Indigo Read Free

as the class laughs. “My old fingers are too big for these small buttons!” He adds grinning.
    We make our way down the list and I listen as everyone eagerly tries to think of fun answers to the questions, but describe themselves at the same time. So far there are 3 painters, and 4 musicians, one person who hates rap music and another who loves magic tricks. The class is a mix of all grade levels, but I’m surprised to note there are mostly upperclassman. I can’t help but wonder if I’m the only freshman.
    There is one girl who introduces herself as a transfer student starting her second year; a light skinned girl named Sabrina. She has big brown curly hair and is wearing a long colorful bohemian type dress. She makes me laugh when she admits to the class that above all, she hates men. I can tell she’s a girl who says the first thing that pops into her head, and doesn’t think twice about it. I envy her confidence.
    “I’m Kennedy Keats.”
    A deep and abnormally rough voice grabs my attention, and without thinking, my eyes follow the sound. The owner is sitting two rows over by the window, his body relaxed in his seat, forearms resting comfortably on top of his desk.
    “I draw,” he continues, and I immediately have a hard time picturing a pencil in his large hands. As I give him a once over, I can’t help but notice that everything about him seems abnormally large. The widths of his shoulders are near twice the size of the back of the desk, and I can tell in an instant that he must be well over six feet tall. The gray t-shirt he’s wearing fits snugly against his thick arm muscles, and I swear I can count the cords of tendon I see on his neck. He doesn’t look like a meathead or any of the juiced up guys I’ve seen around here, though. His body is lean, as if he came by it from sheer hard work. 
    This guy is FIT. It’s clear to me he takes impeccable care of his body and it’s also clear to me my eyes have been lingering on him a bit too long.
    As if he heard my errant thought, he smiles and I see a small dimple appear on the side of his lip. Smiling almost shyly, he runs a hand through his dark brown hair. “I’ve been working mostly on scenery my past two years here, but I want to work on drawing people this semester.”
    He shifts, facing his body outward toward the aisle and my eyes drink in the different view. Narrow waist, strong thighs, and a boyish smile that I blink twice at. “I love taking things a part and putting them back together, like car engines or computers, and I hate waiting, for anything. I’m an impatient person.”
    A few comments are made while I fleetingly consider the contradiction, wondering how he can take the time to methodically figure out how things work, but always be in a rush. His voice trails off, but the tone of it seems to linger in the air. I realize I’m still staring at him when his eyes flick over to mine and our gazes touch. Immediately I turn to the front of the room, cheeks heavily flushed.
    I barely have a moment to gather my thoughts when I realize Professor Klaeger is looking at me expectantly. Everyone shifts noisily around in their seats, as if they had been waiting for an excuse to do so. Really? The obvious gawking bothers me, but I sit up straight and put my hands in my lap, quietly clearing my throat. You can do this!
    “I’m Indigo Olsen.” I smile stiffly. “I dance…mostly ballet, but I enjoy all types. I love the Christmas season, everything about it. The songs, the music, the atmosphere. And I hate….”
    My eyes fall to a girl in front, who is intensely staring at me, her eyes wide as if she’s hanging on my every word. What does she think I’m going to say that I hate? Torture? Guns? Kidnappers? An absurd urge to laugh at her penetrating expression almost overcomes me, but my nerves only allow a small smile to flitter briefly across my face. What would they do if I told them the truth? My eyes float to Kennedy’s again before I can