“Has she started?” Evelyn asks not even a minute later, dragging out her chair with a screech that echoes through the room. There’s something reassuring about her presence. No matter how late she is, Evelyn always shows up.
She drops her bag onto the floor with a thump, unconcerned about the eyes on her. She’s the opposite of me. I try to avoid attention, but even if she were quiet, she’d draw it anyway, with her striking green eyes, faint freckles, and shiny red hair.
“No, she just walked in,” I whisper.
“I slept in because I stayed up late studying and watching a new show.”
“What was it called?” I ask, thinking I’ll try to watch it if I’m home alone tonight. I’ve finished binge watchingDream Home Makeover. I’ve been obsessively taking notes of every built-in shelf and kitchen island, saving them for the house I want.
She scrunches her nose as she snaps her fingers. “Damn it. I forgot. It’ll come to me.”
I giggle as she unpacks before settling in her chair.
“Alright, class,” Mrs. Bennett starts, and the room falls silent. “Today, we’ll focus on line work. For the first half of the class, you’ll watch me, and then you’ll try it yourselves. I'll walk around and offer help. Any questions?”
We spend the next thirty minutes watching her sketch the Empire State Building, explaining her techniques as she goes. As expected, by the time she’s finished, she’s got at least eight pencils tucked into her messy bun.
Now it’s our turn. We’re free to draw whatever we like, as long as it’s based on lines. I don’t hesitate. I already know what I want to draw. Before I know it, I’m lost in my drawing of a peony, only snapping out of it when Evelyn taps my shoulder.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask.
“Time for a break.”
I glance at the clock, surprised to see that an hour has already slipped by. As much as I want to skip our break, I know I need it to keep me going today. I lower my pencil and stretch my arms over my head. Grabbing my purse, which is filled with an old phone and crumpled sketchbooks, paint-stained receipts, and dried color tubes that mean everything to me, I follow her out of the classroom, where I finally notice what she’s wearing.
She usually wears dress pants to class and changes tops before heading to her afternoon or night shift at The Charles Hotel, working as a concierge.
“Why are you in jeans? I thought you had a shift at the hotel right after class.”
“Brittany begged me to swap shifts.”
“So, when are you working?”
I know she needs the hours. I can’t help but worry about what it means for her money.
She crosses her arms. “Saturday afternoon.”
We step into the break room, soft conversations humming around us. A small table is covered with free snacks, all provided by Mrs. Lincoln, who insists on taking care of her students. I appreciate it and usually grab a handful. In the corner, a simple vending machine stands. A few students lounge on green sofas, the concrete walls and exposed pipes, adding to the industrial feel of the room.
“Bummer, we can’t hang out on Saturday then,” I say, walking over to a small counter, where a friendly staff member is arranging more free snacks on trays. I help myself to a red apple, some cheese, and crackers from her neatly organized selection.
Evelyn grabs cookies. “Hopefully, your brother goes out so you don’t have to deal with him.”
Byhim, she really means him and his girlfriend, Amarni. I live with him while I save for my own place. It’s also close to theschool. I’m happy he found someone, and it helps to keep his focus off me.
“God, I hope so. They’re all over each other like a rash, and I’m over it.” I sigh.
We make our way to the coffee and tea station.
“If you were in love, you’d be the same.”
Evelyn makes her coffee with cream and sugar, while I make tea. “Not happening anytime soon. I’ve got more important things to focus on.” I’ll never be in love like that.
We take our things to one of the wooden tables and chairs and begin eating. As we settle in, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed that we can’t hang out on Saturday. It’s not like I was planning anything special, but I had hoped for a chance to maybe talk more. When she asks how I am, she actually means it. She doesn’t push, doesn’t pry; she just listens. And when she talks, it’s never empty. It’s thoughtful, fun, and real.
I don’t trust people easily, but with her, it’s different. She gets me in a way no one else does. She doesn’t try to fix me or tell me what I should do. She’s just... there. And that’s more than I’ve ever been able to say about most people.
“Are you still thinking about that property?” she asks.
