The Final Rose

Chapter Fourteen: Peer Pressure

A/N: Check me out on Twitter (@ElizaLentzski) and Facebook for pictures of my cat and updates on what else I've been writing lately.

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The Orcas Island pottery studio smelled like rich earth and turpentine. The scent transported me back to the art room at my school on the reservation. It had been one of those modular classrooms, frigid in the winter months and stifling before summer break. Art supplies had been scarce at the under-funded school; my art teacher's motto had been 'a little dab will do ya.' A little dab of glue. A little dab of paint.

A square lump of clay had been divvyed out on the wheel head of each potters wheel. Six machines scattered around the studio meant we wouldn't have to share. We were given a brief tutorial by the studio's proprietor before being sent off on our own to create.

I claimed one of the wheels for myself and pumped the foot pedal a few times to start the wheel head in motion and to get a feel for the machine.

"Do you think Jacob's going to recreate that scene from Ghost with each of us?" I attempted to joke.

Seated at the machine closest to mine, Candace didn't respond. Her face revealed no emotion, and it bothered me. She was always the first one to laugh, the first one to tease or crack a sarcastic joke, but ever since we'd gotten our group date card, she'd been uncharacteristically morose. I'd tried to get her to laugh or even crack a smile since we'd left the house, but had achieved no success. I needed to get Jacob to notice my roommate, but I hadn't come up with any ideas so far.

Across the pottery studio, a high-pitched squeal leaked into my thoughts. We'd only just arrived, but Lee's cheeks and forehead were already smudged with tan streaks of clay. She desperately clung to the lump of clay that spun wildly on her potters wheel. Instead of taking her foot off the pedal, she made it go faster; the wobbly clay chunk whipped off of the spinning surface and nearly hit Samantha, the woman who sat at the adjacent pottery wheel.

My legs twitched with inactivity. I wanted to rescue her and show her the proper way to throw clay. But it wasn't my job to help Lee. It wasn't my place. Jacob was the one on a date with her, not me.

I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to ignore the activity across the room. I focused on my hands as they massaged the loose clay and coaxed it to take shape. The wet clay felt dirty and gritty in my hands.

"Is there anything you can't do?" I heard Candace's incredulous voice.

I slowed the spinning of my wheel and looked up.  "What?"

Candace gestured to the beginnings of a bowl on my wheel head. "What the fuck is that?"

"Nothing right now," I noted. "But in a little while maybe it will be a cereal bowl."

"Is this another Indian thing?" she asked.

I made a face. "No. I majored in art in college. I had to take a ceramics class."

"Show off," Candace snickered.

We shared a grin, and I instantly felt lighter once she seemed to be back to her normal self, even if her 'normal self' meant turning me into a stereotype.

"Do you think there'll be a rose on this date?" I started to make conversation.

"I've kind of given up on trying to anticipate what's going to happen next," Candace admitted.

I arched an eyebrow. "You're done playing the game?"

My roommate mashed her thumbs into the center of her clay chunk. "Oh, I'm still playing," she assured me. "One more elimination round and we'll be whisked away to a tropical destination."