Evie and I never ended up talking on Friday. After briefly seeing her in my classes, she was always quick to run off to him, or coming in late because she spent even the last second holding his hand outside the classroom.

Over the weekend, my dad returned a little grim. A little off that he had lost another family member. These trips to bury the dead were seeming to become a more frequent occurrence and it was taking a toll on him, his hair starting to grey, his eyes becoming deeply lined around the edges.

I got one word responses from Evie on Saturday that, by Sunday, I decided to not text her at all.

Monday and Tuesday saw a repeat, and each day not having Evie got a little easier. A little more normal. 

But even though I knew I would be by myself the whole day, on Wednesday—the one day in a week seniors got off to catch up on school work or complete TAFE courses—I still went to school. I couldn’t be alone in that house.

Getting off the bus just before the first bell, I went straight to Miss Delgado’s staffroom, knocking on the door and calling for her.

“May!” she gleamed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Can I work on my art project today?” I asked her.

Smiling, she handed me her keys. “I might have some other seniors dropping by though, so you will have to share the room with them. Just bring me the keys back when you’re done if you’re the last one there though.”

“Okay. Thanks Miss!”

After arriving in the room and keeping the door open in case anyone needed to use the studio, I set up my display and pulled out my woodblock and chisels. Then I popped in my headphones and got to work. I still had heaps of time until we had to start lacing our wood with paint and stamping pages, but I figured I could always make a couple of designs in that time instead. 

Immersed in my piece, I didn’t even realise someone had joined me in the room. Until they were pulling my headphone out of my ear.

Glancing up, his green eyes were way closer than I had expected.

I stumbled backwards, cord ripping from my phone as it clattered off the desk to the floor. “Shit,” I mumbled, leaning to grab it.

But Rowan beat me to it, inspecting my device for damage (I was lucky this time) before handing it back to me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you… I said hi a million times but you’re obviously in the zone.”

“Yeah, I was a bit…” I checked my phone for the time, shocked to realise I had already been at it for an hour. “What are you doing here?”

Smiling, he nodded over to the station he had already set up. “I wanted to add another layer of paint to my background so it dries before art tomorrow.”

He set up his whole station and I hadn’t noticed.

I nodded then looked back at my work.

“I’ll leave you to it. Just wanted to say hi,” he mumbled, hand coming to his neck as usual before he turned to walk away.

“Hi,” I finally said, fingers twirling my headphones. Since when was I nervous around him?

“Hi,” he grinned from his station, picking up his paintbrush. “What are you listening to?”

“This and that…” 

“I have a speaker in my bag… if you want to share.”

As I nodded and he pulled it out, I watched his jaw drop when my music began playing from his speakers.

“Illy? You’re listening to Illy?”

“Cinematic is a good album,” I trailed off, picking up my chisel.

He shook his head, and continued to paint. But as I found myself stealing glances his way every now and then, I noticed him miming along to the songs, and I smiled, knowing we had another thing in common.

After half an hour of work, he began to pack up his station and wash his paint brushes. “Are you going?” I found myself asking as he turned off his speaker.

Grabbing his bag in one hand, he walked over to me. “Yeah. That’s all I came in for.” He picked at the wood shards that surrounded my surface, twirling them in his fingers and making no movement to leave. “Are you doing this all day?”

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “I’ve got nothing else to do until the bus comes.”

His eyes shyly met mine before he asked, “Is this an urgent piece?”

“I still have five whole weeks to do it.”

Another awkward neck rub later, and a few opened and closed mouths, he finally blurted, “Want to hang out with me for the afternoon? I can drop you home after.”

I glanced up at him, enjoying the familiar pink tinge that was seeming to become part of him around me, and smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He helped me pack up my belongings and clean the room before we dropped the keys back off with Miss Delgado. She was taken aback to see us side by side, but as we turned to walk away, I caught a smug smile spreading across her face.

Then I added her to the list of people shipping us, internally sighing. 

We got into his ‘baby’, dropped by Maccas for some lunch, then we found our way driving through Ronnie’s suburb.

Glancing around, I asked where we were going.

“Ah… my place.”

“I thought you lived near Evie?”

“We moved when my parents got divorced,” he said, not phased by the statement. Like it was an experience that was ancient history.

“Is your… is your mum home?”

“No.” He glanced over at me. “Sorry, is this weird?”

“Um. No. I’ve just… never been to a boy’s house before?” Not sure why that mattered though. I had frequently slept right next to Evie, whose body I let my eyes undress time and time again without second-guessing whether it was permitted.

“Just don’t tell your parents…”

“Oh I definitely won’t. Is your mum going to be okay with it?”

“She’s used to me having girls over.” But I could see the regret in his widened eyes the moment the words came out. “That did not come out right.”

I laughed as he pulled into a driveway. But as we walked inside, Rowan surprised me. Instead of taking me to the living room, or worse, his bedroom, we immediately turned right, stepping into the garage.

“So we left one art room and entered another,” I said, smile gracing my face as I glanced around. A large workstation centred in the middle, a couple of differently sized easels, shelves full of art supplies, and a cascade of canvas leaning against walls, I turned around in his room in awe, taking it all in.

“This is amazing,” I breathed, lifting a wet towel on the workstation to admire a clay dragon still in progress.

Shrugging, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sure your setup is way better.”

“I don’t have one.”

“What?”

“Mum doesn’t support my art. I’m going on to do law after school.”

“No way. You have to study art. Your work is phenomenal.”

Shaking my head, I lowered the towel. “I can’t make clay dragons.”

Chuckling, he said, “I can teach you some clay tricks.”

“That would be nice.” But I kept walking through the room, checking out the brand of paint he stored. The sizes of canvases he stocked. And then I began turning around his artworks that lay pressed against the wall. “Hey, I remember this one,” I said, pulling out the shattered glass piece I saw in eighth grade. 

He was by my side in an instant, prying the canvas out of my hand before tucking it behind the stack. “Um… don’t look at that one.”

“I’ve already seen it before. It was the one that got me into art.”

His eyes snapped to mine, mouth falling open. As though I was missing something on there that was personal… revealing. But I didn’t push him.

“So, clay.”