Page 82 of Patrick
“You’re getting so brazen.” I laugh, pulling away.
“Sure. There were a lot of pics taken of me and Pammy the other night.” He shrugs. “That should keep people guessing.”
“Aren’t you worried about getting a reputation for being a two-timer?”
He laughs. “Babe, you know my reputation is already a lot worse than that. People expect me to get around.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Playboy.” I wish he didn’t seem to relish that reputation so much.
“I love the female half of our species.” I have no answer to that and slow my steps. Then he adds in a whisper, close to my ear, “Some—make that one—more than others.” His hot breath and the deep vibration of his voice do things to me, sinful, wonderful things, the way his whispers always do.
But a gust of wind blows, and I straighten my spine as he heads off to the Whit for his team lunch and whatever, and I head for Philly to meet Ricci and Nina.
Nervous excitement hurries my steps on the way to design class on Thursday. I looked for Darcy to walk over with her, but she must have left super early. Nina said she was in a hurry and barely saw her.
Going to my assigned close, I reach for the bag with my glam dress and stop. Frozen, except for the wild beating of my heart, I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing even as dread seeps in. It looks like red paint splashed all over the inside of the closet and my garment bag, patterns, and sketch pads. There’s an empty red paint can toppled on its side at the bottom.
“No.” I barely whisper. “Oh my god.” My heart pounds harder and faster, and my hands shake as I unzip the garment bag, realizing it’s already half opened. “Shit.” Carefully, I try to avoid touching the sticky paint while I remove my dress from the bag.
“Nooo.” The pitch of my voice is almost at dog-whistle level as I pull it out and find my worst nightmare. “My dress… is covered in red paint.”
Tamara shrieks, rushing to my side. Others murmur, glancing in my direction as I look around in disbelief, as if I’m searching for an answer.
“What the fuck?” Tamara says, shaking her head as she examines the red-soaked dress that had once been my beautiful glam project.
Professor M hustles over to us while I try to hold my shit together, my mind spinning between trying to make sense of how this could have happened and trying to think of a fix.
The prof stops short. “Oh… No.” She takes the ruined garment from me and examines it. “Is this paint?” She sounds as incredulous as I feel. Except I’m angrier.
“Looks like it.” My classmates form a small crowd gathered around us now, staring at the mess.
“Everyone check your projects if you haven’t already,” Professor M clips. “This looks like vandalism.”
Darcy says, “There’s blue paint on my bag.” She pulls it out from the closet, and Professor M rushes toward her, and we all follow.
After examining every square inch, they find no damage to her garment.
“Thank god. Anyone else find paint or damage anywhere?”
“There’s some red paint on the floor near my closet, but nothing inside,” one of the guys, Derek, says.
No one else finds anything.
“I’m going to call campus police and report the matter. You all continue your work.” She turns to me. “We’ll see what we can do about your project when I get back.”
Compressing my mouth closed so tight in an effort to not cry, I’m worried my lips are going to bleed.
“Shit,” Tamara says. She puts a hand on my arm, and I turn to her, almost ready to squeeze my eyes shut before they fill with useless tears. Then she takes me in a hug. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. Especially to your kickass glam design.”
I absorb the calm of her hug and then straighten and swipe at my eyes, nodding. “Thank you.”
Darcy comes over. “I’m sorry too.” She touches my arm awkwardly, then turns away.
The others grumble about how awful and unfair this is while they get to work, and I… sit.
But there’s no way I’m going to let a random vandal ruin my opportunity for success. Flicking Ellery Yumo is going to be there, and I know she’s looking for talent. Her design shop is huge.
“I can do another design. I have time.”
