Dance for Me(31)

As the week progresses, I watch each of my classmates add their name to the list Ransom posted declaring their final project. Between classes and work and dealing with questions surrounding my love life, I’m so exhausted, I can’t think straight, and the pressure is beginning to set in.

Which is why, when I find myself walking into Mrs. Jackson’s art lab Wednesday morning, I blame everything on Annie.

I find Mrs. Jackson behind an easel working diligently. She’s not like the other teachers. Her red hair is a few shades too bright to be real, her clothes too eclectic to be conservative, and the tattoos decorating one arm too everything to truly fit in with the rest of the professors. But that’s probably the point. She’s declared herself a misfit, and I take an immediate liking to her.

When she sees me come in, she sets down her paintbrush and wipes her hands off on a paper towel. “Are you here for the sculpting class?”

“Um, no.” My smile is faint. I’m not used to feeling so nervous, especially when fully clothed. “I was wondering if the spot for the model is still open.”

Her look turns questioning before a sudden smile spills across her face. “Oh, the nude model. Yes, yes, come on in.” She waves for me to follow her to her desk, where she hands me a clipboard and a pen. “You’re just in time. We only have a few slots left.”

My hand trembles and I talk myself out of doing this a half-dozen times as I fill in my name at the bottom of the paper. This is such a bad idea. Why am I doing this? Oh, yeah. Annie. I’m blaming it all on Annie. “There are a lot of names on there,” I comment as I slide the clipboard back across her desk. Thankfully, I don’t recognize any of them.

Her smile grows wider. “Yes, it’s a very popular program. Unfortunately, we had to cut back on participants this year.”

“Why’s that?” I ask curiously as we begin slowly walking back toward the door.

“The university cut funding to some of the programs this year. As this is one of the few paying gigs on campus, it was one of the first on the chopping block.”

Stopping in my tracks, I turn to her. “Paying gig?”

“Yes.” Her head cants to the side, and she frowns. “Each model gets a hundred dollars for their time and a gift certificate to Jed’s.”

So free dinner and cash. Suddenly, my earlier concerns don’t seem as pressing.

“You didn’t know?”

I shake my head. “I had no idea.”

“Well, I’m sure now that you do it takes some of the scariness out of it.”

I grin. “That’s very true.”

“Do you have any questions for me?”

“None that I can think of.” But I do have the sudden urge to give Annie a hug and thank her for pushing me. “Thanks for your time.”

“No problem. Enjoy your evening.”

I rush home in a better mood than I’ve been in weeks. The boost of adrenalin gets me through a full night of work and even earns me extra tips. The high carries over into the next day, too. Something Ransom seems to pick up on. He smiles more, directs more of his attention to my side of the room. Even Annie notices, nudging me each time he does it.

Maybe she was paying a little too close attention, though, or I wasn’t paying enough attention to her. I might have seen that she was up to something, but I didn’t. When she lingers after class, I figure she has another question to ask about an assignment.

I don’t expect her to ask Ransom out.

“It’s just a little get-together with friends. Nothing fancy.”

Ransom casts a brief look at me over her shoulder, and I try to communicate my extreme dislike of this turn of events, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Thankfully, he’s on the same page. “I’m sorry, Miss Guerra, I appreciate the offer, but it’s probably best if I don’t.”

“Is this because you’re a teacher? Because you’ve gotta eat, right? If anyone asks, we can tell them it’s a study group.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “A study group. At a bar.”

“Of course. It would be incredibly inappropriate to hold it at your house. This is a public place. No one could question your intent.”

I completely disagree with her. I doubt if the dean or someone higher up saw one of the instructors sharing drinks with the student body that they’d look very highly on it.

“I still think I’d better take a pass,” Ransom insists, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Well, we’ll save a seat just in case you change your mind,” Annie presses on. “Even professors have to eat.”

Ransom and I share a look as Annie breezes by me on her way out the door. Mine is a warning that he’d better not show up tonight. I don’t know what his is.