Page 61 of Jesse's Girl
“So? Art school isn’t gonna pay the bills, dude.”
“Okay, but dude, it could be a path to?—”
I cut him off. “You’re basing this off one drawing, Jess. Come on.” I wish he’d just drop it. School isn’t my thing.
“Well, let me see the rest, then.” He makes a tentative reach for my sketchbook.
“No!” I recoil a bit, snapping it shut and hugging it against my chest.
“Ada, you’re being ridiculous. Just humor me.” His outstretched arm doesn’t waver.
I am being ridiculous.
“Ugh, fine. But not these. They’re too… unfinished.” Tightening my grip on my sketchbook, I head toward my room. Jesse follows, my anxiety spiking as I reach my door with him at my heels. I spin to face him, my hand on the doorknob behind me. “Just… they might not be your thing, okay?”
“C’mon, just show me, Ada.”
I shake my head and turn the knob, then switch on the light as I step inside.
No turning back now.
As he takes in what’s on my easel, his jaw drops. “Fucking hell,” he says, zeroing in on the painting—this one an aerial view of a woman lying on her back with disembodied arms clawing at her. He takes slow steps into the middle of my room, turning to take in the pieces skirting each wall, some stacked two or three deep. He crouches down to inspect the painting of the drowning woman I finished a few weeks ago.
“Ada… this is what you’ve been painting? These are… fucking incredible.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice cautious. I might as well be naked, standing here with Jesse drinking in my artwork.
He stands, taking a step toward me. “Some of these must have taken you, what, weeks?”
“I dunno. Yeah, I guess.” I toss my sketchbook onto my dresser and rub my arms. “I know they’re kinda weird and moody…”
“That’s”—he pauses, shaking his head—“not what I was gonna say. But I mean, c’mon, Ada. You’ve obviously got real talent—or skill, or… both, I guess. You really should apply to art school.”
I let out a dry laugh. “My parents would never let me hear the end of it if I went to fucking art school.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it’s not college. They have this thing about college. Wanting me to get a proper education and a proper career.” I make a face. “They’re already pissed I spent so much time traveling and haven’t even applied yet. Besides, they don’t take art seriously. They think I’m wasting my time—that it’s all just doodles.”
“Dude.” His gaze levels with mine. “These are not just doodles.”
“I know. But they don’t listen to me.”
“It’s your life, Ada. Not theirs.”
“I know! Just drop it, okay?”
“Okay,” he says tentatively, then seems to change his mind. “Actually, no, fuck that. Go to art school. Prove them wrong.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Seriously. At least think about it.”
What’s his game here?
It’s great he wants to support me, but formal education isn’t what I want, not even if it is an art program. And the last thing I need is more pressure to apply to school. When the uncomfortable silence drags on for longer than I can bear, I let out a sigh. “Okay, show’s over now, right? You can go.”
He reluctantly lets me shoo him out but, as I move to close the door, he braces against it, stopping me with his lopsided smile as much as his forearm. “Just say you’ll think about applying, ya stubborn bonehead.”
Fuck, I can’t think straight when he looks at me like that.
“Ugh, fine,” I say and shut the door in his face.