Lessons in Love (Flirt) Read Online Free PDF Page B

help being really, really glad that the only elective that had fit in my schedule this semester was art.
    “The art room’s this way,” I said, gesturing vaguely down the hall.
    “So what’s the class like?” he asked as we walked.
    “It’s okay.” I dodged a couple of giggling freshman. “Small. Kind of weird sometimes.”
    That was an understatement. Ms. Blumenkranz, the art teacher, was a world-class wacko. She was always coming up with bizarre new projects, and she gave As to anyone who made an effort. Which was a good thing, since I could barely draw a stick figure, and I needed to keep my GPA up if I wanted to get any academic scholarships someday. Which I did. My family earned too much to qualify for financial aid, but not nearly enough to pay tuition at a top school like MIT.
    “Here we are,” I told Logan as we stepped into the art room, which was big and sunny. Instead of normal desks, there were tables of various shapes and sizes scattered through the room.
    None of my close friends were in the class, so I usually sat with Gabi and Gwen, a couple of girls I’d known since kindergarten. Gwen was sort of a goth pixie—she was tiny and sarcastic with huge gray eyes and an incredibly vast wardrobe of black clothes. Gabi was taller and plumper and liked to wear colorful layers of weirdness she’d put together herself from thrift-store finds. Both of them were into music and theater and stuff like that, and neither of them seemed to care how strange most people thought they were. Basically, they were nothing like my regular crew, but they always made me laugh, and I never felt awkward or unworthy around them like I sometimes did even with my own best friends.
    When I walked in with Logan, the two of them were in their usual seats at our usual table, a massive square butcher block that had probably started life as a kitchen island. Today Gabi had a huge, floppy gingham bow tying back her frizzy blond hair, while Gwen was drawing a fake tattoo on her arm with some colored markers. I shot a quick glance at Logan, wondering how he’d react to the pair. Would he think they were weird? Would he think I was weird for hanging out with them?
    And so what if he did? I was annoyed with myself for even thinking about it. “I usually sit over here,” I told him. “There’s a free seat, you know, if you want it.”
    “Sure. If that’s okay.”
    “Yeah. Ms. Blumenkranz lets us sit wherever we want.” I gestured toward the teacher, who was talking to another student at the front of the room.
    Gabi and Gwen stared at Logan as we sat down across from them. “New kid, huh?” Gwen said, capping her marker and tossing it into the big bin of art supplies in the center of the table.
    “Way to state the obvious.” Gabi laughed. “Next thing we know, you’ll be noticing that the sky is blue.”
    “It is?” Gwen widened her charcoal-lined eyes dramatically and stared up at the ceiling.
    Logan chuckled. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Logan.”
    “I’m Gabi, and this is Gwen.” Gabi stuck out her hand for him to shake. She and Gwen didn’t seem the least bit intimidated or impressed by Logan’s good looks, which surprised me a little. Then again, maybe it shouldn’t have. Not much fazed those two.
    “Logan, huh? Cool name.” Gwen looked him up and down appraisingly. “You ever do any acting?”
    “Leave him alone,” I told her with a grin. Then I glanced at Logan. “These guys are seriously into theater. If you don’t watch out, they’ll drag you off and start putting makeup on you.”
    “Real men wear makeup,” Gabi informed me.
    At that moment Ms. Blumenkranz clapped her hands. The art teacher was almost as old as my great-aunt Ellen, though much taller and slimmer. She always wore long, flowy dresses and tons of chunky jewelry, and her close-cropped hair was dyed a vibrant shade of green.
    “Pipe down, young artistes ,” she said, putting a fancy French flourish on the last word. “It’s time to