Art Geeks and Prom Queens Read Free

really loudly when she does that, like it’s gonna break or something.
    “So, Rio,” she says, picking off pieces of white lint from her black cotton smock. “We’re all working on a series of projects, some of which will be chosen for the upcoming art show held every year in Laguna Beach. You’re getting a late start, but I’d still like you to try to contribute something. This year I’ve had each of the students pick a theme, value, or idea and then express it in a medium of their choice.”
    “Can I use photography?” I ask.
    “Sure. Whatever you like. The darkroom is over there.” She points to a door across the room that has a sign on it that says DARKROOM . “I’m sure Mason or Jas will be kind enough to show you around.”
    So, of course, I immediately picture Jas (Jath!) “showing me around,” then I feel myself turn bright red when I realize he’s looking right at me.
    Ms. Tate smiles and says, “I’m looking forward to seeing your work.” Then she rises from the table slowly and carefully so that it doesn’t creak again. But it still does.
    When she’s gone, Mason leans across the desk and says, “You’re into photography?”
    “Yeah.” I nod. Then I look over and see Jas looking at me, so I quickly look away.
    “Who do you like?” he asks.
    YOU!!!
    But luckily I just say “Um, well, I love how Irving Penn shows the beauty in the most simple things, and how Annie Leibovitz gets right inside the soul of her subject, oh, and Helmut Newton’s work is so amazing.” Okay, I could go on and on but I make myself stop before I go too far and out myself as a total geek. I mean, most people my age have no idea who I’m talking about.
    “Helmut Newton rocks.” Jas nods.
    “And I love Irving Penn,” Mason says.
    “You do?” I ask.
    “Yeah, and Herb Ritts and Bruce Weber and Richard Avedon and Mario Testino. Wouldn’t that be the greatest job? To be a photographer?” Mason says.
    “Totally,” I say, wondering if I should tell her how I met Herb Ritts once when he photographed my mom. But I don’t want her to think I’m bragging, so I don’t say anything.
    “So where’d you move from?” she asks.
    “New York.”
    “Wow, I’ve always wanted to go there. What’s it like? Is it better than here?”
    “I don’t know yet.” I shrug, even though I know it is.
    “Anywhere’s better than here,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’ll see.”
    “Don’t listen to her.” Jas shakes his head. “It’s not so bad. We’ve got great weather and awesome beaches. Have you been to the beach yet?”
    “I’ve driven past,” I tell him.
    “You’ve
got
to go to the beach. Do you surf?”
    “I’ve gone boogie boarding in the Hamptons.” I shrug.
    “You should come with us at lunch,” Mason says.
    “Where?” I ask. “Surfing?”
    “No, we’re going to Jas’s house. He lives right at the beach and he’s a great cook, he’ll make you whatever you want.”
    “But is there enough time? I mean, I thought we couldn’t go off campus,” I say, sounding like a law-abiding good citizen.
Gag, why did I say that?
    “Technically that’s true,” Mason says. “But we’re skipping the assembly, so there’s plenty of time.”
    “No worries,” Jas says.
    And when he smiles and pulls his fingers through his bangs, exposing all of his gorgeous face, there’s no way I can say no.

Four
    Jas lives in a gated community with a private beach, in a house like you see on the cover of
File Decor.
It’s like this big, sprawling space on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and it’s filled with all these really cool masks and paintings and sculptures and all this foreign-looking ethnic stuff that Jas says he and his dad have collected on their travels around the world.
    So I go, “Around the world?”
    And he goes, “Yeah. Last summer we went to Morocco.”
    Wow. The only traveling I’ve done is the usual summer exodus to the Hamptons, two Christmas trips to the Caribbean, and countless