Page 4 of With September

Trevor

She looked so fucking beautiful,I couldn’t help leaning down to kiss her. Once I touched her face and pulled her gaze up to mine, I was lost in the moment.

“Should we go?” she asks, stepping out into the hall of her dorm. She locks the door behind her. Automatically, I take her hand, and we walk out into the early evening. The six blocks spent walking to my building is full over conversation and laughter. It’s so unbelievably easy with her. I didn’t know it could be this easy.

I’ve planned a whole thing on my rooftop terrace. I hired caterers, because I can’t cook for shit. I want to impress her.

I think she thinks we are going up to my apartment, but when I push PR on the elevator, the look of confusion on her face is adorable.

“Where are we going?” she asks as the elevator does its thing and whisks us to the top of the building. I don’t answer, I want her to see it. The terrace is mine, but I don’t tell her that. The lights that are set up twinkle in the darkness. The candles on the patio table do to. “Oh, wow. You can see everything from here.” She does a 360-degree turn, getting a great view of the city.

“It’s great, isn’t it,” I say, looking around for the first time. It’s easy to miss the sights when you see them every day.

I take her over to where the table is set up. The cater waiter I hired pulls her chair out for her, and she sits.

“We’re eating up here? I thought you just wanted to show me the view.”

“We are,” I say, sitting down across from her.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she says as she puts her napkin in her lap.

“I wanted to do this. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“I do. Oh my gosh, it’s lovely, Trevor. Thank you.”

“Wine?” the waiter asks before I can respond.

“No, thank you. I’m not old enough,” she says, putting her hand over her glass. For a moment, I panic.

“Fuck. How old are you?” I ask, praying she’s legal, though with the way that I feel about her, I doubt anything would keep me from wanting her.

“I’m nineteen.” Thank God.

I also opt not to drink. I want to have a clear head tonight. We eat the fixed menu, but I couldn’t tell you what I eat because I’m so wrapped up in September. Her likes, dislikes, favorite color, movie, chips—everything gets committed to memory as we talk and eat.

Eventually, the waiter sees himself out and it’s just us. Soft music is playing from my outdoor stereo system. Standing, I extend my hand to her.

“Dance with me?” I ask. She looks confused but then takes my hand. I pull her close to me, and I can’t help inhaling her scent. She smells like the last of summer–coconuts and sunshine. I puts my hands on her waist, and she puts her arms around my shoulders, and we begin to sway to the music. Instantly, it feels like we’ve been doing this exact thing forever. I pause and shudder when I feel her soft lips on my neck. With onequick movement, I kiss her deeply. I lose track of how long we stand there intwined like that, but eventually, I let her go. I have to. I don’t want to take it to far tonight. We’ve got the rest of our lives, I’m in no hurry.

I don’t know if it’s the moonlight, the dancing, and September herself, but I know that I don’t want to let her go.

Ever.

Chapter Five

September

I am still walkingon air. Last night's date was amazing. It was thoughtful, fun, quiet, cozy, and us—at least what I picture a life with him would be like: quiet but real, noisy but full of color, and, lastly, full of love but fun. Ah. I shake my head, trying to clear my mind. Right now, I am in my charcoal drawing class, and I need to focus.

“Good morning, my budding young artists. Hopefully, everyone is rested and ready to take the world by storm.” Smiling, I nod my head. I love Professor Comp’s class. She is always the glass half full. She is happy and full of encouragement and enthusiasm. “Today I want you to make something personal. It can be a person, place or thing. Something that feels like life to you. Something you want to breathe in and soak up and never let go. I want to see it or them as you see them in your mind. Got it?”

My mind starts racing because I don’t know what to choose. I would draw Clutter, my tabby cat, but when I left her behind, I had to sort of close myself off to her because I loved her so much. It was unbearable, but there were no pets in the dorm.

Unsure what to do, I follow my normal ritual. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, and allow myself to drift off into aspace that is all black, void of anything, giving me a blank path of development. I feel my hands touch the utensils, memorizing them and becoming one with them. Finally, when I feel one with my surroundings and what I need to do, I open my eyes and allow my mind to drift into a space where nothing exists but me and the canvas.

I have no idea how long I have been in the chair—just me, the canvas, and my charcoal. I spaced out, but when the teacher came to me, I snapped out of it and looked at what I drew. Gasping, my hand flies to my mouth. Holy moly. I drew Trevor, and not as an abstract figure. No, this is Trevor. Anyone who takes the class he TAs for will know it is him.

“Wow, Miss Bettancourt. How realistic. It is almost as if he is right in front of your face. This is aspiring work, my dear.” I know she is telling me something complementary, but I feel panic now. Instead of basking in her words, I nod my head to say thank you, rip the canvas off the easel, and run out of there,

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