Devon Hartford - Reckless

Romeo goggled at me. “What did we do to her last night?”

“I think maybe champagne is her kryptonite,” I suggested, somewhat worried myself. “It must be her one weakness. She drank so much on the yacht, it’s tipped her over the edge.”

“That’s right!” Kamiko beamed. “Thank you guys! I don’t know what I was thinking. I wanted a Mimosa all along!”

I wanted to glare at Kamiko and steer her back on the straight and narrow with some tough love. But frankly, I was afraid that if I said anything she would bite my face. So I glared at Romeo instead, because I needed to glare at somebody .

“Don’t look at me, Sam!” Romeo pleaded. “The yacht trip was Christos’ idea!”

I glared at Christos and folded my arms across my chest. “That’s right! It was your idea, Christos. What have you got to say for yourself?”

“It’s not like I was handing her drinks all night,” Christos said calmly. “She’s a big girl. But if this keeps up, I’ll be happy to stage an intervention.”

“Calm down, you guys,” Kamiko said forcefully. “I think I had maybe five glasses all night. I would’ve stuck to my limit of two if Romeo hadn’t thrown me in Brandsome’s arms on the dance floor. I got all nervous and couldn’t stop thinking about him after that. Champagne was my only recourse. So if I want to have a Mimosa for breakfast, you all can shut the fuck up.”

Christos chuckled.

“Brandsome?” Romeo chuffed. “You mean Brandon? ”

Kamiko smiled bashfully.

“You’re crushing on Brandon?” I blurted.

“So?” Kamiko blushed, “he’s hot, isn’t he? Is that okay with you guys?”

The waitress arrived to take our drink orders. At the last second, Kamiko ordered straight orange juice instead of a Mimosa. My mounting guilt over corrupting her innocence subsided instantly.

When the waitress was gone, Romeo asked, “Who’s ready for classes to start tomorrow?”

“I think I need a week’s vacation after last night,” Kamiko groaned. She folded her arms on the table and rested her head on top of them.

“What classes are you guys taking this quarter?” Christos asked.

“I think Kamiko’s taking Napping 101,” Romeo joked.

“Grrrr,” Kamiko mumbled.

I totally didn’t want to think about college right now. It reminded me that I had another Accounting class to look forward to for ten more weeks, plus more Sociology and History. I did have Oil Painting, and I was happy about that. I’d signed up for it at the last minute, a fact which my parents didn’t know. But the thought of accounting turned my stomach. Meh.

“I can’t wait to start the term,” Romeo beamed. “I’m taking Intro to Acting, Intro to Playwriting, Figurative Sculpting, and last but not least, Oil Painting 10, with Sam and Kamiko.”

I goggled. “What? Those are all classes? Like, actual college classes?”

“Yeah,” Romeo said quizzically. “I am double-majoring in Art and Theater, remember?”

“But your schedule sounds like…fun,” I sighed.

“You’re taking Oil Painting with me,” he said encouragingly, having sensed my distress. “That’s going to be a ton of fun.”

Maybe it really was time for me to change my major to Art. I couldn’t let Romeo have all the fun. But the mere thought of it made me nauseous. What would my parents say? Maybe I didn’t have to tell them. Not right away, anyway. I could wait a few days before giving them reason to kill me. Groan!

Our breakfast arrived shortly thereafter.

Kamiko snored through hers, Christos had a conservative four egg omelet, and I pretended that my future wasn’t a Bill & Linda Smith-shaped time-bomb waiting to blow up in my face. Sigh.

Fake smile!!

SAMANTHA

We drove back to my apartment after breakfast. Romeo and Kamiko hung around for a few hours until Kamiko was finally up for the drive back to her dorm on campus.

When they were gone, I suggested Christos and I go for a stroll on the boardwalk.

“Do you wanna do some crayon paintings?” he asked.

“That’s a great idea! There’s a new café I’ve been meaning to try.”

We grabbed paper and my box of crayons and headed down to the boardwalk. At the café, I found a table outside while Christos ordered our drinks. I was so tickled to be sitting outdoors on January 1st. In the sun, no less. Not even remotely possible in D.C. this time of year.

Christos arrived with an Italian soda for me and an iced tea for him.

“You remembered!”

“What?” he scoffed.

“That I love Italian soda!”

“How could I forget? It’s been less than a month since the last one you had,” he smiled.

No matter how much he dismissed it, I loved that he knew what I liked to drink. “What flavor did you get me this time?” It was a green one I didn’t recognize.

“Celery.”

I grimaced. “Celery? You’re not serious, are you?”

He grinned. “No. It’s kiwi.”

I took a sip. “Mmmm, I love it! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” Christos opened the box of crayons for us and we both went to work on our own crayon paintings for a time

“So,” he asked, pausing to peel back the paper on his lemon yellow crayon, “you still planning on changing your major?”

“I’m thinking about it,” I sighed while selecting a crimson crayon from the box.

“You sound like you’re not sure.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

“What’s worrying you?” Christos asked.

I leaned back in my chair and looked around the café while collecting my thoughts. I noticed an older couple sitting next to us stealing glances at our crayon pictures.

I don’t know what it was, but whenever I was out drawing in public with Christos, people wanted to watch. It wasn’t just because of hot-bodied Christos either. Sure, women were always checking him out, but when we were drawing, the people seemed genuinely interested in what we were doing. I guess it wasn’t every day that you saw people over the age of eight or nine drawing with crayons in a public place.

“Lost in thought?” Christos asked.

“Oh, sorry. What was the question?”

“Changing your major to Art?”

“Oh yeah. Hmmm. I’m worried my parents will freak when I tell them I’m changing my major to Art. They’ll probably threaten to send me away to a convent or make me get electro-shock therapy.”

“That’s crazy,” he said dismissively while sipping his iced tea. “Don’t they see how talented you are?”

“Don’t you remember what they were like over Winter Break?”

Christos nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, they did seem somewhat uncertain about the whole idea.”

I choked out laughter while shading purple shapes on my drawing. “Somewhat? You literally told my dad you made over six figures in one night of selling paintings at Charboneau, and he acted like that was something that only happened to other people, like you were a myth or something.”

Setting his crayon down, he grinned. “Just because your parents don’t realize that an art career is an actual possibility for you now , doesn’t mean they won’t come around eventually. Maybe you have to prove how serious you are. Show them all the steps you’re taking.”

“I feel like the only way they’re ever going to believe Art is a valid career choice is if I show them the mansion I bought with my as-of-yet unearned art earnings, and a hefty art-funded retirement portfolio.”

Christos smirked. “I get it. It’s just not real to them. So put a piece in the Contemporary Artists show at Charboneau Gallery. When you sell it, you can show the check to your parents. Take a photo of you standing in front of your painting during the show.”