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to Graham to make sure he’s still talking to Dad and hasn’t left yet.
    “Nice.” Thomas runs his hand over his shaved head. “Well, I’ve looked around. Wanna grab something to eat?”
    As nice as Monica’s nephew is, he’s pretty clueless. I’m not sure why he comes to the gallery shows in the first place.
    “Sorry, I promised my Dad I would stay and I haven’t even made it around the room yet.”
    “It’s good stuff, but how long can you stare at a painting?” Thomas swipes a clump of cheese squares off a tray as the waiter goes by. “I’m starving.” He confirms my suspicions—he comes here for the food.
    “Well, I have to get back to Dad.” And Graham. Geez, I wonder if they know each other. Doubt it, though. Thomas is a year ahead of us in school and plays baseball. He’s one of the star players, too. I went with Lucien and Monica to a game last year, and ever since then he’s been really friendly to me.
    “Okay, I’ll probably head out. Some guys are hanging at the Bristol.” He downs the rest of the cheese.
    “Cool. Catch you later.” I start to walk away.
    Thomas is in mid-chew and thankfully does not open his mouth to answer. He nods and throws me a wave. He’s not a bad-looking guy or anything, but we have nothing to talk about. I think Monica knows this, so thankfully she doesn’t push him on me.
    I walk back over to Dad. He reaches for me and gives my arm a squeeze. “Here you are, my love.”
    “Had to get some water.” I move closer to him.
    Dad puts his arm around my shoulder. “Graham was telling me he goes to school with you.”
    “Yeah, we just figured that out.”
    “But I only transferred to Dolphin last fall. Went to Palm Pointe before that,” Graham says.
    That makes a little more sense, Your Cuteness, because it means I’ve had one less year to run into you.
    Monica taps Dad on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but the man in the straw hat has a question about your flower exhibit.”
    Dad holds out his hand. “Good to meet you, Graham. You’ll have to excuse me for a moment.”
    Ah, alone again. Well, not really alone, but as alone as you can be in a room of more than thirty people chattering about the beauty of art.
    I look at Graham. At his yummy, full lips and gorgeous green eyes. And I’m not talking green like Thunder’s envy; I’m talking green like life, nature, and fertility. Fertility, oh yeah, now we’re talking, baby!
    I think he senses me staring at him and smiles. My insides get all fuzzy. I hope that smile is for me, Cassia, not Cassia, daughter of Jacques the Great.
    “Thanks for introducing me to your pops.” Graham slides his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been following his work since I did a book report on local artists in the fourth grade. He’s a big inspiration to me.”
    Okay, so the smile wasn’t for me, but it still gives me a warm feeling for Dad. To think that some guy my age is sitting home drooling over my dad’s art work. I know it’s kind of quirky, but I’m proud of him.
    “What kind of stuff do you paint?” I ask Graham.
    “I started out doing goofy kid stuff like dragons and dinosaurs, but now I’m more into people and places. And abstracts, too.”
    “Cool. Are you in the art magnet at school?” I notice he has a two-inch scar on his left arm. It’s not a clean scar, because p art of it is bubbly. I wonder how he got it. Dragon slaying? Scaling Mt. Everest? Bear wrestling?
    “Yeah. Just finished advanced painting with Mrs. Sweeney. She’s a really cool teacher. What about you?”
    “I draw mostly, but I’m not in the magnet. I didn’t take any art classes this year. I’m thinking about cha nging my fall schedule, though; maybe I’ll add ceramics or photo. I’ll see.”
    “If you take photo, stay away from Mr. Kim. I think he downs too many chemicals.”
    I’m not sure about photo anyway. I don’t love the idea of going around town snapping people’s pics. Pottery might be more my thing.