Pure Red Read Online Free PDF

There’s something intriguing about molding the clay into a product that you can actu ally use. “Maybe ceramics then.”
    Graham pulls his hands out of his pocket and grazes the scar on his arm. Does he know I was staring at it? Am still staring at it?
    “Well, you have a built-in art teacher. Actually better than a teacher.” He smiles big. Not a tooth out of line.
    I shrug. “I guess.”
    “Sorry, I’m probably boring you. You must hear this stuff all the time.”
    “No, it’s fine.” I couldn’t ask for better boy candy. Cute butt. Chiseled features. Those fertile eyes again. Who’s to complain? “You can come over my place sometime. To see my dad’s home studio if you want.”
    Wait, what am I thinking? If I’m serious about finding my passion, Graham is a total distraction. I need to keep my focus.
    He stretches his arms wide. “Really? Your dad wouldn’t mind?”
    “No, not at all.” If it were up to me, the first stop on the tour would be my bedroom. Got a double bed, you know. Grin. Okay, so who am I kidding? But I can’t say no to the owner of such a cute butt.
    “That’s awesome. You’re so sweet.” Graham gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. This is so wrong. A hot tamale is giving me a kiss because he gets to see my dad’s digs. I don’t care; I’m living this up anyway.
    “It’s totally fine.” I walk over to the desk and scribble my phone number on a piece of paper. “Call me.”
    “Cool,” Graham says, nice and slow, like he’s trying not to freak out but his insides are shouting for joy. I guess I’d feel the same way if I was invited into the humble abode of, say, an underwear model or blockbuster movie star. But my dad, puhleese!
    As we make our way to the door, Graham stops in front of Uncharted Waters, a tiny fishing boat navigating the ocean. “What a view!” He breathes in. “I feel like I can smell the fresh salt air.”
    Our condo balcony boasts this same amazing view of the ocean. It’s by far the best thing about our place. Dad’s painted our view many times, and every time it looks different. Blue-black skies and water when a hurricane is threatening or pale blues and greens when it’s bright and sunny outside.
    Being out there on the balcony is one of my clearest memories of Mom. It was just a few months before my sixth birthday. I was so excited about having a Little Mermaid cake, and Mom was outside on the balcony in her apricot Chinese bathrobe. Some days it seemed like she spent all day staring at the ocean, breathing in the salty sea air. She’d be out there when I left for kindergarten, and when I got back she was still leaning on the railing, he r black, black hair blowing loose in the wind. She’d call for me to come join her after she heard the front door shut. One day I asked her why she always stood in the same spot. “The sound of the ocean soothes me,” she said. I didn’t know exac tly what she meant by that, nor did I know she was dying. That she had a tiny hole in her heart. That even with all the medical tests she went through, it went undetected. It was a stroke that finally killed her. She was only twenty-nine.
    It was an unusually cold day for Miami, so she drew me close and said, “The ocean allows you to see whatever you want to see.” I looked up at the swollen black clouds and said, “I see a storm coming.” That was the last time we stood there together.
    –––––
    As soon as I get home, I dial Liz’s cell. Please, pick up, please, pick up. She answers on the third ring. “Hey, Cass, what’s up?”
    I’m sitting on my bedroom floor, against the wall between my bed and my desk. I’m propped up against two huge cushions that used to belong to our old burnt-orange couch.
    It’s a strong contrast to the rest of the décor. My room is decorated in pink coral and littered with floral designs—white curtains with lilies, four silver frames of Dad’s daisy series above my desk, and even a sunflower-shaped wastebasket.