Masterpiece

Chapter 9

The sun streams through my window and catches my eye, partially blinding me awake.

A shrill ring comes through my phone's speaker. I stare at it for about five seconds before straining to reach the device.

"Hello?" I say groggily.
"Good morning, Ms. Lewis. I've called about the painting you submitted yesterday evening."
The cold tone makes me sit right up. The lady from the college speaks on the other side of the line.

"Yes, and?" I stand up eagerly awaiting her response.

"And, I'm shocked to say that you have made it passed the first day. You are to do the same thing but a different piece of art work."

My heart did flips in my chest. I jumped around the entire room. People are probably looking at me with bewildered expressions from outside of my window.

"Hello?" She says after my pause in the conversation.

"I'm here," I say smiling at the phone.
"And may I remind you," she says in a darker tinge of voice, toning down the happiness, " if you so happen to be late, you are through." She's referring to yesterday. I should've known that wasn't going to slip unrecognized.

"Good bye," she says before I could interject with anything else.

A soft rapping at the door sounds in the room. I eye it curiously then open it slowly. A white envelope sits in the ground at my feet. I pick it up and find that in small print, it says that it is addressed to Ramona Lewis.

Closing the door, shreds of white paper fall as I open it. Money falls on the floor with it. It's about forty five dollars in cash. Under my name, in identical print, I see the money is from Carl Randsman.

A paycheck, duh, I have a job now. It surprisingly slipped my mind.

Another knock at the door. This time when I open it, John is standing on the other side.

"Hey, let's go to the diner. I'm starving."

"Don't you ever leave me alone?" I say jokingly.
"Nope and besides Sophie is at a nail salon with Amelia and there's no way I was tagging along for that."

"Ok, but stay outside for a second, while I change," I say shutting the door. He rolls his eyes and walks to the big window and points to it. Of course he could still see inside.

"Ok, maybe I didn't that through," I say through the glass barrier.

Why aren't there any bathrooms in this place? And how could I not have noticed that before?

John taps on the window, getting my attention, then covers his eyes with his hands and spins around the opposite way.

I put on my clothes in lightning speed and let my hair fall over my shoulders. My fingers knock against the window and form the OK sign.

-

We stand in a 50s themed restaurant with checkered floors and a booth adorned with swivel chairs sitting next to it. Small tables with bulbed lighting hanging over them are placed around the perimeter. It looks like we're standing in a different time period.

A woman in a blue uniform and white apron approaches us. Betty is carved on her name tag. She deals out a couple of menus. John gives her a dimpled smile and I greet her.

"Welcome to Downtown Diner, hun.
Pick your poison," she says in a heavy Southern accent.

We order and soon two cups full of orange juice are set in front of us. I play with the straw jutting from my cup.

"So, I have some new ideas for your next painting."

"How do you even know that I made it this far?" He furrows his brows together.

"Because, that painting was awesome.
There was no way they were going to get rid of you that fast."

"But, anyway," he continues, " I was thinking you could paint the Statue of Liberty." Interesting.

I think about it the painting forming inside my head.
"Alright, you're on to something, here."

He smirks and takes a sip of his drink. After a few minutes of conversing, the Southern woman comes back with two plates stacked with pancakes. She refills our beverages.

Small cups of syrup come with it and I tip it until the syrup drizzles onto the pancakes. The sight of it makes my mouth water. I dig in even before she leaves, the fluffy mixture melting on my tongue.

Betty laughs when I look up and have sticky residue stuck to the corners of my mouth.

She strides off as I smear the gunk on a napkin. After comfortable silence John spoke.
"So, the idea. What do you think?"

I paused my chewing. "I think it's a good idea."

"Yep. 'Cause I'm a genius."
"I don't think that's the case, actually."

His eyes roll in a circle. "You never give me any credit."
I scoff. "I give you a lot of credit."

"Oh, really. You haven't said one nice thing to me since you met me."

He doesn't know that I actually have before. He doesn't know that I think his eyes are equivalent to stars or that his voice is as smooth as silk or even that I think he is beautiful. But I could never tell him what I think or could I?

"Well then why don't I start now? John, I think that without you, I'd be lost in this big city of yours." These words seem to take him by surprise. But not for long.

He takes my hand in his. "Ramona, I think that without you, I'd be just as lost as you are."