Devon Hartford - Reckless

Was it possible to sell ten crayon paintings a month? That would be $1,500, which combined with the $400 from working at the museum, would probably be enough for all my bills. I certainly had time to draw that many.

But would I be able to sell all of my crayon paintings, month after month? Or would I end up sitting down on the boardwalk with stacks of crayon paintings laid out on one of those knitted blankets from Tijuana, and a sign that said “Prices reduced!” and the number “$150” would be Xed out, along with the numbers $125, $100, $75, $50, $25, $10, $5, $1.99, etc., all the way down to “FREE! Please take one!”

It seemed all too likely.

I needed to find a job with a paycheck while I still had a roof over my head.

I ended up submitting a few other applications that I doubted would turn into anything because the jobs actually sounded cool and paid well.

Was it time for me to hit the bricks tomorrow and follow in the time-honored American tradition of working for a fast-food chain restaurant?

We told you so!

Shudder.

I texted Madison to see if she was awake. When I didn’t hear back from her, I called Christos. No answer from him, either.

I did have ice cream in the freezer.

I walked into my kitchen and opened the door. It was like a winter wonderland inside. Icicles everywhere, surrounding creamy, sugary escape. I could spare the calories. I’d been good. I’d barely had any ice cream in weeks. And I didn’t think I’d had a single spoonful over Winter Break with Christos.

I opened up the container of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. There was hardly any ice cream left inside. I mean, it was almost half gone. Or some amount less than half-gone, but nowhere near a full pint. Because two good spoonfuls already gone was at least a half pint, according to my math. Anyway, it was going to get freezer burn sooner or later, then it would go to waste, and I was not one to waste food. Not when there were children in third world countries who never got to eat ice cream. Ever.

I would eat it for their sake.

I swear I would’ve shared, had any of those children been present in my apartment. I sort of wished they were, because I think the joy on their faces would’ve filled me up better than the ice cream. But I was all alone, and had no choice.

No ice cream would ever go to waste on my watch.

SAMANTHA

My same pattern of school, homework, job hunt, and no Christos continued for the next several days.

Lame!

I managed to actually hook up with Madison on campus a few days later. It was the first time I’d seen her since I’d dropped Managerial Accounting.

We met for lunch in the Student Center.

“Mads! So good to see you!” I said.

Madison wrapped her arms around me. “I totally missed you, girl!”

“Me too. You wanna get fish tacos?”

“Hells yeah,” Madison said.

We walked into the food court and got in the long line. I worried about spending the extra money, but I couldn’t ask Madison to have protein bars for lunch with me. Meh.

“So, how’s Dorquemann?” I asked.

“Doctor Dorquemann is the greatest sleep aid known to man. I think the medical school on campus has researchers in the lecture hall recording the sound of his voice every day, trying to pin down the exact pattern of frequencies that Dorquemann uses when he lectures. I hear they’re trying to get FDA approval already.”

“That good, huh?” I smiled sympathetically.

“No biggie. If I’m ever going to run my own company, I have to learn this stuff sooner or later.”

“You want to run a company?”

“Yeah,” Madison said, “Jake and I have been talking about it. He wants to start his own line of surf clothes, maybe even open a shop here in San Diego. If he wins a few more competitions and gets some good endorsements, he’ll have enough of a name and enough extra cash that we might be able to do it.”

“Look at you,” I smiled, “Miss Go-Getter. That’s awesome, Mads. I totally think you could pull it off.”

“I just wish I was taking more of the upper division Marketing classes for my major. I need to learn all that stuff, like, yesterday!”

We finally made it to the front of the line and ordered our fish tacos. I tried to pay, but I’d already told Madison about my job hunt, and she refused.

“It’s on me,” Madison said. “When you’re a world-famous artist, you can pay.”

“Thanks, Mads.” I went and filled up salsa containers for both of us. I’d grown increasingly accustomed to hot sauce, and couldn’t seem to get enough. Plus, extra hot sauce was free, unlike extra guacamole. Sigh.

We took our trays outside to eat. It actually started to sprinkle, so we found an inside table.

