Girls in Pants - Ann Brashares [21]
Back in April she’d visited Capitol Street to pick up an application for summer classes. There were lots of showy, strange pieces in the gallery when you first walked in, but they didn’t mean much to Lena. Then, just as you turned the corner to the office, there was a quiet, simply framed drawing on the wall. It was a figure drawing of a young woman holding her hair back with one hand. It was quiet, but so beautiful it made Lena’s throat ache. It gave her chills from her scalp down to the balls of her feet. The drawing not only exhibited technical mastery and intricate detail, but it contained so much grace, so much feeling, it made Lena know what she wanted to achieve in her life.
Lena had squinted down at the messy signature and then compared it to every teacher’s name in the brochure. Annik Marchand. Lena walked into the office of the art school with uncharacteristic boldness and signed up for Annik Marchand’s figure drawing class on the spot. For that drawing alone, she loved Annik before she’d even met her.
“Break it down,” Antonis called at three-thirty, indicating the end of the lunch shift. Lena put chairs on tables so the busboys could mop the floor. Then she faced the unhappy prospect of going home. She cared deeply for Valia. That’s partially why Valia’s surliness made Lena so sad.
Instead of taking the bus north, Lena took it south. She got off and walked a block to the Capitol Street School of Art and Design. She didn’t intend to go back to class, exactly. She just wanted to stop by and say something to Annik.
The class was just setting up. Even the look and smell of the studio raised Lena’s mood. Annik turned, and when she saw it was Lena, she rolled over in her wheelchair. She looked happy and a little surprised.
“Nice to see you,” she said.
“I’m not here to draw,” Lena said.
“Why not?”
“Well…the whole thing with my dad.” She waved her arm in the direction of Andrew. “My dad’s pretty tough when he makes a decision. He already got most of his money refunded.” Lena glanced down at her fingers, her nails bitten short. “I really just came by to say thanks.”
“For what?” Annik asked.
“For your teaching. I wasn’t here long, but it’s a great class.”
Annik sighed. “Listen, I’ve got to help set up. Why don’t you stay for a few minutes—until the first break? You’re welcome to draw if you want. I’ve got extra pads and charcoal. Or you can do whatever. Then we’ll have a chance to talk for a minute.”
“Okay,” Lena said. She didn’t really want to leave anyway. She would stay and water the plants if that were her only excuse.
Annik left supplies out on a free easel. It was like leaving drugs out for an addict. It had been Lena’s easel; that’s why it was free. At first Lena just stood in the back of class and watched people draw. Then her fingers started itching for a piece of charcoal. She ambled over to the easel, just drawing with her eyes at first. She hesitated. Then she picked up the charcoal and she was lost until the bell rang.
Annik came over. “That’s lovely,” she said, studying the three poses of Andrew laid out on the sheet. “Do you want to go outside and talk for a minute?”
“Okay.” Lena expected they’d talk in the hallway, but Annik led her down the hall, up a ramp, and out into the courtyard. Annik rolled up to a bench, and Lena sat down on it. The dogwood trees rustled and a small fountain gushed appealingly in the middle. Various sculptures and found-object works, one involving a stack of car tires, decorated the perimeter.
“Are you comfortable drawing Andrew?” she asked. Annik’s hair was a beautiful red, made only more so by the sunlight. There was orange and gold and chestnut and even pink in it. Annik was fairly young, Lena realized, probably in her