Page 2 of Lessons in Desire

“Me too,” she shakes her head, “I was dreading ending up with another girl like last year.”

“Surely she couldn’t have been that bad.” Bree tends to be a little, somewhat, dramatic.

“She was!” Bree shivers. “Anyway, let’s not talk about that. Have you chosen which classes your taking?”

“Yep.” I smile. “I’ve chosen a whole bunch of math and finance ones—”

“Ev!”

“What?”

She looks exasperated, her face twisted down into a scold. “You don’t have to choose a major until the end of the year and I know you have this whole plan, but you should spend this year to do subjects you actually like. You know, like art.”

I shake my head. “No. What I should be doing is choosing classes that are going to maximise my earning potential. Meaning the classes that will make me money. You know, that green stuff that makes the world go round?”

She throws a pillow at my head, and I grin. It’s the one thing in life that we cannot agree on—money vs passion and for Bree, passion will always come first. And though we grew up in the same small town going to the same schools and being the closest of friends, we still had vastly different upbringings. Bree’s parents are the textbook high school sweethearts turned business success, raising Bree and her siblings with love and laughter. I, on the other hand, am the product of two drunks with no protection who now has a drunk dad and a dead mom.

Bree wants more for me, she wants me to follow my passions like she can.

I start unpacking my stuff, hanging the few bits of clothing I have in the wardrobe and placing all my art stuff on my desk. “Anyway, if it eases your mind, I do have an Art History class that I’m TA’ing for. That’s my fun one.”

Bree laughs, shaking her head. “So, let me get this straight, the only enjoyable subject you’ve taken is the one you have to work in?”

I nod. “All work and no play makes Evelyn a happy girl.”

“You can’t actually mean that!”

“I like to work! Makes me feel, I don’t know, productive.”

“Oh, Ev.” Bree says softly, love clinging to the syllables.

“Being an Art History assistant will be fun!” I say, easing her worries. “From what I’ve read up it has a focus on architecture too, which is so interesting.”

“Is that the one with Professor Callaway?” Abel says from his place beside Bree.

I pull out my timetable before nodding. “Yep, that’s the one.”

“Ah, I’ve heard he’s a total smoke show.” Abel grins.

Bree turns to him. “You’ve heard? But classes haven’t even started yet and he’s new this year.”

Abel shrugs. “What can I say, I’m a fountain of information.”

“I didn’t know he was new.” I say, brows furrowing.

“Yea, he’s some hotshot gallery owner turned professor they’ve been trying to get hold of for years. Turns out he finally said yes.”

My brows rise. “A gallery owner?”

Abel nods. “Yep. A thirty-something gallery owner with a passion for art.”

“Sounds like your perfect man, Ev.” Bree teases.

I laugh. “Well, I guess it can only be a bonus. I’d rather be distracted by the teachers than the students. At least then I’ll learn something.” I joke.

“So cynical.” Bree laughs. “Let yourself love.”

I pull out a painting I did a few years back and rest it on my desk. “I do love. I love my art.”

---