! How did he know something like this would be just what she’d need to—

“I looked up some stuff last night.” Calvin touched her face, lifting it to get her to look at him. “Stace, you’re so pretty. I mean it. And I want to help you. So this”—he pointed to the folded paper in her hand—”is some information I hope you’ll think about.”

Not a love note? What kind of information?

He pulled a book from his locker and closed the door, then glanced around and leaned toward her to kiss her cheek. “Give me a ride home from school? We’ll talk then.”

Talk? His softened voice sounded like he was consoling her for the death of her favorite cousin or something.

“Oh—okay.”

Stacey looked around for her tackle box. Stupid to throw it down. She’d probably broken all her charcoal sticks and Conté crayons. Calvin picked it up for her then walked with her, touching her elbow as if to make sure she wouldn’t stumble.

“I have to get to class,” he said. “See you later by the parking lot?”

Stacey nodded then watched him move down the hall. Her next period was lunch. She dragged her feet toward the cafeteria, but stepped into a bathroom and locked herself in a stall. With her tackle box on the floor by her feet, Stacey unfolded Calvin’s two-page note.
Her fingers trembled. The note was typed, carefully prepared. She held her breath with the opening words.