Reckless (27 page)

“All right,” he said casually as he caught up to me again. “No worries. I’ll see you in class next time.”

I was so surprised, I almost stopped, but managed to keep moving. “Huh? We have a different model every time.”

“Not in Bittinger’s class. She hired me to work the entire term.”

My eyes goggled. I made a vomit face as I thought about how the next ten weeks with Hunter and Marjorie going at me in sculpting class were going to drive me nuts.

Thankfully, I made it to my VW. I slipped inside before Hunter could propose marriage.

In my rearview mirror, I watched him wave at me as I drove off.

At least he didn’t sprint to his Porsche and stalk me all the way to Christos’ place.
 

As far as I knew, that was.

Double groan!

SAMANTHA

Christos made me dinner, as promised. We sat at his kitchen table chatting long after we finished eating dinner. I didn’t notice the time until it was late, and made my way home. Christos couldn’t come with me because he had plenty of extra work to do around the studio with all the new demand for his paintings. That was okay because I still had homework and a job search to contend with.

I guessed our Honeymoon was over.

Whatever. I still loved Christos with all my heart.

I hit the books the minute I got in the door at my apartment. When my eyes were swimming from pouring over my History and Sociology readings two hours later, I decided it was time to close my books and take a break. I needed a moment to regroup, but I immediately felt the lurching pull of my crumbling financial situation.

With a pathetic groan, I opened my web browser and checked some of the job websites. Doing a search based on location, I discovered that, surprise, the very first jobs on the list were for accounting positions.

My lips curled as I imagined both my parents clasping their hands together while smiling innocently at me with “we told you so” looks all over their faces.

Screw them. I wasn’t giving up. I tried searching by job type rather than location. Maybe I’d find something that way. When the list came up, I scrolled down it further and further. And further.

Almost every single job was somehow related to moving money around or computers. I took a moment to lean back, raise both my middle fingers, and launched both birds at my monitor.

But I still wasn’t giving up. I did notice several jobs for long-haul truckers. Maybe I could do that? Wasn’t there something sexy about a woman who drove a big rig and had dinner at truck stops nation wide? Some of those truck stops even had showers for the truckers. How awesome was that?
 

Uhhhh, no.

Besides, I needed something part time. And it turned out, most of the jobs were full time.
 

I did find one company that wanted to hire tutors for high school students. The subject they most needed, and for which I was best qualified, was math. Groan.

“We told you so,”
rang through my mind.

I dropped my head back against my couch, grabbed the nearest pillow, squished my face into it, and screamed.

That felt good.

I did it again.

I lowered my pillow and sighed.

As much as I hated to do it, I filled out the online application for math tutors. Couldn’t the tutoring company have been seeking art tutors instead? Not that I was qualified, but why did it have to be math?
 

We told you so!
 

:-)

SHUT UP!!!!!!

I filled in the fields asking for my ACT and SAT scores were. Thanks to my parents, I’d taken both, and scored well on both.

After filling out all the remaining information, I clicked SUBMIT and prayed that my age and inexperience would put me at the bottom of the application pile.

I spent another hour combing through job listings. There were absolutely zero jobs related to art.

We told you so!

:-D

A knot had formed in my stomach over the course of the hour. I started to wonder if my parents
were
right. Based on the jobs I’d found online, it sure seemed that way. But I reminded myself that I did have the museum job. That was art. And Christos’ whole family made money selling art. Heck, I’d made $150 on my crayon painting.

Was it possible to sell ten crayon paintings a month? That would be $1,500, which combined with the $400 from working at the museum, would probably be enough for
all
my bills. I certainly had time to draw that many.

But would I be able to sell all of my crayon paintings, month after month? Or would I end up sitting down on the boardwalk with stacks of crayon paintings laid out on one of those knitted blankets from Tijuana, and a sign that said “Prices reduced!” and the number “$150” would be Xed out, along with the numbers $125, $100, $75, $50, $25, $10, $5, $1.99, etc., all the way down to “FREE! Please take one!”

