“I’m not sure,” I say. “I’m calling her after this. I should probably get going. I have to get started on my English paper. It’s the last one of the semester and I haven’t started yet.”
“Okay, honey,” my mom says, angling her voice up an octave so I know she’s disappointed. “Are you still planning on coming for your birthday at the end of the month?”
“Your mother has spent a lot of time planning,” my dad adds, reminding me that I don’t have a choice. Though, I’d have come either way.
“Of course, I’m coming. I can’t wait to see you guys.”
“We’re excited too, honey,” Mom says. “Good luck on your paper. We love you!”
“I love you guys, too,” I say, holding on the line a second longer before disconnecting. My family really is the best. They’re supportive and loving, and they have the biggest hearts.
My dad was born and raised country folk. My mom worked in the city for a while before they met, but she’s only known the mountain for the last twenty years. That and the work she did in the city didn’t work out well for her, so she doesn’t have the best taste in her mouth for Colorado Springs.
I check the time. It’s eleven already. My art class starts in less than an hour. I can’t help but wonder what’s going to come of today. I’m nervous about going back. I started something I can’t finish. Thankfully, today is darker, which means the light will be more forgiving.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I gather up my things, check myself in the mirror, and dial Addie. She picks up on the first ring with the perkiest hello I’ve heard since the last time we spoke.
“Raven! Why do I have to hunt you down every time I want to talk? I left you three messages, and I sent an email. Did you do anything wild and crazy like we talked about, or do I need to come and take you to some sketchy bar on the outskirts of town?”
“No,” I say, cutting her off before she tries to talk me into some outlandish idea she has. “I did something crazy. I posed for my art class.”
“That’s not crazy,” she says. I can feel her head shake in disapproval through the phone.
“I was naked.”
“You were naked? Why were you naked? Maybe you went above and beyond the protocol. You’re a nasty girl!” I hear her grin and I get a sense of sick pride.
“It was for an art class. I was the muse.”
She gasps. “Lord, that’s next level. Good for you! I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist.”
“Well, not completely nude. I was in a sheet, but close enough.”
“I’d say that counts. What’s next? Apparently, art class has no boundaries, so I’m imagining for your encore you’ll be fucking the professor?” She laughs, but my heart constricts.
“No! That’s crazy! I would never ever even think about doing something so insane. I mean, God, they’d probably take my degree or something. Besides, Professor Hill isn’t my type. He’s rugged, big, and strong. You know I’m more into—”
“Oh, damn!” she says. “Youarefucking your professor. Tell me everything!”
“What? No. I just said I’m not. I said he’s not my type.”
Her voice drops an octave as she says, “Girl, I’ve known you since the second I took a breath in this universe, and I know when you’re acting shady. So, tell me now or I’m going to have to deploy a proper Baxter shakedown.”
“A shakedown? Please… not a shakedown.”
“Yup. I’ll come up there with every cousin, aunt, uncle, and grandparent we have when you least expect it. I’ll have everyone bring homemade recipes and—”
“Fine!” I say, already smelling Aunt Julie’s homemade spinach and hot pepper dip. I love her and I love her cooking… but not at the dorms.
“I’m not sleeping with him. He barely notices me. I just have a little schoolgirl crush is all.”
“And so you got nude in his class to show him?” There’s sarcasm in her tone.
“He had gone back to his office for the remainder of class. I thought volunteering to be a subject for the canvas art we were doing would be freeing. So, I—”
“But you secretly were hoping he’d come back, that he’d see you, and that he’dwant you.” She says it like she’s reading one of her dirty books, and I realize she might be right. When I thought of doing something torrid with my final days, I immediately gravitated to his class. Maybe I wanted him to ravage me right then and there like some romance novel where I inspired so much passion in a man that he couldn’t help himself.
“Maybe,” I confess, biting my lower lip as I head down the back stairwell toward the campus greens, “but it doesn’t matter. If I was holding out hope that he would pounce on my naked body like an animal, he didn’t. And if he did, it would have caused more trouble than one night is probably worth.”