“Chloe.”
I look up and give him a false smile as I set down my bag.
“Mr. Vaughn.”
“You do spend a lot of time in the studio,” he remarks. “For someone who only wants easy credit.”
His comment catches me off guard. My cheeks burn, and I give him another awkward shrug. At a
loss for words.
Tonight, he doesn’t linger. Which both saddens and pleases me. I want him to stay. Always. But I
want my art too. My secret place.
“I’ll leave you to it then,” he says as he rises from his desk.
Again, his eyes linger on me, and mine on him. For longer than what could be called appropriate.
And I briefly wonder if he sees me as anything other than a student. As someone who is off limits.
Those thoughts chase him out the door when he leaves without a glance back this time.
There is tension in my chest as I gather the things I need and stuff them into my bag. And then I wait,
listening to the silence.
The building is empty and I am alone.
So I walk down the hall and to the stairwell. My flats echo off the cavernous space as I ascend. All
the way to the top. Where the only thing separating me from my freedom is the window and a fire
escape.
It isn’t easy to climb up there with my bag, but I manage. I always manage.
And then with just a few short rungs, I step inside my own paradise.
Brick and paint and an explosion of colors. Dancers line one of the walls already. A project I
completed the first month I started coming up here. Along the opposite wall is my own version of
Eden. Eve and the poisonous apple. And the half-turned face of the man who inspired this creation.
There is longing in his eyes. And fire. So much fire.
I’m still as mesmerized by the piece as I was the first time I stood back to look at the final creation.
The colors are rich and vibrant, the brick a perfect backdrop. The ultimate canvas.
And one that only I can see.
Nobody ever comes up here. To this space. It is mine. To do with as I please. To create and be free.
I set down my bag and remove the materials for my newest creation. The walls were the icing. A
decoration. But as I unroll the paper on the rooftop beneath me, this is the blank space of my