Page 108 of You're so Bad

“No,” I say, leaning into him. “You have a gift for making people laugh. For making them comfortable.”

“That there’s what they call ill-gotten gains.”

He means he’s flexed that muscle by charming people into giving him what he wants. I imagine that’s true, but it’s not the whole story.

Nana’s already gone, off to some class or another, but I text her with our plans.

We stop at the house so Leonard can change, grab some shoes, and feed Bean, and then I drop him off at the community center where Burke is going to pop the question. I’d love nothing better than to hide behind a potted plant so I can witness the big moment. But it’stheirmoment, and Leonard’s promised to get it all on video. I’m sure Delia will tell me about it too.

Reese is mostly quiet on the way to The Waiting Place, but his eyes widen when I pull into the parking lot.

“It’s really big,” he observes. “I’d have to clean all of it?”

“Sure,” I say, “but you could listen to podcasts or whatever while you work. I’m not saying it’s a dream job, but it’s a way for you to earn money while you figure your shit out. Plus, it’s an opportunity to learn, if that’s something you want.”

We get out of the car and approach the building, but I can tell there’s still something on his mind. It’s there in the way he’s picking at the bottom of his shirt. My gaze catches on the shoes he swapped for a bus ticket. We’re going to have to pick up some replacements.

“What’s up?” I ask. “You worried about tripping over the broom?”

He glances at me as we walk. “What if I’m no good at it?”

“It’s something you cangetgood at. We’re not going to throw you out on your ass if you miss a spot when you’re mopping the floor.”

“What if someone pukes?”

“Then you’ll have fun cleaning it up. But most of the time you’ll be cleaning up after the artists.” I pat him on the back as we reach the door. “I’ll be making lots of work for you, kid. Clay is messy.”

I open it, and we step inside, Reese looking around like he’s a toddler at Disneyland, overwhelmed and excited. Last night, I could tell the art bug had bitten him harder than he was willing to let on. It’s there again today. A spark he’s tried and failed to smother.

Before I discovered clay, I used to make origami creatures out of school papers, the Thank You cards my mother bought but never sent, and the sales postcards that seemed to come in the mail every day, anything I could get my hands on without being cursed out by my mother. I had this drive to make the things I imagined real—to bring them into being as if they could become an army of monsters who’d save me. I recognize that same need in Reese. There are a million images in his head, I’ll bet, and maybe we can help him figure out how they need to come out.

“The Paint Place is this way,” I say, gesturing to the right side of the hall. The building spans out in either direction from the atrium.

There’s a grin on my face as I watch Reese glance around, soaking it all in as he walks. Then Rafe steps out of The Paint Place at the end of the hall and waves to us. It’s a big hallway, but my friend’s built like a Viking, a solid tank of a man with dark hair and eyes. Reese stops in his tracks; his Disneyland look gives way to fear.

“Holy shit,” he says, practically tearing at his hem now. “I thought you said this guy was a painter?”

“He is,” I confirm, feeling a tugging at my heart. “He’s good. A good guy too. You can trust him. Just like you trust Leonard.”

Reese considers this for a second, then nods and starts forward again. There’s something muted about him, though, like a sunbeam through frosted glass, and I hate whoever did this to him. I want to send them a box of crickets. I want to show them that a small woman can take a man down if she knows what she’s doing.

“You look moody as usual,” Rafe tells me as we get close.

“Good morning to you too.” I nod to the kid. “Reese, this is Rafe. Rafe, this is Reese. He has talent, but he needs a teacher. Think you can handle it, or are your arms too sore from lifting?” We always give each other shit about our workouts, a holdover from when we worked at the gym.

“I can handle it if the kid can keep up. So, what do you like to sketch with?”

“I don’t…I haven’t…” Reese sputters to a stop, but I can tell Rafe gets it. The kid hasn’t had a chance to use anything but what he’s found lying around.

“You ever paint?”

“In school some.” He glances around as if he’s worried who might be listening, then adds, “A bit with some cans.”

“Right on,” Rafe says. “Maybe we can do a mural together on one of the outside walls.”

“Really?” Reese asks, and I’m happy to see that Disneyland look spark back to life.

“Sure, man. Come on in, and let’s see what we can get into.”

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