“Michelangelo did have to detail David’s dick,” another student pointed out.
“What do you say, Patrick? Care to emulate the masters?” Throwing my binder onto the floor, I proceeded to rip off my jacket, eliciting shocked gasps from around the room. “It’s really no problem. I have no qualms being naked.”
Rocky reached over and pinched me in my side. “Stop it.”
“What?” I asked innocently, spotting the familiar burn of her face. I had meant to get under Patrick’s skin, but seeing how worked up Rocky became felt just as good. I grinned triumphantly.
Miss McMillan straightened her glasses and glanced around. Realizing that she was about to lose full control of the class, she pulled out a nearby chair and readily hopped on. Placing two fingers in her mouth, she let out an ear-piercing whistle. We froze on the spot. “Quiet, everybody! Now listen up. As much as I don’t appreciate Patrick’s sexist comments, he does bring up a good point. Maybe we can use a female model for variety. Rocky, you okay with that?”
Rocky’s cheeks flushed as her head whipped around. “No. No. No. No.”
I elbowed her in the ribs. “We get it.”
“Shut up,” she whispered. Her face curled up into a little pout, and all at once my resolve came crashing down. She loved this class and here I was ruining it for her, just like I always destroyed everything I touched.
Shutting my eyes, I shook my head, suddenly feeling numb. “You know what? Maybe this was a bad idea.”
Rocky threw me a look of warning. “Jesse. I know what you’re thinking, and no. You need this club to stay in school.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do, then? I can’t draw or paint and apparently I can’t model either.” I threw a snide look at Patrick, who immediately looked away.
That’s right, pussy.
I was about to stand up to grab my things when I heard a raspy voice croon, “I want you to model for me, Jesse.”
I looked up in surprise and spotted Sarah Jacobs eyeing me like a hawk. I had no idea she was into art, let alone a member of the club. It wasn’t as if I kept tabs on her or anything, though it was hard not to know about her. It was no secret around school that the girl…uh…got around.
Rocky stiffened and shifted uncomfortably. “Are you sure you can’t draw?”
“Uh, I wasn’t really expecting a private modeling session,” I admitted, trying to remain collected.
Miss McMillan frowned. “I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort. Can’t get in trouble with the school board now, can we?”
I smirked and snuck a peek at Rocky, who looked as if she was silently fuming. This was certainly not what I expected when I agreed to join the club, but like Mr. Elliott had warned me, I really had no choice. Eyeing the paint stained barstool, I pushed myself up from my desk and begrudgingly stalked my way to the center of the room. “If Pizza Face over here doesn’t want to draw me, it doesn’t mean nobody else does, right?”
“Right,” Sarah cooed seductively.
Patrick groaned, causing another surge of irritation to run rampant through my veins. I gritted my teeth and sat down, making sure I was facing his direction. Purposely, I unbuttoned the top of my Henley and smiled seductively. “Give it your best, Pizza Boy.”
“Look over here, Jess,” Sarah called out to me.
My head snapped around automatically at the sound of my name. My eyes widened when I realized Sarah had stripped off whatever weird army jacket she was wearing, revealing a very thin camisole. Keeping her eyes on mine, she ran her tongue around her lips and shot me a wink.
Seriously?
Rocky cleared her throat loudly. “Jesse, can you face me? I want to get you at another angle.”
I couldn’t help but smile at Rocky’s tone. It was shy, angry, and somewhat territorial. Without hesitation, I turned around and faced my friend.
“Hey! Now I can’t see him!” Sarah protested.
I drowned her out and remained focused on Rocky’s big eyes. Though her drawing board blocked the rest of her face, I would bet any amount of money that she was sporting the usual blush that I had grown to love so much. Whenever I looked at her, it was as if it were just us two in the room—perhaps the world. Soon the other students became nothing but white noise in the background.
Chapter 3
“Mom, I’m home!” I shouted, not knowing why I insisted on announcing my arrival every day after school. Maybe it was to give my mom the chance to hide whatever brand of whiskey she was chugging down her throat, or maybe it was even for the slight possibility of hearing her ask me how my day went. Yeah, I knew the latter would never happen.
“Mom?”
I groaned when the aroma of tequila hit my nose. She only hit the Jose Cuervo bottle on particularly bad days.
“About time you showed up!” she snarled.
Yup, definitely a bad day.
I followed the raspy voice to our den and groaned when I spotted my mother lighting up another cigarette. A filthy kitchen bowl sat on the table beside her, filled to the brim with ash and cigarette butts.
I shifted uneasily and tried my hardest to ignore everything around me. I ignored the stack of newspapers that littered the ground. I ignored the empty bottle at her feet. I even ignored the two empty cigarette boxes thrown onto our stained couch. At least I tried to, anyway.
“You know, it’s really dangerous smoking near paper. You trying to burn this place down?” I growled, snatching up the mess to throw away.
“You better watch your mouth, boy. You’ve been a pain in my ass since the day I peed on that pregnancy stick, and I don’t need your smartass telling me what to do.” She took another drag of her cigarette and eyed me disgustedly. “I’m your mother, remember?”
“Then why don’t you act like it for once?” I snapped back as I walked toward the kitchen. A sudden crash caused me to whirl around. Tiny bell-like whistles echoed as glass and ceramic pieces littered the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?”
Mom jumped from her seat, and in superhero fashion, rushed toward me with her fist in the air.
Bam.
Another sucker punch to the face.
Though this particular punch didn’t hold the same physical power as Dwight’s had, this one hurt more. A lot more.
I winced as the familiar swirl of sadness and anger pooled inside my stomach. Mom stumbled a bit, but was obviously fuming. Her chest rose and fell as if struggling to capture what little breath she had left. God knew the only thing in her lungs was black ash.
“You better watch that mouth, you stupid fuck!” she exclaimed, gasping for air. “You’d be in the gutter dead if I wasn’t here watching your dumb ass.” She lurched toward the side, nearly knocking into our china cabinet. A vindictive part of me yearned to see her smack her face into the glass, but of course I wouldn’t let that happen. My arm shot out, catching her before she face planted. Unfortunately, instead of thanking me, she looked up and scowled. “Get your filthy hands off of me, boy! I don’t need your help.”
“What the fuck is your problem? I do nothing but take care of you and…love you. Why are you always attacking me?”
“We never wanted kids, then suddenly you showed up.” The tone of her voice was low and eerie. It reminded me of a killer taunting his victim before he lashed out. Prying her arm from my hold, she managed to hobble toward her beer-stained recliner and plop down.
“It’s called protection, Mom…or in your case, maybe you should have just abstained,” I growled.
She huffed. “You’ve always been a fucking thorn in my side. You ever wonder why your father left us? Because of you!”
I bit my tongue, fighting the urge to remind her that it wasn’t me who was drugged out every single hour of the day, nor was it me who drained our savings on whiskey and pills. Dad left because Mom chose the bottle over him, but she’d never understand that.