Bridgeport Academy #2 Page 4

  The car pulled up in front of a modern angular redwood-and-glass house nestled into the riverbank. Eric opened the front door, wearing jeans and a navy blue vintage Red Sox T-shirt. Seeing him dressed so casually felt so intimate. He looked exactly like the kind of beautiful yet faintly scruffy college student she’d always dreamed about bumping into on one of her many Ivy League college tours. The Red Sox logo made her think guiltily of Corey before she quickly pushed him out of her mind.

  “I’m sorry for not calling. I’ve been so busy.” Eric leaned in to give Naomi a kiss on the cheek, lingering longer than necessary. “I’ve missed you, and you smell lovely.”

  Naomi hated to swoon, but how many boys did she know who could say “lovely” in all seriousness? Certainly not Corey. She immediately forgave Eric for all the unreturned calls. He was an adult, after all. He got busy.

  Eric led her through the narrow entryway that opened into a dimly lit living room with cathedral ceilings. A wall of windows looked out on what must have been a breathtaking view of the river, though only blackness was visible now. The room was sparsely and elegantly furnished with low, rectangular pieces of furniture that had clearly been custom-designed for this house. Candles flickered on the coffee table and the sound of saxophone music filled the air.

  “Is this a Frank Lloyd Wright house?” she asked, since Frank Lloyd Wright was the only modern architect she knew.

  “Nah,” Eric said, pouring red wine into the two crystal glasses already sitting on the coffee table. “My grandfather was a big fan of Wright’s work but not his lifestyle.” He gestured toward the couch, and Naomi sat down, wondering what “his lifestyle” meant but too shy to ask. The couch was surprisingly stiff and uncomfortable. She tried leaning against one of the velvety pillows and felt a little better, although she was worried her posture looked too suggestive. Eric handed her a glass and sat next to her, close enough that their knees brushed against each other. “My grandfather was kind of a hard-ass.”

  “It sounds like your grandfather was a man of...principle,” Naomi said, trying to sound sophisticated but suspecting that she sounded like a freak. She sipped her wine and felt a little out of place.

  “He thought he was,” Eric said with a chuckle, setting his glass down on the table. He raised one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows and met her gaze. “But he had a weakness for pretty girls.”

  “Oh?” She could feel herself blushing. She gripped her knees with her hands. “Does that run in the family?”

  Eric leaned toward her and tenderly pushed back a strand of Naomi’s red hair, making sure it didn’t snag on any of the small gold hoops she always wore along the upper curve of her left ear. “Just pretty redheads,” he murmured hoarsely into her ear.

  His fingers slipped down to her shoulder. Naomi was having serious trouble concentrating.

  “Um...Eric? What, exactly, are we doing here?” she faltered, trying to sound as un-childish and casual as possible. “I mean, seriously. You could get in a lot of trouble. We both—”

  Eric sighed and took his hand from Naomi’s shoulder, letting it fall to the back of the couch instead. His eyes looked darker in the candlelight, and his face turned serious. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and while there are plenty of logical reasons why this shouldn’t be happening, I don’t want it to stop.”

  Naomi couldn’t help herself. She pressed her small knee against his larger one. The sight of their two denim knees together just seemed so normal and right to her. He was just a guy, after all, handsome and smart and totally irresistible. She slowly moved her hand over to his leg and rested it there, admiring the feel of his muscled thigh beneath her shimmering light lavender nails. Suppressing a giggle, she remembered the name of the nail polish she had picked out of Crystal’s makeup bag: Jailbait.

  “I just...” Eric shrugged and brushed an invisible piece of hair off his face. “I just think you’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met.”

  She felt drunk even though she’d hardly touched her wine. She moved her face toward his, slowly, keeping her eyes focused on his lips. Finally she met his lips with hers and felt an electric sensation course through her.

  After a long, lingering kiss, he pressed his lips to her throat. She couldn’t help remembering the last time they were together, on his boat, when they had started taking off each other’s clothes. There she was, completely naked in Eric’s bed, when she suddenly realized she wasn’t ready to do it yet. But this time, she was sure. Who better to share her first time with than someone so incredible…who thought she was amazing?

