“Yeah,” I said breathlessly.
“Let’s go get us some paint.”
We made our way out of the empty classroom and down the long, dark hallway. I stood behind him, and his tall frame shielded me from anyone who might be walking toward us. We jogged up two flights of stairs and over to the art supply closet. Like the building doors, it too was closed.
“Now what?” I muttered.
“Patience.” Nate shoved his hand into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and retrieved what looked like a couple of bobby pins.
“You just happen to keep those on you?” I joked.
“When you grow up like I did.” He shoved the first pin inside the keyhole. “When foster dad after foster dad shoves you into the bedroom and locks the door from the outside.” He wiggled the second one in. “You learn to pick locks at a very young age.”
Images of a young Nate being bruised, hurt, and locked in a room flashed through my mind. My lips parted to say I was sorry, but Nate pushed the door open.
“Come on, let’s grab some paint.”
Nate and I stuffed our pockets with tubes and paint. I grabbed every red and green tube there was while Nate focused on all the other colors of the rainbow. Once our pockets were filled, we rushed out of the room and down the long hallway. Nate opened the window and jumped out. He turned and looked up at me.
“Come on.”
“It’s too high,” I whispered.
“I’ll catch you.”
“Fuck.” I exhaled, then climbed out of the window and sat on the ledge. “This seems higher than before.”
“You’re drunk. If you hurt yourself, you won’t feel it.”
“Thanks.”
“On three, push off. One. Two. Three—”
I pushed off the ledge and fell directly into Nate’s arm. “Holy shit!”
“See? Not so bad.”
I slid down his body. When my feet were secured on the ground, I asked him, “How did you know that window would be open?”
“I had a class in that room my first semester here. The teacher was always late and there was this one kid who smoked outside that window. He broke the lock and they never fixed it. I took a chance and hoped it was still broken, because if not, we’d still be out here.”
I laughed and slapped his chest. “You made me break into school.”
“You only live once. Let’s go; we have a tree to paint.” Nate began to run.
Nate poured us another cup of Coquito as I set up the paint and brushes. This was probably the worst idea ever to paint while under the influence, but I was having too much fun to stop now. Home Alone 2 played in the background as we painted the bare wall next to my computer desk red. I drew out a larger rectangle as our guideline. It was six feet tall and three feet wide. I worked on the lower portion of the square while Nate focused on the top.
“Can I ask you something?” I said once we found our painting groove.
“What’s up?”
I knew it was the alcohol speaking, but I couldn’t stop the words that began to pour out of my mouth. “Why did you ask me out if you were sorta seeing Del already?”
I felt Nate go still for a few seconds before he began to paint again. “I took your parking spot knowing you were waiting for it, and I kind of felt bad, but I was late. Then, when you walked toward class, you stared at me with those brown eyes and I knew I was in for it. I knew I wanted to know more about you.”
I shook my head and continued to focus on the red paint.
“Can I ask you something?” His voice bounced off the wall and straight into my heart.
“Sure.”
“Why have you been avoiding me since the Christmas bash?”
I shifted to paint the other corner. “I wasn’t ignoring you, per se. It’s more like I’m embarrassed since I puked in front of you.”
“It has nothing to do with the fact we almost kissed?”
Shocked by his question, I dropped my paintbrush into a cup filled with water. “Shit.” I exhaled and shook the excess water off the brush. Droplets of water bounced off the brush and landed on Nate’s jeans—little red dots that covered the legs of his pants. “Uh oh,” I whispered and began to giggle.
“What did you do?” He looked down at me.
“Nothing.”
“Brie, what did you do?”
“Nothing, I swear.” I sat back and laughed until tears pooled in my eyes.
“What is it?” Nate looked around. It wasn’t until he lifted his feet that he noticed the red paint splattered all over his jeans. “You sneaky little . . .”
“It was an accident, I swear.” I held my stomach as I laughed. Nate dipped his paintbrush into a cup of water and looked at me. His eyes held mischief, and a sideways grin appeared on his face. “Don’t!” I held up a hand to block him but he completely ignored my request and flicked the brush. Wet red paint flew at me, red dots covering my clothes.