Free Shades of Darkness by A. R. Kahler Page B

us blindly choose our colors.
    â€œNo peeking, Kaira,” she said when she got to me.
    I closed my eyes and pulled out two tubes. She chuckled when she saw what I drew.
    â€œI’d hoped you’d get one of those.”
    No question what she meant by that: One of the tubes was purple sparkle paint. The other was neon orange. Well, at least they were close to complementary colors.
    Ethan eyed my tubes. He’d drawn pthalo blue and a particularly nasty brown. Another eyebrow raise, this one of envy and displeasure. He wanted my sparkle paint.
    â€œOkay,” Helen said. She walked back at her desk and tapped at her laptop. “Two hours on the clock. Let loose the hounds!” On cue, AC/DC blared through the classroom speakers.
    I glanced at Ethan, who was already mixing colors on his glass palette. Then, after a flicker of a glance toward Chris, I picked up my paints and began preparing my colors. I didn’t look up again, but judging from the occasional chills I felt, I could guess that Chris wasn’t so good about keeping his eyes to himself.
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    Critiques weren’t nearly as painful as I’d feared; Tamora had not, in fact, painted her still life with her ladybits, and Chris wasn’t too obvious in his glances at me when critiquing my piece. I did find myself a little tongue-tied when talking about his painting (which was stupid because it was a picture of plants— nothing remotely romantic there), but it could have been much worse. I made sure to linger after class, slowly covering up my carefully mixed paints and ensuring nothing in my painting would drip or smudge. Mostly though, I just wanted to make it awkward for Chris to wait around for me, which worked—he left with Jane and gave me a little wave on the way out. She grinned like a madwoman, in an I told you so sort of way.
    â€œI’m pretty certain it’s not going to run away,” Ethan grumbled from his stool beside me. He was fully dressed to enter the Michigan night, his beanie scrunched up in his hands. “Though my stomach might, if you don’t get your ass in gear.”
    â€œI’m stalling,” I muttered. I counted slowly in my head, imagining Chris and Jane walking down the hall, potentially lingering to look at the senior theses. “Because someone invited someone else to come to a concert tonight, and now she has to fend off all the awkward interactions before then.”
    â€œ Someone needs to stop talking in third person,” he said as I slid on my coat. “Seriously, girl, what’s your problem? The boy’s cute and interested. You’ve worked hard. Don’t you deserve a little senior fling?”
    I knew he was trying to be funny, and I knew he had my best intentions in mind, but his words pissed me off more than he knew.
    â€œI told you,” I said slowly, trying so hard not to grit my teeth. “I’m not dating. I’m not sleeping around. I am off limits. And I would appreciate you respecting that and not trying to set me up with a stranger.”
    He actually leaned back a little.
    â€œSorry,” he said. “I just . . . I don’t know, I’m sorry. I thought it might be fun for you to have someone. Because, you know, I’m always with Oliver now and I feel bad making you be the third wheel.”
    I shook my head. “I don’t mind. I love Oliver. And I love your stupid face. I don’t need anyone else.”
    And I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want to be hurt again.
    I pushed those thoughts away, suddenly reminded of the crystal on my altar. Mom had always been spot on in her premonitions. Why hadn’t she been more on target that night? Why hadn’t I? My anger ebbed, replaced with a numbness I’d spent years cultivating. You deserved what happened, that’s why. And that’s why you don’t deserve to date.
    â€œFair enough,” he said,