I change into a pair of cotton shorts and a thin T-shirt, then grab my iPod and lock up. If no one is there, I’ll just put my racket in a locker and try out a few of the machines. Nate’s been gone since early this morning. I know, because I waited outside our door for his to crack open, and then I hurried inside before he could notice. He lingered in the hallway for a while, which made me feel…nice. But it didn’t last long; that unsettled feeling moved right back in again.
“Oh good. I guessed right. I was about to give up,” Tucker says from the bench outside our dorm building. He looks like he’s been running, and the fact that he’s waiting here—for me—suddenly has my stomach churning.
“Wha….were you waiting for me?” I’m a little freaked out, and I can feel my left eye starting to twitch.
“Uh…I…yeah. I was. I’m sorry. That’s creepy isn’t it? I was out running and then I sort of found myself here, and then I started to think, ‘huh, I bet she lives here,’ and then next thing I know I’m sort of sitting here for a while playing with my iPod. Sorry, I…hmmmm. Yeah, just sort of did this. I don’t know.” He looks nervous and embarrassed, which actually sets me a little at ease.
“It’s okay. I was just surprised by it. I’m heading out…actually?” I scrunch my shoulders, trying to feign disappointment. I don’t want to hurt Tucker’s feelings, but I also don’t want him hanging around my building. And I really don’t want Nate seeing him hang around my building.
“Oh, yeah. I mean, I was just running by. Where you headed? I’ll head back with you.”
Great. “I’m just going for a quick workout. Try and get a few swings in,” I say, holding up the racket.
“Need a partner?”
He’s persistent. But I don’t think he’s really threatening, and I do need someone to volley with. I was dreading the idea of working in with a group of strangers. I’m not sure how much Tucker knows about tennis, but I’m willing to give him a try. And it will get us moving out of here, away from my dorm and farther away from the ball fields I know Nate is at for most of today.
“So, what made you pick art history?” He’s making small talk during our walk to the courts, and I’m grateful he’s carrying the conversation, because I can’t think of a single thing to say.
“Well, I’m one of those big undecideds. Duh duh duh,” I sing dramatically. “Anyway, I took a variety of electives this semester to try to figure out exactly what I want to do. I really like art, but not necessarily the creation of it. I’m more into the appreciation—and I think I can tell a story from a work of art. You know, sort of help interpret what the artist meant for the masses? God, that sounds arrogant, huh?” I have been leaning toward a degree in art history though, and I even went so far as to look into internships with the Oklahoma City Museum of Art.
“Actually, I think that sounds amazing. Your answer the other day? That was awesome. I’m a second-year art history major, and I’ve been helping out in Gooding’s class, trying to earn brownie points. I think you’d fit right in,” he says. I watch as he rolls up the cord on his iPod, tucking it in his shorts, and then I realize I’m staring at his very toned arms for way too long. Our eyes make contact for a brief second, and I recognize that flash of flirtation in his gaze again. Oh god. No, this is NOT flirting!
“So what are you hoping to do when you’re done? Run a gallery or something?” I ask, doing my best to steer the conversation back to those moments before his forearms and my gawking.
“Me? Galleries? No, that’s not really my thing. It’s going to sound awful, but…I like the money behind art,” he says, wincing a little at his confession.
“Yeah, that does sound bad. Like, a thief? Or, what…you want to run auctions or a pawn shop?”
“No,” he chuckles. “More like appraisals and high-end art dealing. I like that fact that art is a commodity. And I think it would be a fun business to be a part of—that’s all.”
I take in everything he says, and when he puts it that way, it does make sense. The only reason art is something I could major in is because of the value it brings to the economy. It’s all well and good to think that we appreciate the arts for their intrinsic value, and I truly do. But I wouldn’t be able to if someone somewhere didn’t pay for it.
“Okay, I’m down with your career plan. As long as it funds mine,” I smile big and hold out my fist. Tucker just laughs and then gives me knuckles.