It seemed all too likely.

I needed to find a job with a paycheck while I still had a roof over my head.

I ended up submitting a few other applications that I doubted would turn into anything because the jobs actually sounded cool and paid well.

Was it time for me to hit the bricks tomorrow and follow in the time-honored American tradition of working for a fast-food chain restaurant?

We told you so!

Shudder.

I texted Madison to see if she was awake. When I didn’t hear back from her, I called Christos. No answer from him, either.

I did have ice cream in the freezer.
 

I walked into my kitchen and opened the door. It was like a winter wonderland inside. Icicles everywhere, surrounding creamy, sugary escape. I could spare the calories. I’d been good. I’d barely had any ice cream in weeks. And I didn’t think I’d had a single spoonful over Winter Break with Christos.

I opened up the container of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. There was hardly any ice cream left inside. I mean, it was almost half gone. Or some amount less than half-gone, but nowhere near a full pint. Because two good spoonfuls already gone was at least a half pint, according to my math. Anyway, it was going to get freezer burn sooner or later, then it would go to waste, and I was not one to waste food. Not when there were children in third world countries who never got to eat ice cream. Ever.
 

I would eat it for their sake.

I swear I would’ve shared, had any of those children been present in my apartment. I sort of wished they were, because I think the joy on their faces would’ve filled me up better than the ice cream. But I was all alone, and had no choice.

No ice cream would
ever
go to waste on my watch.

Chapter 14

SAMANTHA

My same pattern of school, homework, job hunt, and no Christos continued for the next several days.

Lame!

I managed to actually hook up with Madison on campus a few days later. It was the first time I’d seen her since I’d dropped Managerial Accounting.

We met for lunch in the Student Center.

“Mads! So good to see you!” I said.

Madison wrapped her arms around me. “I totally missed you, girl!”

“Me too. You wanna get fish tacos?”

“Hells yeah,” Madison said.

We walked into the food court and got in the long line. I worried about spending the extra money, but I couldn’t ask Madison to have protein bars for lunch with me. Meh.

“So, how’s Dorquemann?” I asked.

“Doctor Dorquemann is the greatest sleep aid known to man. I think the medical school on campus has researchers in the lecture hall recording the sound of his voice every day, trying to pin down the exact pattern of frequencies that Dorquemann uses when he lectures. I hear they’re trying to get FDA approval already.”

“That good, huh?” I smiled sympathetically.

“No biggie. If I’m ever going to run my own company, I have to learn this stuff sooner or later.”

“You want to run a company?”

“Yeah,” Madison said, “Jake and I have been talking about it. He wants to start his own line of surf clothes, maybe even open a shop here in San Diego. If he wins a few more competitions and gets some good endorsements, he’ll have enough of a name and enough extra cash that we might be able to do it.”

“Look at you,” I smiled, “Miss Go-Getter. That’s awesome, Mads. I totally think you could pull it off.”

“I just wish I was taking more of the upper division Marketing classes for my major. I need to learn all that stuff, like, yesterday!”

We finally made it to the front of the line and ordered our fish tacos. I tried to pay, but I’d already told Madison about my job hunt, and she refused.

“It’s on me,” Madison said. “When you’re a world-famous artist, you can pay.”

“Thanks, Mads.” I went and filled up salsa containers for both of us. I’d grown increasingly accustomed to hot sauce, and couldn’t seem to get enough. Plus, extra hot sauce was free, unlike extra guacamole. Sigh.

We took our trays outside to eat. It actually started to sprinkle, so we found an inside table.

“So, how’s the new major coming along?” Madison asked.

“Other than my sculpting professor hates my ass, and my looming financial ruin, I couldn’t be happier.”

“Do you want to move in with me?” she asked seriously.

“Is one of your roommates moving out?”

“No, but I have a big room. We could share.”

I smiled at her, almost in disbelief. I couldn’t get over how supportive she was. I’d never had friends like Madison in high school. I didn’t realize friends could be so generous. My eyes watered, but I did my best to keep my tears to myself.