  But as Eric breathed into her neck and his hands inched toward her breasts, she couldn’t help feeling, once again, that he was just too good at this. He knew exactly how to touch her, which was, in a way, hypnotically exciting. But whenever she started to think too much about it, which she couldn’t help doing, she could picture him doing the exact same thing with some generic girl in her place, who he called amazing and maybe even made the same joke to about the family weakness for redheads, or blondes, or freckles, or whatever the girl happened to have. How many girls—or women—had he been with on this very couch, in this candlelit living room? The thought made her immediately self-conscious, and her body froze up.

  Eric pulled away from her and looked at her face questioningly. “I—I think I might not be ready just yet,” she stammered, feeling like the biggest baby in the world. She stared at her lap and concentrated on holding back the tears that threatened to come spilling out.

  “That’s fine, Naomi.” Eric placed his hands on her cheeks. “Look at me—don’t worry about it. There’s no hurry—we’ll take it slow.”

  Naomi looked up. “I’m sorry I’m such a...” she started to say.

  “A what? A beautiful, sexy girl?” He laughed, and Naomi smiled sheepishly. “Trust me, I’m not going anywhere. We can take our time.” He held out his arms, and Naomi collapsed against him in relief, enjoying how his body felt wrapped, fully clothed, around hers. She’d be ready soon; she could tell. Just not yet.

  Two hours later, Naomi lay partially clothed with Eric dozing next to her, beneath smooth Egyptian cotton sheets that had to be like a thousand thread count. And as nice and sexy and sweet as it was, Naomi couldn’t help thinking about how her own bed would feel at that moment. She could almost hear the soft whimpering noises Crystal made in her sleep. Eric’s manly snores kind of reminded her of her father. She wished she had just slept with him and gotten her first time over with—she wouldn’t feel like such a kid, and it would make the next time even easier. Needing to pee, she slipped out from under his arm, careful not to wake him.

  She reached for the pair of Ralph Lauren silk pajama bottoms on his bureau to pull on over her underwear. As she tightened the drawstring around her waist, a streak of moonlight illuminated the top of the dresser. Next to Eric’s sleek black leather wallet lay a plastic baggie of weed. Naomi picked it up and sniffed inside to be sure. Eric, a pothead? Naomi had never smoked weed, but it occurred to her that it might be just what she needed to relax enough to do it with Eric. Maybe next time.

  “Where’re you going?” Naomi turned around to see Eric sitting up in bed, his sexy brown eyes sleepy and his hair rumpled. “You’re not leaving?”

  “Bathroom,” Naomi answered, suddenly wondering how she was supposed to get home.

  “Spend the night.” Eric yawned adorably. “I just want you to sleep next to me.”

  Naomi melted. Without a thought of curfews or her roommates or what she’d wear in the morning, she agreed. “I’d like that too.”

  SageFrancis: U awake yet? I just knocked on Pardee’s door to tell her our toilet’s clogged again and I heard Mr. Pardee totally freaking inside.

  BennyCunningham: U get anything good?

  SageFrancis: Not really. Maybe she’s got a boyfriend? Mr. Dalton?

  BennyCunningham: Doubt it. Someone saw Naomi getting dropped off at dawn in a fancy town car this morning.

>   SageFrancis: U don’t say…

  To: ZaneTaylor@bridgeport.edu

  From: CrystalAlexander@bridgeport.edu

  Date: Wednesday, September 11, 9:01 a.m.

  Subject: Stables

  Hey, baby,

  Meet me at the stables at 5 p.m.?

