I don’t think she’d heard me.

I needed a drink.

SAMANTHA

Needless to say, I slept like crap that night. I couldn’t stop thinking about finding a job. Christos had left after an hour. I only had the one computer, so there wasn’t much he could do in the way of helping me job hunt.

I had searched around the internet for hours, trying to find something, but had no luck. I would look on campus for a work-study job today between classes, but feared there’d be none left this late in the academic year. If that happened, I’d try looking in my neighborhood for a restaurant job, a coffee shop, anything.

I did my best not to think about it.

My only class that morning was Oil Painting with Romeo and Kamiko. I had to buy supplies at the campus bookstore before class. I picked out the paints, brushes, palette, canvases, and other supplies and took them to the register.

The total was $147.38.

My money was going to be gone in two weeks at this rate.

I walked toward the Visual Arts building with my bag of supplies. When I’d walked this route to Life Drawing for the first time three months ago, I’d been full of hope. Now I was full of dread. I had to find a job. That was all I could think about. My lack of money.

How was I going to concentrate on painting? Or my other classes?

“There goes Poor House,” Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse giggled.

Great. That was all I needed.

Two hobots stood next to her on the pathway. All three of them held cups of designer coffee from Toasted Roast. I’d already cut daily coffee from my budget.

I ignored her and kept walking.

“She lowers thrift-store chic to a whole new low, don’t you guys think?” Tiffany asked her minions.

“Totally,” they chorused.

“She makes bargain-basement look bad,” one said.

I had a moment to think about how Tiffany’s yacht probably cost more than four years of college tuition for fifty kids. Whatever. Envying her wealth wouldn’t help me find a job. I didn’t have time for her childish insults anymore.

“Grow up, Tiffany,” I said, never looking back.

I made it to the painting studio shortly after.

People were already setting up at the easels. I found a space next to Romeo and Kamiko.

“Hey guys,” I said. I was so happy to see them. “What are we going to paint this quarter to top all the nude models in Life Drawing last term? A live sex show?” I joked, trying to force myself into a better mood.

“I wish,” Romeo said. He gestured toward the center of the room. A waist-high pedestal had a square of black cloth draped diagonally over it. A wooden bowl of fruit sat on top.

“A still life,” Kamiko said. “Fruit is way easier than people.”

“But not nearly as interesting,” I said.

“Wait and see. Dealing with mixing paint and working with brushes will offer a bunch of new challenges. You’ll be glad you’re just painting apples and grapes.”

“I agree with Sam,” Romeo said thoughtfully. “I preferred painting people. Especially fully-nude Christos. But there is a huge banana in the fruit bowl. It’s about the right size, wouldn’t you say, Sam?”

My cheeks glowed red. “Romeo!”

“Relax, Sam,” Romeo said dismissively. “We’ve all seen what’s in Christos’ fruit basket more than once. But we have no expertise in the fully erect department. For that, I turn to you for corroborative evidence. Can you describe his manana to us?” He arched an eyebrow while pretending to hold a microphone in front of me like he was a news reporter.

Kamiko gawked at both of us.

“No!” I blurted.

“No, you won’t describe it,” Romeo said, “or no, you haven’t peeled it?”

“Uhhhh…” Why did I feel guilty all of a sudden?

Kamiko snorted laughter. “Romeo, even I know you don’t peel them.”

“If they have a foreskin, you do,” Romeo said plainly.

“It’s not the same kind of peeling,” Kamiko corrected. “It’s more like pulling down the wrapper on a freezer pop.

I grimaced. “This conversation has officially become uber disgusting.”

Romeo frowned. “Wait a second, Kamiko, how do you know so much about mansicle wrappers?”

“I am pre-med, in case you forgot. I know what a foreskin is.”

“Yes, but you seem to have intimate knowledge of their function. First-hand experience, perhaps? Are you hiding a boyfriend, Kamiko? I mean, other than Finn the Human? Like, a real live boy, boyfriend?”

“No, Romeo,” Kamiko insisted.

“Whoa!” Romeo chided. “Down, girl! Strident denial is a sure sign you’re hiding something!”

“Do you think she’s secretly dating Brandsome?” I suggested coyly, happy to have the heat off of me.

Kamiko’s cheeks flushed red. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about!”

“Hmmm,” Romeo considered shrewdly. “This bears further investigation. I do believe the plot has thickened. Unless that’s just me thinking about Christos’ manana again.” He shifted his belt around and wiggled his pants while jiggling his hips. “Yes, my plot has definitely thickened.”

“Oh, gross,” Kamiko grimaced.

“Anyway,” Romeo dismissed her, “back on topic. Sam, is Christos’ peeled manana curved or straight? I need to know.” He held the imaginary microphone up to my face again.

“Romeo!” I pleaded, pushing his hand away.

“I hear the curved ones hit a lady’s G-spot the best. Although, I think when it comes to my B-spot, straight is my preference.”

“What’s a B-spot?” Kamiko asked, confused.

“It’s in your bu—”

“Okay, class,” the professor said, clapping loudly several times right behind Romeo’s head, “enough chatter. We have a lot to cover today. Shall we begin?” The professor was a middle-aged guy with unruly hair and a permanent frown which reminded me of pictures I’d seen of Ludwig van Beethoven.

Romeo’s lips curled into a sneer and he frowned at the professor’s back.

Me and Kamiko both choked down our respective giggle fits.

The professor wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and jeans. Despite his casual appearance, he seemed a bit too serious for my taste. “My name is Professor Cogdill,” he said. “I will be your Oil Painting professor this term. Today we’ll be painting a simple still life. I’ll do a brief demonstration before you begin your paintings. I will show you how to prepare your palette. I will show you how to block in the basic composition. I will show you how to contrast warm colors against cool. I will show you how to…”

I glanced over at Romeo, who was frowning at the professor like they were lifelong enemies.

“Professor Cogdildo needs someone to peel his manana immediately,” Romeo whispered while rolling his eyes. “Maybe then he wouldn’t be such a stick in the butt. Because I’m telling you, he’s so not my type. I’m going to be stuck squeezing my butt cheeks together all term long.”

I stifled another giggle while the professor droned on.

Despite the professor’s stiff demeanor, no pun intended, he was extremely knowledgable and logical in the way he explained everything. I was amazed that he was able to paint an awesome picture of the fruit bowl in about twenty minutes. I’d never seen someone paint so fast before. It was amazing to watch him work. Afterward, while he rinsed his brush in a can of Turpenoid, he said, “All right, everyone, please take your places and go to work.”

At my easel, I squeezed out paint like the professor had shown. He had used some burnt sienna paint to lay in sketchy lines on his canvas. I did the same, blocking in the basic shapes with a medium-sized brush.

“Remember, class,” the professor intoned, “your block-in can be loose. You will correct things as you go.”

I glanced over at Romeo, who was already laying in the shapes with his brush. He was focused on getting the shape of the banana just right, by Romeo standards.