Ali’s eyes widened. “That’s a big step for my brother. So did the talk on the porch lead to anything else I should know about?”
My mind flashed to standing in front of him, bending over to stretch out my stiff back. The expression on his face when I’d caught him staring down my shirt—and then checking out my ass—had nearly dissolved me into a puddle right then and there.
“No. We said good night and went to bed. Alone. In our own beds, I mean.”
“And made plans to meet this morning?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. That was accidental. I woke up, and the sky was just so gorgeous. I grabbed my stuff and went outside to sketch it before I lost the color and the light, and Sam came out with his coffee just as I finished. Maybe he saw me from the window, too.”
“Could be. And then what?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. I liked Ali. We’d become fast friends in the few weeks I’d lived here, and it was wonderful to have another girl around, particularly since Laura was preoccupied with Brian up in North Carolina. I’d never hesitated to rehash my romantic interludes with my friends; we all talked about dates and boys and our sex lives. But what had happened between Sam and me this morning was not something I wanted to share, especially with his sister. My reluctance must have shown on my face because Ali smiled and shook her head.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Nosy sister. I’ll mind my own, unless and until you want to share. But I’m here, if you need someone to talk to. And I promise, I’m completely impartial.”
I pushed off the counter. “Thanks, Ali. I’ll keep that in mind. It’s just that—maybe this is nothing. Sam kissed me this morning. But I don’t think he wanted to.”
“Sweetie pie, I’ve known my big brother for a very long time. He never does anything he doesn’t want to do. Not like that, at least. He may not have thought he wanted to kiss you, but if he did, on some level, he wanted to do it. Trust me.”
“I do. But don’t say anything to him, okay? If he thinks I’m making a big deal about it, I’ll be back to square one with him.” I finished my coffee, rinsed off the cup and set it in the sink. “Right now, I need to get ready to introduce the young minds of Burton to the wonders of charcoal sketching.”
TEACHING ART WAS NOT something I’d thought seriously about doing until this past year. When I’d started college, it had been with the same grand illusions of other art students: I would live in an attic in Paris, surviving on crusty bread and cheap bottles of wine, until I was discovered and became a Famous Artist. Happily, SCAD did a good job of introducing us to the realities of life. Most of us would end up using our talents and degrees in art-related fields, like design, advertising or illustrating. A few might nab jobs at museums.
But none of those fields interested me in the least. Neither had teaching, but when I looked at all my options, it seemed like the lesser of several evils. At least I’d still be creating, and I’d get summers off. A good part of my motivation for signing up with ArtCorps had been to see if I could handle working in a school setting.
As it turned out, though, I loved it. The kids were so excited every day when I announced our project, and they worked hard. I had a few volunteer parent helpers in the classroom, and I’d found them enthusiastic as well.
“Art wasn’t like this when I was in school,” one of them confided to me as she helped me clean up. “It was just crayons and construction paper. Scissors and glue. This is cool.”
I laughed. “I figured this summer should be an overview for the kids, introducing them to as many different mediums as possible.” So far we’d done watercolor, pencils sketches and collage, in addition to today’s charcoal drawing. I was excited to see what they would do with pottery and 3-D sculpture next.
“Such a shame that we can’t do this all year around. Some of the kids are really talented.” The mother sighed as she dropped chunks of charcoal into a bucket. “I’m happy to see so many of the older children get involved, too. You do a good job teaching so many different grade levels.”
“It’s fun.” I slid a stack of paper into a drawer. “Kind of like what it must have been like on the frontier, you know? In the one room schoolhouses.”
“Exactly.” A loud crash sounded out in the hallway, and she rolled her eyes. “That’s got to be my two hellions. Two hours of sitting still translates into an afternoon of frenetic activity to make up for it. Thanks, Meghan. See you next week.”
“Thanks for your help.” I began packing up my bag to leave, making sure everything was neat and tidy. Having a classroom of my own was fun, I decided. Although if I were teaching here for real, during the school year, I’d set up my bulletin boards differently. And I’d have tables instead of desks ...