  Xoxo,

  Crys

  7

  Bree plopped her giant purple suede tote bag she’d gotten at an open-air market in Prague that summer on the floor beneath the art desk she’d tentatively claimed as her own. She’d fallen in love with the bag, and her mother had quickly handed over the two thousand koruny the vendor wanted for it without even trying to bargain, as if her willingness to buy Bree the bag made her a less-neglectful mother after basically abandoning her and Mekhi when they were kids. Bree loved the bag despite its being a bribe and despite its being slightly grungy and not exactly hip. After her first week at Bridgeport, Bree was finding herself less concerned with everyone else’s idea of what coolness was. There was something very empowering about the way she had found herself turning the Black Saturday cheer to her advantage instead of collapsing in shame, and she suddenly felt like she could do the same with everything if she set her mind to it. Who cared if her bag was slightly lumpy and dorky looking?

  Yesterday Mrs. Silver had invited Bree, Zane, and Alison Quentin into the Advanced Portraiture elective that met on Wednesdays. The class was mostly seniors, so Bree felt especially proud. And the fact that she was going to have another class with Zane didn’t hurt either.

  Bree headed to the student supply closet and pulled her enormous sketch pad out from the shelf labeled Hargrove in her elegant calligraphy. She couldn’t help smiling at the sight of Zane’s name on his shelf in sloppy charcoal, the dark, dusty letters already smearing on the white label.

  “Glad you could join us, Mr. Taylor,” Mrs. Silver greeted Zane as he strolled into the classroom just as she was closing the door.

  “The pleasure is all mine.” Zane slid onto the stool next to Bree, glancing at her out of the corner of his deep brown eyes. It was a mixed blessing, a tease, like someone waving a slice of pepperoni pizza under her nose and she was on a diet. What was wrong with her? She didn’t know if he and Crystal were still together, but either way, Crystal was her roommate. “Hey,” he whispered, barely audibly.

  “Hey,” Bree whispered back. What was she doing? She had to force herself to stop flirting with him. Concentrate on her artwork, something!

  “I think you have all mastered the basic proportions of the face, working with a mirror and your own reflections.” Mrs. Silver, a graying Mrs.-Claus-goes-hippie type, smiled kindly at the class. “Now, I’d like you to work on capturing a likeness of someone else’s face. These two rows, pair up with the person next to you—” She pointed at Zane and Bree’s rows. “And these two…”

  Bree stopped listening. Zane was already turning his desk to face hers. It was almost as if everyone in the world had united to try and torture her.

  “Who wants to go first?” he asked, his pencil already doodling on his paper.

  “I’ll do you first,” Bree said, not ready for him to be drawing her face yet. She’d blush like an idiot the whole time. Besides, she didn’t want him to start comparing her looks to Crystal’s—she’d never measure up. Crystal was the kind of girl who got all primped just to head out to field hockey practice and spend a few hours sweating. Crystal was beautiful. Bree looked down at her own less-than-perfect body with her disproportionately large chest and wondered again why he would ever even consider going from being part of such a glamorous couple to being with a girl more than a foot shorter than him. They’d look like freaks!

  “All right, but I’ve never been a model before, so I might not be too good at it.” He looked vaguely embarrassed by the whole situation, tapping his fingers nervously on his drawing table.

  “It’s okay; you don’t have to pose or anything.” Bree giggled. “You can talk or draw if you want as long as you don’t move too much. And keep your eyes up.”

  Zane met her eyes, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Okay, boss.”

  She looked down at her paper and started her preliminary sketch of the outline of his head with a stub of vine charcoal, but her eyes were immediately drawn back to his face. With only a few glances down at the paper as she sketched, Bree studied his features more closely than she had before, appreciating the small bump in his nose, the way his big brown eyes turned up at the corners, his slightly uneven sticky-outy ears. Her paper filled up quickly.

  “Good,” Mrs. Silver said from behind Bree’s desk. “Excellent—class, see how Bree is keeping her eyes on Zane’s face, not buried in her paper? I want you to concentrate on what you are seeing, and the drawing will fall into place.”

  Perfect, Bree thought. More mixed messages—she couldn’t keep her eyes off Zane and she was getting praise for it.

  “You were almost late today,” Bree remarked after Mrs. Silver passed on to the next pair, wanting to end the silence between them. She had an itch on her nose but didn’t want to scratch it because her fingers were black with charcoal.

