Page 1 of Wet Paint

Chapter 1

IVY

“Happy birthday, Ivy!”

I smiled at Ruby, and watched as she skipped down the steps to come sit next to me in the lecture hall. Her red hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail, showing off her perfect face. Her freckles were darker than usual, because the sun had finally started shining after a dark and gloomy April.

“Thank you,” I replied, hugging her back as she wrapped her arms around me. “Where were you this morning?” I asked, wondering why I had been alone in our apartment earlier.

“I took an extra shift at the bakery because I wanted this weekend off,” she explained, then quickly changed the subject again. “I’d ask you what it feels like being twenty-one, but I already know: it sucks, and nothing changed.”

I laughed and looked at her, pursing my lips as I evaluated her words. “You’re right. It’s still the same. But it doesn’t suck that much. I can finally and officially buy my own drinks at the bar without having guys pay for me.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “I know you’re like super independent and all that, but I’d rather have men spend their money on me, than spending my own on things that won’t last.A hangover is more fun when you realize the next morning that you haven’t spent one dollar on drinks.”

She wasn’t wrong, but I also didn’t like the idea of continuously having men offer me drinks, which would mean I’d have to talk to them, which, again, wasn’t something I liked. Especially not lately.

“Besides, now that you’re twenty-one, and I’m twenty-one, we can totally hang out in that other bar we never got into. You know, the one on campus everyone keeps talking about.”

I looked at her and raised a brow. “You mean the bar that only students with an invite are allowed into?”

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll get an invite sometime soon.”

“That bar sounds like a cult. I’ve heard women aren’t treated well in there. And only frat guys are welcome. And we—“

“Hate frat guys. Gosh, you’re right.” She sighed heavily and leaned back in her seat. “Never mind. But we’ll go out tonight. Good thing your birthday is on a Friday. Unless you want to hang out at home, order in, and watch movies.”

“We could do both. Go out, then go back home,” I suggested.

“Perfect. And who are we inviting?”

We spent the whole lesson whispering and planning for tonight without getting caught by our professor. After class ended, we headed to our next one and kept planning.

By lunch, which we went to grab at our favorite little diner right off campus, I had sent four other friends an invite to my little birthday get-together. They all replied within ten minutes. When we got back to campus, I said bye to Ruby and headed to my next class.

Normally, whenever I got to go home early from school, I took the free time and spent it in the art room where nobody else would be. I grew up drawing and painting, so it made sensethat I ended up spending more time with canvases than people growing up. It changed when I started college and met Ruby, who my mother made me contact after telling me that her friend had a daughter who would also go to the same college as me.

We ended up texting, then FaceTiming, and finally, we decided on a pretty apartment ten minutes from campus. We became best friends immediately, and sometimes I wished our mothers would’ve got us to meet each other much earlier.

Instead of going straight back to the apartment and get ready for the night, I walked past the student center and down the quieter hallways that led to the art wing. It always smelled like old books, paint thinner, and something vaguely metallic. Probably from the rusted pipes above the sinks that never quite stopped dripping.

The walls were covered in half-finished student projects, some of them brilliant, others just loud. I liked that, though. The whole vibe this part of the college had. It was almost as if the faculty knew us artsy students needed messy.

I pushed open the heavy door to the art room, the hinges groaning like they always did, and stepped inside. The lights were already on, but I didn’t see anyone else inside. Maybe they just left, which was just as I’d hoped.

In the far corner, covered in a loose cotton sheet, was the painting I’d started weeks ago. I hadn’t touched it since mid-April, mostly because finals had crept up on me and I’d convinced myself it wasn’t a priority. But now, something about it felt like it was asking for my attention again.

I walked over and gently pulled back the cover, revealing the canvas underneath. It wasn’t anything revolutionary. Just a dark underwater scene, with tall strands of kelp rising up against a dull, grayish-blue background. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until I saw it again. It looked unfinished, like it had been paused mid-thought.

Well, it probably had.

I sat down on the stool in front of it and stared for a while, letting the silence surrounding me. In that moment, it was just me and this frozen version of whatever I’d been feeling when I last held a brush.

Eventually, I pulled out my sketchbook and flipped through a few pages until I found the notes I’d made about this piece. The palette. The shapes I still wanted to add. The texture I hadn’t quite nailed. I didn’t plan on painting today, I just needed to be here. Needed to remember that not everything in my life had to be loud or fast or shared, like they would be tonight. Some things could just be mine.

But the universe had other plans. It didn’t want for me to be alone in that moment.

The door behind me made that same creepy sound, and I turned around to look who it was.

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