Chapter 2: Scary Girl

It hadn’t been this bad since my first couple of weeks in high school. At least when I started high school, my sister was always nearby to help set me straight. And keep bullies away. No one crossed her. I knew my panic would pass and I’d be okay, but knowing that didn’t make it easier. I clutched Annette’s hand as I approached the classroom for my Liberal Arts Seminar. It would have been so much easier if we were in the same section.

“See the bench over there?” Annette asked as she squeezed my hand. I was glad there were no stupid rules about holding hands or public kissing in college. I could even see a couple making out down the hall. I nodded my response. “After the lecture, come out and wait for me there. I have to get here from my living writers class, so don’t panic. I’ll be here and we’ll go to writing class together. Okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry to be such a baby, my Lady.”

“Pen, don’t even go there. I love you. I know how much you love me. You aren’t a baby.”

“Okay.” I didn’t quite believe her. I knew normal people didn’t have this problem.

“Do you have your sketchbook?” I nodded. “Then go pick a seat where you can see people enter and pick out one or two to sketch. Love you, sweetie.” Annette gave me a kiss that told me she was serious and waited until I walked through the door before she ran to get to her first class. I found a seat toward the back of the small room where I could watch people come in. I wouldn’t be able to draw much once class started because I wouldn’t be able to see faces. But I couldn’t very well sit up front with my back to the professor, either.

I was more stressed out about this class than any other I was taking. We were told there were four parts of the liberal arts core that we were to show proficiency in: critical thinking, information literacy, written expression, and oral expression. Just thinking about the last one made my throat close up. There were fifteen students in each section, supposedly so we could all participate in discussions. If I got called on, I’d run.

I sketched the first girl who walked into the room. I was sure I recognized her from my Freshman Studio or Art History class. She had long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, but about an inch closest to her scalp was almost black. She wore a hoodie and jeans and looked right at me. I almost closed my sketch and ran for the door, but I’d have to go right past her to get out. She turned a row ahead of me and worked her way to the center seat. I got my heart calmed down and labeled the sketch ‘scary girl from art hist’.

I made four more sketches during the class, but they were of the back of people’s heads or a partial profile. I labeled one ‘critical thinker’ and another ‘doesn’t believe anything’. The good part was that I could pay attention to the professor and made some notes on my sketchpad about what he was saying. I was careful, though, never to look directly at him when he tried to get a discussion going on what people believe on Facebook. I had nothing to offer because I don’t use it. When class ended, I bolted out the door and ran for the bench where Annette told me to wait. I was way ahead of the rest of the class. When the scary girl came out, she looked around and saw me. She started to walk straight toward me again.

Annette came down the other hall and I jumped up to go meet her.

I confirmed that Scary Girl was in art history. It’s a lecture hall with doors on both sides and we entered the room at the same time. I sat at the end of the row closest to the left-hand door. When she stopped at the same row my heart started racing, but she sat at the opposite end. She turned her body toward me and her head toward the front of the room and then froze.

I already had my sketchbook in my hands, so I quickly captured the position and a couple details about her face. She had kind of puffy lips and a slightly upturned nose. Then people excused themselves from each end and shoved by me to get to the middle seats in the row.

Art History is a required course for freshmen art majors, whether in studio arts or applied arts, on a BA track or a BFA track. Everyone takes the Art History survey first semester. It wasn’t a bad course. The professor turned the lights in the room down for a slide show and started back in prehistoric times with cave paintings. He promised we’d be in contemporary art by the end of the semester. At least with the lights down, it was easier to ignore other people. Some asshole behind me kept kicking the back of my seat, though. As soon as the lights came up, I was out of there.

With three of my five Tuesday classes out of the way, I got to meet up with Annette and Morgan for lunch at the Student Union. I stopped in the middle of the quad to watch a guy doing Tai Chi. He was inviting people to join him. I did a sketch and then ran to the Union.

“Was it better today, Pen?” Fay asked me after she’d kissed me. Annette reached us just about that time and I had to delay answering so I could kiss her.

“I guess. Drawing helps. Except for Scary Girl. She makes me uncomfortable.”

“Show me, show me,” Annette pled. I pulled out my sketchbook as soon as we settled down with our lunch trays and Annette and Morgan had their heads together. “I know her! I mean, I don’t actually know her, but I’ve seen her. She’s the girl who’s letting her roots grow out and looks kind of two-tone, right?”

“Yeah. That’s right. I don’t know why she keeps looking at me, though.”

“This picture...” Fay said. “Is this how she was sitting or did you make some adjustments?”

“I didn’t have time to make adjustments. It was just a couple minutes before class began and I was afraid she was going to come right down the row toward me. But instead, she sat at the other end and ignored me. I sketched it before people started crowding into the row between us,” I said. Remarkably, the tuna salad sandwich I bit into was really good. I closed my eyes as I chewed.

“She wasn’t ignoring you. She was posing,” Fay said. “This could be really good, Pen.”

“Good? She’s scary! She looks right at me.”

