Page 10 of Beyond the Lines
But try explaining that to a bunch of guys who think art is just “drawing trees.”
“Drinks tonight, gentlemen?” Linc asks as we’re showering. “There’s this party at?—”
“Pass.” I turn off the water, thinking about the painting waiting at home. “Got plans.”
“Let me guess.” Mike throws a towel at my head. “Hot date with your sketchbook?”
I catch the towel without looking. “At least my date won’t ghost me after.”
“That wasonetime!” Mike protests.
“Three times,” Linc corrects. “Remember the girl from?—”
“We don’t talk about her!” Mike points a threatening finger. “Ever.”
I wrap the towel around myself, grinning. “What about the one who?—”
“Forget all that!”
“Come on, Dec.” Linc’s tone shifts from teasing to earnest. “One night out won’t kill you.”
“I’m working on something,” I protest as I towel off and head for my locker.
“Your hobby can wait.” Maine joins in, and I tense at his choice of words. “Come hang with actual people for once.”
I breathe through the irritation. They don’t get it. To them, art is just something I do to kill time between practices andgames. They don’t understand how it consumes me sometimes, how a blank canvas can be as compelling as fresh ice.
“It’s not a hobby,” I say quietly, but firmly.
“One hour, man.” Mike’s voice is low. “I get it, but come on…”
I pull my T-shirt over my head, buying time. Mike is better than the others, but he still doesn’t really get it. Still, he’s important to me—my best friend—andthe team captain, and with Princeton a week away, maybe a few hours of bonding will help us get the win.
Besides, there’s all afternoon to work on my art.
“Fine,” I sigh, giving in. “One hour.”
“Yes!” Linc pumps his fist. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”
“Where’s the party?” I raise an eyebrow, pulling on my jeans.
“Beta Ga?—”
“Afratparty? Seriously?” I sigh. “Can’t we just get a few beers at O’Neil’s?”
“It’s not like that,” Linc protests. “It’s chill. Just some people hanging out…”
“Come on,” Mike nudges me. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
I think about the last frat party I attended—the sticky floors, the too-loud music, the smell of cheap beer and cheaper perfume. And, worse, the small army of freshman girls who throw themselves at anyone wholookslike a student athlete…
“Fine,” I concede. “But I’m leaving if anyone pukes on me.”
“Hey, she was hot!” Mike laughs. “You could have?—”
“Lincdid,” I laugh, finally feeling comfortable again. “Aftershepuked…”
“Hey!” Linc slams his locker shut. “I gave her a breath mint…”
