Page 72 of I Don't Need Your Love
We stare at each other for what feels like forever before I pull my gaze away. “So try to paint. Whatever you feel, put it on the canvas.”
He inclines his head. “Will do.”
“Let me know if you have any questions.”
The room is mostly quiet as everyone paints. I focus on mine, but my eyes keep darting in Ryder’s direction. He dabbed his paintbrush into green paint and holds the brush over the canvas, hesitating. Then he nods to himself and paints a line.
“No idea what this is, but at least it’s something,” he says with an embarrassed chuckle.
“Go on. Don’t stop.”
Fifteen minutes later, he’s painted a green box, which I guess is supposed to be a football field? And a guy standing in the center.
He hangs his head. “Told you I’m bad at this.”
“This is so cute.”
His head lifts. “Cute? Looks like a five-year-old painted it.”
“So what? This is your first painting and you did well. Maybe you can give it to your mom when your parents come for Parents’ Day and she can hang it on the fridge.”
He gazes at the painting, his jaw clenching. “Doubt she’d want this lame thing,” he mutters. “Or that they’ll come at all.” He said the last part so low I’m not sure I heard him right.
“It’s not lame, Ryder. I think it’s very cute. At first, it just looks like a box, but the more I look at it, the deeper I understand it. See his face?” I point to the football player. “He’s so happy to be playing football. I bet that’s how you felt before every game.”
He nods. “Yeah, I did.”
“And this field? The way you painted it makes me think it felt like home to you. Like you were safe there.”
He gapes at me. “You got that just from looking at it?”
“Yeah, because you shared a part of yourself in the painting. You might think it looks lame, but I see a lot in there.”
“Wow. So not only are you an amazing choreographer, you’re an art guru.”
“No, it’s pretty obvious.”
“Because you know me.”
“No, because you put yourself in your painting.”
He looks at it, tilting his head from right to left. “Hold on. I need to add something. Don’t look.”
I busy myself with my painting until he’s done. After he tells me to look, I take in the changes that he made. He added a girl next to the football player. She has dark red hair and she’s wearing our dance uniform. She also has a bright smile on her face.
“Is that me?” I ask.
“Yeah. Now that I no longer have football, I’m still connected to it because I’m part of the dance team. And we perform by halftime. Because you put the dance team together, it gives me the chance to still keep that part of myself alive. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does. See, you’re getting the hang of this.”
He smiles.
I bend forward to get a better look at the girl who’s supposed to be me. “She looks like she’s exactly where she belongs.”
“That’s how you are. You’re going to be this awesome choreographer, your name will be flashing all over those Broadway signs.”
“It’s called a marquee and my name won’t be on there.”
