Bridgeport Academy 2

44

After Chris's cryptic text, Robyn dropped her phone into the pocket of her gray hooded sweatshirt and paused in the middle of the quad, wondering if she should even bother listening to him. It was chilly out, and the birds flying overhead in their wobbly V formation looked like they were already headed south. Smart birds. Robyn was cold, but then she was always cold these days—it was the only drawback to getting skinnier. Not that she felt skinny in her thick fleecy sweatshirt and gray sweatpants.

Robyn glanced around at all the bundled-up students, hurrying off to classes and dorms and sports classes, and felt suddenly aware that everyone around her was in motion while she was standing still. She immediately started doing her field hockey warm-up stretches, like it wasn't at all weird to be doing them in the middle of the quad instead of out on the field. Fuck. Why was Chris always doing this to her? And why was she always letting him? Damn him.

She fumed as she bent over in a V to stretch out her hamstrings, feeling the blood rush to her head. She walked her hands in toward her feet on the grass, and through her open legs saw Chris striding across the quad toward her. Even upside down, he looked completely gorgeous, and she could tell from the way his messenger bag thumped against his hip that he was rushing—to get to her. Robyn quickly stood back up, her blood coursing through her veins. She shook out her pixie cut, which probably had grass or bugs or other nasties in it now from hanging upside down. Ew.

"What is it?" she asked roughly as he approached, trying to sound irritated. She felt a little dizzy—which, she told herself, was from being upside down, not from the sudden appearance of Chris. He'd changed into a gray wool sweater, which was very adorably unlike him.

"I wanted to know if you'll be my model." His dark eyes examined her face in that way he had of seeming to take everything in at once, reading it all. His piercing gaze never missed a thing—he probably noticed the tiniest bits of grass in her hair, or how dry her skin was. And yet he was asking her to be his model? Even after the way she told him off this morning? "For art class," he clarified. "We have a project." 

Robyn smiled at the irony. Was this opposite day? For months—for practically a year, ever since they'd started dating—she had fantasized about her artsy boyfriend asking her to come out to the woods so that he could draw her. He could have built a sculpture of her out of clothes hangers and soup cans and she would have been thrilled. 

But he'd never asked her. Until now. Until now, when they couldn't possibly be a couple again. Not after all they'd been through, not after what she'd promised Kae. She'd told Chris they were over and she'd meant it. Hadn't she?

"What would you need me to do?" she asked slowly, kicking the toe of her black Adidas cleats into the thick green grass of the quad.

Chris shook his head vehemently. "Nothing. Just pose for me." A smile broke out across his face. "Just be yourself." 

Robyn giggled. Be herself. Right. As long as she wasn't wearing sweatpants. "Are you sure you want...me?" 

Chris didn't even pause to consider her question. "Yes." His gaze never left her face for a second.

She sighed. She couldn't stay angry at Chris forever. They were going to have to become friends at some point...and maybe that point was now. He needed someone to paint or draw for his class, and she could help him out, the way a friend would. And it wasn't like he was someone else's boyfriend, either—he and Kae were through. So it would be completely platonic. "All right," she said with a tentative nod, keeping her voice even. So why were her palms sweating?

Chris sucked in his breath. "Cool." He glanced up at her through his long dark eyelashes. "Do you have a lot of stuff to do tonight?" 

"Stuff?" Robyn repeated, amused.

"Yeah." He grinned. "You know, Latin. Calc. Stuff." 

Robyn was unable to keep a small smile from spreading across her face. Of course, homework, classes—the reasons they were even here at Bridgeport—fell under Chris's category of "stuff." 

"If you're asking if I have time tonight, then sure, whatever." Of course she had piles of homework, but suddenly the thought of sneaking away with Chris for a few hours felt like a breath of fresh air. 

"Wanna meet in the woods during dinner?" Chris pushed the sleeves of his sweater—probably the most expensive thing he owned—up to his elbows, stretching out the delicate cuffs.

"Kay." She paused. "Snack bar afterward?" she added quietly. Dining services had a system where if you had to miss dinner—because of an away game, or a late practice, or whatever—you could use your dinner points at the Maxwell snack bar any time in the evening. Last year, she and Chris would always meet at the stables after practice and fool around for hours, until the dining hall was closed, and then, starving, head over to the snack bar and eat French fries and hummus wraps.

"I'll even buy you a strawberry milkshake," Chris promised, his eyes twinkling.

"Deal." She nodded her head definitively. Milkshakes were her favorite.

"So you'll meet me at my spot in the woods? It's—" 

Robyn cut him off. "I know where it is, Chris." Right by where the boys had gone hunting for mushrooms. She and Jasmine had walked out that way one day, and as soon as Robyn had seen the little enclosed field with all the wildflowers and the funky rocks, she had known that that was Chris's secret spot. She'd thumbed through his sketchbooks sometimes, looking at his weird but beautiful drawings of trees and leaves and cigarette butts—he managed to make everything look beautiful.

And now he was going to draw her. Robyn felt a little chill and heard the tweet of a whistle in the distance. 

"Shit," she muttered. "I've got to run. I'll see you later." She grabbed her lacrosse stick and dashed off toward the fields, knowing that Coach Johnson was going to make her do an extra lap around the field for being late.

But it was kind of worth it.