Page 61 of Reply All
“Will didn’t tell you? He’s an incredible artist.” Sandra’s voice is filled with pride.
I look to Will who can barely make eye contact with me. “What? No, he never said anything.”
Sandra frowns. “Will?”
“I… It never came up. That’s only high school stuff. It’s really not that good.”
“And college. You did some college stuff,” his mom adds.
“But those are in my apartment back home, not in my childhood bedroom.” His cheeks are red, his eyes stuck to the floor. “And whatever’s here isn’t good.”
“Okay, you need to stop being so self-effacing,” I tell him. “And I can’t believe you hid this from me.” The hurt in my voice is real. I thought we knew everything about each other? He definitely told me about the nerdy awards when we covered high school, but never about the art.
Sandratsks. “Well, now youhaveto show her. Let her see how incredible your work is.”
Will’s cheeks redden, eyes panicked. “Whoa. No, Mom. I don’t think Bridget would like?—”
“Bridget would, actually,” I cut him off, a huge smile spreading across my face. “Bridget definitely would love to very much.”
He stares down at me, a bit hopeless.
“C’mon,” I whisper low enough for his mom not to hear. “I want to know you.”
Something about what I say shifts the way he carries himself and the expression on his face—determined, a man on a mission, ready to get things done.
And it’s kinda hot.
“Okay,” he tells his mom, but his eyes are on me as he pulls me to my feet by the hand and leads me down a hallway without another word to me or anyone else for that matter.
“God, what is up with you?”
We reach a door at the end of the hallway with a hanging Mickey Mouse sign, his name painted on. Clearly, a memento from when he was younger. I reach out and run my fingers over the old sign, its color a little worn and faded, one of Mickey’s ears chipped.
When he wraps his large hand around the doorknob, Will pauses for a moment before opening the door. Once he does, though, he lets me inside, a hesitant smile on his face.
“Oh my god, Will.” I gasp, bringing my hands to my mouth. “Are these…”
“Trekkie models and figurines?” His smile is radiant as he surveys his collection. Dozens of figurines stand proudly on a shelf above Will’s childhood desk, surrounded by medals and what look like academic trophies. “Each of these was hand painted by yours truly.”
A laugh bursts through my lips. “Oh my god, this is amazing.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t an embarrassing hobby.” He frowns, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.
“It’s not,” I say, turning to look at him. “Really. I’m just a little shocked to find out that this was your hobby as a kid after you made fun of it. It’s such a wild collection.”
“It’s kinda dumb, I know.”
“No, it’s not. It’s so cool! Can I touch them?”
He nods once. “Go for it.”
With some hesitation, I reach out, taking a model of the Starship Enterprise in my hands to inspect more closely. The crisp lines, the perfectly blended paint, and the neat placement of the lettering leaves me wondering how the hell this was hand painted by a teenager.
“This is incredible. You did such an amazing job.” I set it down and pick up more pieces. A Spock figurine first, a Captain Kirk second. “Will,” I breathe, setting down the last piece.
He picks up a Sulu figurine, studies it for a moment, and sets it back down on his shelf. “I went through a big Trekkie phase, as you can see.”
I laugh as I set down the final piece. “I’ll say. Between the Mathlete trophies, the figurines, and the Star Trek prints on the wall, it looks like you were an all-around, cliché nerd—except a hot one, probably.” I throw him a smirk and a wink.