“What about Jake?” I asked, trying to hide behind my napkin. “I don’t want to cramp your style.”

“Oh,” Madison groaned, “my cramps have been cramping my style since Wednesday.” She folded over and clutched her belly. “I’ve been having a bad case of the Monthlies all day today.”

“See,” I giggle-sniffed, “you don’t need me adding more blockage to your hoo-ha than you’ve already got.”

She shook her head. “I’m serious, Sam. If it becomes a problem, and you need a place, you’re welcome to my apartment. Jake and I can always go to his house.”

“Wow, Mads, I totally appreciate it. Based on the way my job search has been going, you may have more than one monthly visitor in February.” I hoped my joking would disguise my imminent tears of gratitude.

“As long as you don’t make my cramps any worse, I will consider it a blessing,” she groaned. “I feel like I’m going to give birth to a tampon baby.” She grunted. “I think it’s going to be a redhead.”

Grimacing, I set the remaining half of my fish taco on my plate. “Well, I’m done eating.”

Madison cackled with laughter, “Sorry!”

SAMANTHA

Christos and I had dinner on Sunday night, but that was it. Groan. Had my predictions been right all along? Was he going to always be too busy with his burgeoning career to find time for a relationship with me? I hoped I was wrong.

On Monday, I went to the campus art museum after History class to report for my first day of work.

Mr. Selfridge turned out to be totally cool. He showed me how to operate the cash register and explained the ground rules. This job was going to be cake.

“We don’t get a lot of traffic during the week,” he said, “mainly art students like yourself. They come in to study the paintings and sculpture, and they get in free with a valid Student ID. But you do have to punch them in.” He showed me how on the cashier’s computer. “When it’s slow, feel free to do your homework behind the counter. Just make sure that you set your work aside for any customers.”

“Got it,” I smiled.

“Well, that about covers it. I’m going back to my office. If you need anything, ring my phone. But I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Mr. Selfridge,” I smiled as he walked back into the museum.

The museum didn’t have a gift shop, but there were a number of books behind the counter for sale. Since no one was coming in, I perused the shelves. One of the books was ‘Retrospective: A life outdoors, the art of Spiridon Manos.’ I picked it up and flipped through it. So much beautiful work. I’d seen a few of these paintings in Spiridon’s home, but most were new to me. He was truly an amazing landscape painter. I flipped to the back of the book and saw that most of his paintings were on display in major museums around the country, even a number in Europe. Wow, Spiridon was a total art rockstar.

And his grandson was on the way to being one too.

Over the next several hours, three people came into the museum. All of them were art students, two I recognized from Life Drawing and Oil Painting class.
 

This job was super easy, which was perfect because I had homework to catch up on.

During a lull, I texted Christos.

Thinking about you. <3

I hoped for an instant reply. Nope. It took about ten minutes before he texted,
I’m always thinking about you, agápi mou. Miss you.

I replied,
I miss you more ;-)
What are you doing right now?

I didn’t receive a response. Sigh.

I opened up my Sociology reading and did my best to read through the assignments I’d fallen behind on. I kept checking my phone, making sure I hadn’t missed an incoming text. After half an hour with no response, I made sure my alert volume hadn’t somehow been turned off, or that my battery hadn’t died, or that aliens or hackers hadn’t hijacked my phone and changed my phone number.
 

Nope, everything was fine.

Except Christos was too busy to text me back. Should that have bothered me? I don’t know, but it did. Was I being too needy?

Eye roll.
 

When it came to being needy, what was the official demarcation between “too” and “the right amount” of needy?

Groan. I didn’t want to be the pathetic desperate girl who clung to her boyfriend’s knees everywhere they went.
 

Maybe I needed to conduct a poll and figure out a hard number regarding appropriate levels of neediness. Whatever that number turned out to be, I was pretty sure with all of my time apart from Christos, I fell on “the right amount” side of the needy line.