  “I was out with Credo. The weather’s been so nice, I want to ride as much as possible.” Zane’s face always lit up when he talked about his horse. Bree had grown up with lots of girls whose families had houses and stables out in Westchester and Connecticut and who talked about their prize jumpers as if they were in love with them or something. Maybe her anarchist dad had rubbed off on her, but she’d always found them, with their equestrian helmets and sleek riding boots, way too pretentious. Or maybe she was just jealous.

  “I’ve never been horseback riding,” she admitted, flipping to another page and starting a new sketch. She traded her vine charcoal for a soft graphite pencil and set to work on the shape of his eyes so that she had an excuse to look right into them.

  Zane’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding me?”

  Bree shrugged. “I’m from New York. I think I took a pony ride at a street fair once. A woman led me around in a circle. I don’t know if that counts.” Bree cocked her head and grinned. “Actually, it might have been a donkey.”

  Zane laughed. “There’s a pretty big difference.” He ran his hand through his hair, making his curls even more disheveled than usual. He looked at Bree shyly. “Well, you can always come with me sometime. If you wanted.” He shrugged, like he wasn’t sure if she’d be interested. “Credo’s very gentle with beginners.”

  Bree concentrated on the charcoal-scrawled eyes on her paper instead of the ones on Zane’s golden brown face. Why was he doing this to her? “I’d like to…” She took a deep breath and looked up at him, lowering her voice a little so that everyone wouldn’t hear. “But, um, what’s going on with you and Crystal? Are you together or not? Because…” She trailed off.

  Zane looked surprised and flustered. “No, Crystal and I aren’t really…” He paused, not knowing what they were. He picked up his kneaded eraser and started to play with it like it was Silly Putty, stretching it until it broke, then rolling it back together. “I think we both know that things are over...It’s just not, technically, official.”

  Bree felt her chest tighten in a combination of excitement at the possibility of being with Zane and dread over Crystal finding out. “I just don’t think it’s the greatest idea for us to be spending a lot of time together before you guys are, you know, official,” Bree surprised herself by saying. She even kept drawing as they talked, capturing the way his eyes crinkled when he was trying not to smile. “She’s my roommate, and I don’t want things to get weird.” Weirder than they are, she added silently.

  “Hey, I totally understand.” Zane reached across their desks and pulled down the top of Bree’s sketch pad so that she would look at him. “I didn’t mean to cause any problems for you.”

  She lightly sketched in the loose curls that framed Zane’s face. “I know.” She noticed something stuck in his hair, and without t
hinking twice about it, she leaned across the desks toward him, making sure her boobs didn’t touch her paper and smear her drawings. He leaned toward her a little, and Bree was sure she was blushing as she pulled a piece of leaf from one of his thick dark curls. She held it up for him to see.

  “I wondered what you were doing,” Zane said, sounding a little disappointed, like he thought she was…what? Going to kiss him? Goose bumps covered Bree’s bare arms, even though the art building was always a thousand degrees. “I was out in the woods this morning,” he said mysteriously.

  “Really? How come?” Bree loved the idea that Zane was sort of a wild boy. She glanced up at the sound of the door suddenly closing. She’d kind of forgotten where she was. Kids were headed outside, armed with their sketches, to spray them with fixative. Class was almost over already? How did that happen? She looked down at her table and saw that she’d drawn a whole stack of sketches of Zane.

  “I like to paint there. It’s quiet. I’ve got this great spot.” Zane yawned and stretched, glancing around the art room as the students started to move their drawing desks back to their original places, the metal feet squeaking across the wood floor. “I was going to go there again tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to come?” Zane’s piercing brown eyes met Bree’s, and she tried to understand what he was asking. Tomorrow? Did that mean he would be breaking up with Crystal—today? Suddenly it felt like everything was happening so fast. Was it too fast?

  Not that she cared. “Yes. I’d like that.”

  To: ZaneTaylor@Bridgeport.edu

  From: CrystalAlexander@Bridgeport.edu

  Date: Wednesday, September 11, 3:55 p.m.