Luckily, she circled in such a way that she came to me next to last, so I had time to build my armature.
“Let’s see what kind of mess you’ve made, Miss Smith,” she snarked.
I held up my completed armature and smirked.
The look of superiority on her face did not falter as she scanned my armature. “Well, it looks like we have an over-achiever in our midst,” she said, loud enough for the entire room to hear.
Okay, she was lame. She hated me, whether I was a screw up or top of the class. Whatever.
The professor abruptly yanked the armature from my hand and turned it over and around, wiggling it in several places before slapping it back into my hand. “Good job, Miss Smith,” she said dismissively, turning her back to me as she walked to the final student and inspected their work.
“Okay, class,” she said in a clear voice, “everyone place your purchased clay into the bin next to the clay warmer. After you’ve done that, take a few blocks of warm clay out of the warmer.”
The clay warmer turned out to be a refrigerator that had been converted into a re-warmerator. Inside it, something circulated hot air, and on the shelves were dozens and dozens of warm chunks of green clay.
I grabbed a few and returned to my sculpting table.
Miss Bittinger turned to a cute guy in a bathrobe who sat casually on a chair in the corner of the room reading something on his smart phone. His bare feet were casually crossed and laid out in front of him.
“Hunter,” the professor said, “would you please take the stand?”
Hunter walked onto the dais in the center of the room and threw his robe open dramatically. Whoops. He was hot. No tattoos like Christos, but definitely chiseled and manly, with flawless tan skin. None of the other male models in Life Drawing had been remotely attractive. This Hunter guy was quite handsome. He had a mess of blond hair, striking amber eyes, and the requisite six pack, heavy pectorals, and bulging shoulders. He clearly worked hard to maintain his impressively rock-hard physique.
Well, I was here to sculpt, not gawk.
Romeo took care of the gawking for me. His eyes popped and his mouth was a big O. He was in heaven.
I smiled at him and waved my finger in an “uh-uh-uh” gesture.
He stuck his tongue out at me.
“Is something funny, Miss Smith?” the professor asked.
I frowned. “No.”
“If you can’t maintain a professional attitude, perhaps you’re not ready for this class?”
I opened my mouth to protest. I was here to work. Whatever. She’d decided I was the flake student. I’d have to prove her wrong.
“Hunter,” the professor said, “please take a relaxed standing pose.”
Hunter settled his weight on one leg and cocked his hip. He was the California surfer version of a perfect marble statue.
It turned out that a “quick sculpt” took a lot longer than a quick sketch. At first, I wasn’t sure what to do. Everyone around the room started slapping clay on their wire armature. I did the same, noticing how warm the clay was. It was really squishy and buttery, sort of like lard in terms of firmness, but not greasy at all. I could squish this stuff around all day long. Warm clay. Who knew?
It didn’t take long for me to get the hang of the actual sculpting. It was like playing with Play-Doh, but easier because the armature helped keep the clay in the right places.
Soon, people pulled out a variety of wooden tools from their own bags. They used the tools, which looked like a variety of wooden letter-openers or butter knives, to further shape the clay. Some people just used their fingers. I was a hands-on kind of girl. Fingers seemed to be easiest.
At one point, I glanced over at Romeo. He was hard at work, but when he saw me looking at him, he held up his rough sculpture, which resembled nothing more than a rudimentary clay voodoo doll at this point, and pulled the legs apart with his fists. Then he jammed one finger up into the sculptures’ crotch while running his tongue around his own lips and giving me bedroom eyes before blowing me a kiss.
I winced, and tried to focus on the sculpture in my hand, but Romeo was still trying to get my attention from across the room. I glanced up and he bent his sculpture at the waist, then jabbed his finger into the sculpture’s butt.
I grimaced and giggled reflexively.
“I didn’t realize this was your own personal comedy club, Miss Smith,” the professor barked behind me. “Are you here to work, or goof off?”
“I’m working,” I said, sounding thirteen again. I held up my sculpture.
She looked down her nose at it, then glared at me for what seemed like an hour. She jammed her fists defiantly on her hips. “Well, keep working! Do you need an invitation?” She stalked over to the next student, her heels click-clacking.
Oh boy. What had I gotten myself into?
Chapter 13
SAMANTHA
“All right, class, now we’re going to find out why our tables have wheels," Professor Bittinger said. “Please shift your table two positions to your right. If your bags are in the way, you can set them against the walls.”
Everyone moved their tables in the circle, but Hunter remained in his same position and pose. As soon as I looked at Hunter from my new vantage point, I saw all kinds of problems with my sculpture, so I went about fixing them, until we moved positions again. More problems. Sculpting was a whole different animal from drawing, but I kind of liked it. In some ways it was easier, because you could squish the clay around to fix things without using an eraser and then redrawing everything.
We shifted positions two more times in the next twenty minutes, then took a break.
The students circulated the room, chatting and looking at each other’s work.
“How’d it go?”
I looked up, right into the amber eyes of Hunter. “I’m sorry, what?”
He haphazardly strapped the belt of his robe around his waist, almost as if he’d just gotten dressed in the privacy of his own bedroom first thing in the morning, as if covering his wing-wang in public was a formality for him. “How is your sculpture so far?”
I was blushing, I think from embarrassment. Was I the only person in the room? Couldn’t he talk to someone else? “Oh, uh, pretty good, I guess. I’ve never sculpted before. It’s a lot different than drawing.”
“That’s what they tell me,” he smiled. His teeth were white and even, as perfect as his physique.
“What, you don’t draw, I mean sculpt?” I stammered.
“Nope. I leave it to the professionals.” He winked at me and flashed his smile.
Was it just me, or had he not belted his robe tightly enough? It looked like it was going to fall open if he wasn’t careful. I considered telling him as much, but couldn’t think of the right way to say it. Was he doing it on purpose? Setting me up for a stealth flashing? Probably.
“What’s your name?” he asked, holding out his hand to shake. This caused the top of his robe to billow out, revealing his chest and abs as he leaned forward.
“Oh, uh, Sam.” I reluctantly shook his hand.
The shaking made his robe ripple, and I saw the belt sliding apart. When we finished shaking hands, he straightened up and I swear the only thing stopping the robe flaps from sliding completely away to reveal his full splendor was that they had caught on the, um, prominence, between his legs. Not that he was sporting wood, but it, well, it was uncommonly obtrusive. Not that I was looking. Sure, I’d seen it five minutes ago, but not from two feet away.