[Image Caption: Cameron Fant exploring Rudolf's Instagram account.]

I order soup for lunch and then buy another coffee since I’ll likely be up late again tonight. That gets me through my next two classes, and by five, I’ve made it through the day. I stop by my room to drop things off. Then I grab a bottle of water before trudging back across campus. 

When I'm back in the classroom, I’m pleased to find that it’s empty. I grab a palette and select a few colors before picking up brushes and getting to work. 

I fill the negative space that the girl from my class liked so much with a few quick strokes. Ugh. I feel so uninspired by this. I wish I was putting time into my own stuff, but if I’m ever going to be a working artist, I need to train myself to meet deadlines. Even if I were to be successful, I’d have to finish projects in time for exhibitions. I can’t decide only to paint when I feel like it.

I try my best to keep the same palette that the class said was “tasteful.” I should add something, though. Maybe a yellow? That doesn’t feel like me. I hate yellow. Maybe something darker?

I’m halfway through mixing what’s turning out to be a shade of orange when the door to the classroom swings open.

“—you paid how much for that tattoo?” comes the first voice. “Bitch, just do them yourself!”

Crap. I immediately recognize that flat, hard tone. It’s Avery. I turn around and see that she's with someone else. Cameron Fant. 

I’ve seen him around campus, and I’ve seen his art in the gallery as well. He sculpts. I’ve heard a lot of stories about him, too. 

When Avery spots me, she holds up a hand and starts laughing. “I see you’re taking my advice,” she says, approaching my easel. 

“Um, yeah,” I reply awkwardly. 

Cameron follows her, leaning over my shoulder and checking out my work. 

“Sweet,” he comments casually, circling his finger around the part I just added. “I like what you got going on here.”

“Thanks,” I mumble graciously. “It looks better than it did this morning.”

“I’ll say,” Avery laughs again, turning to Cameron. “Rudolf here thought he could get away with presenting something half-finished to our painting professor.”

“With Flores?” Cameron’s lips curl. “Damn, how’d she take that one?”

“She gave me until Wednesday,” I try to mask my discomfort. 

He chuckles. “Well, lucky you,” he says with a nod. “Looks like it’s turning out.”

Avery crosses the room to her own easel, and while she does, Cameron keeps staring over my shoulder. It’s stressing me out. I want to keep going, but I can’t with him right here.

“C’mere, douchebag,” Avery waves him over. “You said you wanted to see this piece of shit.”

“Yeah. I want to know if it’s as bad as you say it is.” 

She crosses her arms. “It’s pretty bad.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Cameron strolls away from me and over to Avery’s painting. “Hm…well, yeah. It’s bad. This doesn’t look like your usual stuff at all.” 

“Right? I fucking hate abstract,” she says with blatant distaste.  “I could pull better crap out of my ass.” 

“Wow, you’re classy,” Cameron snarks. 

I try not to listen to their conversation, but they’re being loud. I end up staring at Cameron, admiring his blond hair and bold tattoos. He’s tall. Kind of willowy. He seems confident, too, like he has his life together and attractive in a way most people could appreciate. He also seems to be the type of person who loves to talk. To everyone. People constantly surround him. He probably knows the entire student body. He probably doesn’t need any new friends, so I should probably not even bother thinking about him.

Finally, I force myself to look away and throw some of the orange I’ve been mixing onto the canvas. The addition makes the piece a lot brighter, which I think is what it was missing—the feeling. I didn’t feel anything when I first started, but now I do.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Cameron point to a spot on Avery’s canvas. 

“You should have put these marks in the top left corner,” he tells her. “The balance would have been better.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she snaps, “You were the one who wanted to see it. I didn’t ask you to tell me how to fix it. You and I both know I’m never touching this crap again. I hate this god-awful class.”

I do my best to ignore them and keep putting down color in the places it seems appropriate, but Cameron says my name, and my head snaps up.

“Hey, Rudolf! Is that what you said your name was?” he addresses me. “What do you think about this course, Rudy?”

