Page 62 of Jesse's Girl

“Ada, this is fucking zen as shit,” Rolando says, blue paint swirling and tinting the water as he dips his paintbrush in the glass.

Watercolor isn’t usually my thing, but I know enough to guide the kids through a basic lesson. And they’re into it.

“Mine’s more shit than zen, though,” Sofia grumbles.

Okay, mostly into it.

Maybe it’s being away from all the tension between me and Jesse, or maybe it’s the Mozart concerto playing over the multipurpose room’s speakers, but I’m feeling the zen vibes too.

Sofia sighs, sounding frustrated. “The colors are so washed out.”

I walk over and peer at her painting. “I think you have a bit too much water on your paper. See how it’s pooling in the corners of the tape? Here,”—I step to the sink and rip off a sheet of paper towel for her—“use this to blot some of it off. And make sure your brush isn’t too wet before you do the next part.”

Rolando pauses, paintbrush in the air. “Who’s that guy? Y’know, the one with the afro who did all those paintings on TV? The happy little trees guy?”

“Bob Ross?” Dalia offers.

“Yeah, yeah, Bob Ross!” Roly wipes his brush on a paper towel and sets it down before pushing up from the table. “I’m gonna drop some Bob Ross trees on this shit when it’s dry.” He reaches across to the nearby counter for the hair dryer, careful not to disconnect the extension cord when he pulls it over. When he turns it on, an uproar of protest comes from Dalia and Sofia on either side of him.

Well, it’s a bit less zen now.

“Roly, watch it!” Sofia shouts over the noise, using her forearm as a shield. “You’re fucking up my painting!”

I circle around and reach over to switch the hair dryer’s setting. “Keep it on low, okay?”

He nods, aiming it carefully, then shoots an annoyed glare at Dalia.

After a couple of minutes, he switches it off, and I can hear the soft sound of classical music once again.

“Where’s Man Bun tonight?” Rupi asks.

“What do you mean?” I frown, pretending Jesse isn’t constantly on my mind. “I dunno.”

“Aren’t you two, like…” Dalia starts to ask, letting the implication hang.

“Uh, no, we’re just roommates. Friends.” Heat creeps up my cheeks.

Well, that’s fucking embarrassing.

I busy myself with washing out some brushes at the sink, trying once again to put Jesse out of my mind.

Murmurs ripple around the table behind me, and I turn to find the group of them staring. I shift my eyes between the half dozen kids who showed up for the watercolor lesson tonight. “What?”

“Y’all still pretending to be just friends?” Sofia asks.

I shake my head. “Let’s just focus on our paintings, okay?”

“Alright,” she relents. “But I saw how he looked at you.”

“Yeah,” Rupi says with a nod. “He likes you.”

“Totally,” Dalia agrees. “At bowling? He was into you for sure.”

“Okay, fools,” I say, holding up a hand. “Enough about Jesse. I mean it.” I glance at the clock. Forty-seven minutes until I can go home. Forty-seven minutes until I’ll have to face him again. Forty-seven minutes until I’ll have to act like everything is normal.

I give my head a shake. I need to follow my own damn advice.

Enough. About. Jesse.

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