Josh knew I was finishing up my portfolio tonight. Swearing, I caught it before it buzzed off my nightstand and tossed it onto the bed next to me. The phone rang again, the same irritating song breaking my concentration. After a few strokes, I realized it wasn't-all I'd done was take a relatively decent drawing and make it worse.
Perhaps it was the reflection of light in my picture that was off. I tossed my charcoal pencil down in favor of graphite. And if he couldn't figure that one out on his own, then he was an idiot. I wasn't interested in dissecting why she was offended that Josh chose to let me drive him to school every day, even though she lived less than a hundred yards from him and he had a car of his own. Problem was, if I didn't figure it out by midnight tomorrow, I'd be out of time.Īssuming it was Josh again, I let it go to voice mail, more concerned with perfecting the sketch than bickering with him over something his neighbor and sometime-girlfriend, Kim, had said. I'd re-created the same drawing five times in the past week, and yet it still wasn't good enough. My phone vibrated on my nightstand, jarring me from the sketchbook I had open on my lap.
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