“Um,” I falter, “it’s all right. I don’t hate abstract, but I’d rather be working on my own stuff.”

Cameron nods. “What’s your own stuff? You have a website?”

“I have, like…social media, but I’m bad at updating it,” I confess.

He smirks and whips his phone out of his sweatshirt pocket. “I used to suck at it too. You’ve gotta take that media, marketing, and legal policies class,” he tells me. “Now, what’s your account? I’ll follow you.”

“Uhh,” I pause, trying to remember. “It’s just, like, Rudolf Stonem. There’s a period in between.”

“Sweet, I found you.” Cameron taps around on his phone. “You follow me, huh?” 

“Yeah...” I say sheepishly, hoping I don’t look embarrassed. 

“Cute, I have a fan,” he teases. 

He starts to scroll through my Instagram with a look of mild interest on his face. After a minute, he looks up from his phone and at me. 

“You got some good shit. I like it. Very contemporary.” 

“It’s all old,” I spit out dumbly.

“Doesn’t make it less good.”

“Mm,” I wrinkle my nose. “I suppose.”

“You should post something more recent,” he adds. 

“I’ll try to remember later,” I say, surprised that he’s taking even a remote interest in me or my art.

“You working on anything new? Aside from schoolwork, I mean.”

I gesture to the painting in front of me, and Avery lets out a little snort. “I am…” I reveal, “which is why I didn’t get this finished in time.” 

“Right, cool,” Cameron bobs his head up and down. “My name is Cameron by the way… though you probably already knew that.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reply simply. I’m stunned that he’s even bothering to introduce himself.

“You’re a freshman, yeah?” he says, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Sophomore.”

He looks confused, but I’m not. There’s no reason I would have been on his radar.

“Why have I never seen you before?” he asks incredulously, “Did you transfer?”

I shake my head. “I just hang out in the dorms a lot.”

“He was definitely here last year, Cam,” Avery scoffs. “You’re not in the painting department, so you can’t expect to know all of us.”

Cameron shrugs her off. “You should come out of your room more. The school hosts a lot of events. Would be cool to see you around.” 

“I don’t know, maybe,” I hesitate. “I don’t get out much.”

He stares at me like he’s trying to figure me out. “You shy or something?” he pries. 

“Not...particularly,” I try to explain. “I never know how to act at big events.”

Or around people. At all.

“Hah!” Cameron chuckles. “He sounds like you, Avery.”

“Oh f off,” she doesn’t even bother glancing up from her canvas.

“Think of it like practice,” he continues simply. “The more you go, the easier it gets to mingle. It’s good to learn how. To make a living as an artist, you’ll need to know.” 

“I suppose,” I mumble.

“Well,” he looks me up and down. “Take a look at the school’s calendar. If you see something you want to go to, hit Avery or me up. I like those sorts of things, so I’m usually going anyway. You can tag along with us. We’ll introduce you to people, yeah?”

Avery side-eyes him, not seeming thrilled by that offer. She pushes out the post of her lip piercing and presses it back in with her finger. 

She probably has way better things to do. Cameron probably has better things to do, too. I can’t figure out why he would want to waste his time on someone like me. I’m nowhere near their league. 

“Yeah, thanks,” I say a moment later, trying to sound polite.

“Cool. Anyway, nice meeting you, Rudy,” he says. 

“You, too,” I return. 

He turns around, holds up a hand, and walks out of the classroom. Avery nods to me before following Cameron out. 

When they’re gone, I try to get back into the swing of things, putting the finishing touches on my painting. It’s coming together. I’m pleased with how it turned out. 

I try to title it, but I can’t come up with anything. I’ve never successfully titled a painting before. I don’t know what to call any of them. I have a hard enough time deciphering my emotions, let alone the mangled mess that comes out on paper. 

When I’m done, I stand up and gather my things. 

Good enough. 

I flick the lights off, abandoning the empty room.