“So, how’s the new major coming along?” Madison asked.

“Other than my sculpting professor hates my ass, and my looming financial ruin, I couldn’t be happier.”

“Do you want to move in with me?” she asked seriously.

“Is one of your roommates moving out?”

“No, but I have a big room. We could share.”

I smiled at her, almost in disbelief. I couldn’t get over how supportive she was. I’d never had friends like Madison in high school. I didn’t realize friends could be so generous. My eyes watered, but I did my best to keep my tears to myself.

“What about Jake?” I asked, trying to hide behind my napkin. “I don’t want to cramp your style.”

“Oh,” Madison groaned, “my cramps have been cramping my style since Wednesday.” She folded over and clutched her belly. “I’ve been having a bad case of the Monthlies all day today.”

“See,” I giggle-sniffed, “you don’t need me adding more blockage to your hoo-ha than you’ve already got.”

She shook her head. “I’m serious, Sam. If it becomes a problem, and you need a place, you’re welcome to my apartment. Jake and I can always go to his house.”

“Wow, Mads, I totally appreciate it. Based on the way my job search has been going, you may have more than one monthly visitor in February.” I hoped my joking would disguise my imminent tears of gratitude.

“As long as you don’t make my cramps any worse, I will consider it a blessing,” she groaned. “I feel like I’m going to give birth to a tampon baby.” She grunted. “I think it’s going to be a redhead.”

Grimacing, I set the remaining half of my fish taco on my plate. “Well, I’m done eating.”

Madison cackled with laughter, “Sorry!”

SAMANTHA

Christos and I had dinner on Sunday night, but that was it. Groan. Had my predictions been right all along? Was he going to always be too busy with his burgeoning career to find time for a relationship with me? I hoped I was wrong.

On Monday, I went to the campus art museum after History class to report for my first day of work.

Mr. Selfridge turned out to be totally cool. He showed me how to operate the cash register and explained the ground rules. This job was going to be cake.

“We don’t get a lot of traffic during the week,” he said, “mainly art students like yourself. They come in to study the paintings and sculpture, and they get in free with a valid Student ID. But you do have to punch them in.” He showed me how on the cashier’s computer. “When it’s slow, feel free to do your homework behind the counter. Just make sure that you set your work aside for any customers.”

“Got it,” I smiled.

“Well, that about covers it. I’m going back to my office. If you need anything, ring my phone. But I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Mr. Selfridge,” I smiled as he walked back into the museum.

The museum didn’t have a gift shop, but there were a number of books behind the counter for sale. Since no one was coming in, I perused the shelves. One of the books was ‘Retrospective: A life outdoors, the art of Spiridon Manos.’ I picked it up and flipped through it. So much beautiful work. I’d seen a few of these paintings in Spiridon’s home, but most were new to me. He was truly an amazing landscape painter. I flipped to the back of the book and saw that most of his paintings were on display in major museums around the country, even a number in Europe. Wow, Spiridon was a total art rockstar.

And his grandson was on the way to being one too.

Over the next several hours, three people came into the museum. All of them were art students, two I recognized from Life Drawing and Oil Painting class.

This job was super easy, which was perfect because I had homework to catch up on.

During a lull, I texted Christos.

Thinking about you. <3

I hoped for an instant reply. Nope. It took about ten minutes before he texted, I’m always thinking about you, agápi mou. Miss you.

I replied, I miss you more ;-) What are you doing right now?

I didn’t receive a response. Sigh.

I opened up my Sociology reading and did my best to read through the assignments I’d fallen behind on. I kept checking my phone, making sure I hadn’t missed an incoming text. After half an hour with no response, I made sure my alert volume hadn’t somehow been turned off, or that my battery hadn’t died, or that aliens or hackers hadn’t hijacked my phone and changed my phone number.

Nope, everything was fine.

Except Christos was too busy to text me back. Should that have bothered me? I don’t know, but it did. Was I being too needy?

Eye roll.

When it came to being needy, what was the official demarcation between “too” and “the right amount” of needy?