I woke that morning excited and anticipating the day ahead. Today was going to be awesome. My graphic novel would finally have an art style. Well, sort of. I was going to my first art class. I was going to try and pick up as much of the basics as I possibly could. And then I would apply that to help find my own art style. And I would be able to illustrate my own story.

I wrote a short story when I was twenty. It was when Nick and I were still best friends. He inspired the short story. Even after we were no longer friends, he played a huge part in my writing journey. Because Nick was the perfect best friend. And he set the bar high for what I felt a boyfriend needed to be like.

No. Nick and I were never a couple. But I saw how he treated his girlfriend. It was out of respect for her that we decided our friendship needed to stop. There was nothing for her to be jealous about, but it felt wrong to make Nick choose me over her. To be talking with him late in the night when he should be talking to her about things that bothered him. It was a matter of trust. He wanted her to trust him. And it turned out to be the right decision.

I was the maid of honor at their wedding. I remember telling Nick and Jeanine, in my toast, how they would need to lean on each other through the tough times. And I made it clear that I would be stepping down from my duties as the shoulder Nick leaned on. Because even though he was like a brother to me, I knew he and Jeanine were going places where I was no longer needed. It hurt to say goodbye. But it was a good hurt.

***

When I walked into the art class, I was surprised how few students there were. But it didn't matter because I immediately felt it would mean a better chance to ask the teacher questions and get her advice. I walked right up to an unclaimed easel and clipped a piece of fresh paper to the board. I glanced around the room. Many of the students were young men. I was one of five women. Not terrible. But if once there was a female live model at some point, it would definitely make me a little uncomfortable.

My dad always referred to anything about me as 'Virgin'. Because I never laid eyes on a naked man or woman. I never listened to R-rated music or audio. I never spoke a foul word. Even down to how I'd never been in a relationship. It was a little rocky with Nick at first, because Dad thought a relationship was the end result. But a lot of this would be a lie if he actually stopped to realize I was no longer seventeen, and I was now living on my own. I watched Helen of Troy with my mother when I was fifteen. The actress was practically naked through most of it, and there were heavy love-making scenes. My eyes were not so virgin after that.

"Good afternoon class," the teacher, Ms. Marcy said, as she walked to the front of the room. "I want to formally welcome you to my class and I would like to get to know you a little first. Who are you and what are you looking to gain from attending my class?"

She motioned to a young man, who sat across at the easel across from me.

"I'm Matt," he said; his fingers were already dirty with charcoal, so I assumed he'd already begun drawing something. "I'm here to draw and paint. I've been making art since I was six. I guess I am looking for something fresh."

Something about Matt was familiar, but I couldn't dwell on it because Ms. Marcy was now asking me to introduce myself.

"I'm Emilia, but I prefer Emmy," I said, taking a deep breath to calm the anxiety that was building in my chest. "I'm an observer. I like watching and seeing the beauty in everything. I've always wanted to be able to capture that beauty somehow. I know how to capture it in every possible way, except through art. So here I am."

"I'm very happy to have you in my class, Emmy," Ms. Marcy smiled and moved on to someone else. As I was settling back onto my stool, I glanced at Matt. He was staring at his easel with such ferocity and passion, as he worked determinedly on whatever he was probably sketching. I wished I could work like that with my art.

When Ms. Marcy gave the class our first assignment, I almost didn't know what to do. I was supposed to take something from within the room and draw how I perceived it. My gaze fell on Matt and his easel. I could see every detail of his face. It was beautiful and so full of mystery. It hit me and I knew what I wanted to draw.

The lines of my pencil were light and gentle, but I sketched quickly. I drew Matt's easel first. Just something to branch from. And then I worked on the face. I had a photographic memory, but it was amazing how I felt to be capturing the moment. At one point, Ms. Marcy came and watched over my shoulder. I was afraid to even look at her. So I focused on my drawing. Nothing else existed. Just me, the paper, and my muse.

The class ended a couple of hours later. I smiled at the drawing before me. I was impressed with my first real try. It was Matt and his easel, blown up so his expression could be seen. And something about it was so mesmerizing. I didn't know if it was because I was happy with my attempt, or because Matt was such an amazing example of the hidden beauties I wanted to capture. That was the mystery and beauty I saw beneath the surface.

"Julia," Ms. Marcy said as she went around the room to see everyone's final artwork. "I think if you turned your focus to looking at the complete picture, you might not have such frustrating results."

I wasn't looking at Julie's drawing. She was sitting somewhere behind me. But I guessed her drawing was a bit of a mess. Ms. Marcy zig-zagged throughout the room. When she stopped at Matt's easel, she beamed with pride.

"I don't think you need me to say anything," she said, pinching his cheek the way a grandmother would a cute child. "You keep doing what you're doing."

Matt chuckled and shook his head. His hand went back to work as if there was something more he wanted to draw. Ms. Marcy finally came to me. When she didn't say anything at first, I thought that maybe my drawing wasn't as impressive as I thought.

"Emmy," she leaned her hand on my shoulder and held her hand out in front of the paper. "Is that how you see Matt?"

I blushed from embarrassment and glanced at him for a brief second. He wasn't looking at me, but I knew he'd heard the question. His arm was frozen, as if waiting.

"Um," I stuttered, not sure how I would answer.

"Perhaps I might rephrase," Ms. Marcy said as I looked at her. "What made you choose Matt as your subject? Explain how I can understand what you are trying to express."

I exhaled and relaxed. That made a little more sense.

"He just had this expression of determination," I replied, moving my fingers over the drawing of Matt's eyes. "And as someone from an outside perspective, I kinda wanted to try and figure out what he might be working on. So, an onlooker might look at him and see this mysterious artist. I might not know what he's working on, but we can see he is passionate about his work and he is putting his entire being into it."

I didn't realize I was looking at Matt while I said this. But when he looked up from his easel and looked me right in the eyes, I wondered if I'd said something weird. I knew for a fact that sometimes I could say things that didn't make sense. Even when they made sense in my head.

Something came over me when Matt looked at me. I couldn't figure out what it was. But it made me more curious about him.