“So do I, honey,” Lady said. “I love looking at you.”

“But I love you ... and ... you...”

“And I love you. But you’re kind of a hunk, in a geeky sort of way. I’m glad we talked your mom out of getting your hair cut before school. It’s cool. Girls like looking at cool guys,” she finished.

“But ... um ... What if she talks to me?”

“Just say hi and tell her your name. And draw her some more. She might become that new model we’ve been saying you need for the past six months,” Fay said.

“But don’t worry, Pen,” Lady said. “We’ll make sure she stays a dry reality. I think, though, that she might be a friend.”

“I guess. I think she’s in my next class, too. So she must be a studio arts major. Freshman Studio is required of all of us. I’m glad it only meets Monday and Wednesday. We’re supposed to get introduced to all the various kinds of art supplies and uses, but I think we’ll end up washing paintbrushes and sweeping floors.”

“There’s a class like that in every discipline,” Fay said. “Last year I had an information technology course and we rebuilt and reformatted all the computers for the business lab.”

“At least next year I’ll actually have more classes that are art,” I sighed. While Art History and Freshman Studio sounded like art classes and Liberal Arts Seminar had the word in its name, the only real art class I had was drawing. We were focused on form and space. I could see the benefit of exploring the basics, but some of the projects looked like kindergarten art.

“Be thankful you don’t have to sit through four hours a week of poetry from Beowulf to Angelou. I could easily sit and read a nice poem once a day, but reading a dozen or two dozen poems a day is a little much,” Annette giggled. “And I have so much to read for my living writers class. I hope you’ll be painting at home tonight because I’d feel awfully alone if I was the only one who had to study.”

Scary Girl was in my Freshman Studio class. There were only twelve in the class and it was held six times a day with different professors to get all the majors through it. We didn’t really sit anyplace. Not like a regular classroom. We walked around a lot and looked at what other people were creating. When we were in the photography studio, I managed to get behind the group and did a drawing of her back. That was interesting. She wore a hoodie most of the time and the folds draped across her shoulder blades. Her ponytail was tied up high enough that I could see the back of her ear and about a dozen piercings in it. Then there was the slope of her neck where her shoulder disappeared beneath the hoodie.

She was nice looking, but not exactly what you want to think of as a model. Not drop dead gorgeous like Annette and Morgan. Maybe that was why they wanted me to have another model. I mean ... not that I should paint someone who didn’t compete with them ... I mean... Damn words! So, maybe when I use Annette and Morgan as models, my figures end up looking too perfect. I know they aren’t exactly perfect. They are human. But I love them. I would never paint the imperfection of a mole on Annette’s butt or Fay’s one nipple that points just a little farther left than the other. I have to really think about it to identify even those tiny imperfections in my lovers.

But Scary Girl was different. I didn’t even particularly like her. Not that I had any reason to dislike her either. But I could see the dark roots of her hair, too many piercings in her ear, the ski slope of her nose, and her puffy lips. I had no difficulty drawing her as I saw her.

Wednesday was Annette’s day with only one class—our shared writing class. I was glad it was a short week with Labor Day on Monday. At least after today I only had one more day of classes, sort of. I felt bad that both Annette and Morgan had Friday classes and I only had one. But then, Annette only had one class on Wednesdays and Morgan was free on Mondays. I guess it all balances out.

All that to say that Morgan walked me to class Wednesday morning and kissed me thoroughly before I took my seat. I got settled and looked up to see Scary Girl a row ahead of me. She was turned toward me and had an eyebrow raised. Okay, she knew she was going to get sketched. I started drawing and she didn’t move until the professor called attention for class to begin.

Annette met me with a kiss after class and we walked to our writing roundtable. Our first assignment was due. It was a pretty lame piece. About the same as “What I did this summer” in grade school. This was supposed to be three convincing paragraphs that told two truths and a lie that no one knows about us. I had trouble playing that game when I just had to come up with something on the spot, but having had all Labor Day weekend to compose three convincing paragraphs was different. And as long as I didn’t have to look up at anyone, I was okay with reading my paper when my turn came. Thankfully, we didn’t have to admit which ones were true and which one was false. There were a dozen people in the class and each one got to comment on the piece after it had been read.

I was put on detention for an entire semester in high school. It started with me not paying attention in class because I was caught up in drawing. Mr. Kowalski, my history teacher, sent me to the art studio and Ms. Clayborn made me develop the sketch and turn it into an acrylic painting. When I presented my portfolio to qualify for the BFA in Studio Arts here, the committee identified that painting as the best in my portfolio. I was really surprised, though, when they chose it for the ‘Incoming Artists’ display in the hall.

I had a really great opportunity last summer when I was invited to be a guest lecturer at the Idyllwild Arts Conference. I’ve been experimenting with some new paints from Windsor and Newton and they asked me to do a demonstration and talk about the flowability of their paints. It was kind of exciting to meet the guys who are doing research into new paint formulae and to be part of their research. They even paid my expenses to stay for the whole conference.