Chapter 2
1309words
Back home, instead of retreating to her room to process her emotions through art as usual, she spread out a fresh, oversized sheet of paper and gathered her best pens and watercolors. She spent the entire weekend hunched over her desk, forgetting meals and sleep. Her history textbook lay open beside photocopied images of Sumerian and Babylonian civilizations from the library.
She redrew those maps.
This time, she created something extraordinary—marking not just the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, but using different colored inks to distinguish imperial territories across eras. In the corner, she illustrated the evolution of cuneiform script with meticulous calligraphy. When she submitted the report Monday morning, Mr. Davidson couldn't hide his astonishment.
In the upper corner, he circled a bold "A+" in red ink.
Zoe slipped the report into her folder, feeling not the triumph she'd expected, but a quiet, settled satisfaction.
Studying was no longer a chore imposed by adults, but a personal challenge she'd set for herself.
In her sketchbook, alongside her usual landscapes and figures, new subjects emerged—the Washington Square arch, NYU's purple torch emblem, and a series of male portraits drawn from memory, each showing just a blurred profile.
The owner of that profile would occasionally blow into her quiet suburban life like an unexpected breeze.
Like one Sunday afternoon when Zoe was wrestling with algebra equations while Lucas and his friends shouted over video games in the living room. The doorbell rang—Caleb, returning a book and dropping by to hang out.
"Hey, Caleb!" Lucas shouted without looking away from the screen. "Let me finish this round. Make yourself at home!"
Caleb, accustomed to this treatment, just smiled. His gaze drifted to Zoe at the dining table, frowning over her homework.
"World ending again, kiddo?" he asked, strolling over with a teasing lilt in his voice.
Zoe's face blazed. She quickly shoved her scratch paper aside, as if hiding evidence. "Nothing," she mumbled. "Just a stupid problem."
"Let me see." Without waiting for permission, he pulled out the chair beside her and sat down.
A clean scent—sunshine and laundry detergent—enveloped her. Zoe's heart stuttered. She felt his warmth, the brush of his hoodie sleeve against her arm as he leaned in. She forgot to breathe.
"This one?" His finger pointed to the problem. Long fingers, pronounced knuckles, neatly trimmed nails.
Zoe nodded vaguely.
It was a function graphing problem—drawing a parabola from an equation. She was stuck finding the vertex coordinates.
"See this formula," his voice was low near her ear, with a steady, reassuring quality. "The trick is completing the square. First, pull out the quadratic and linear terms..."
He didn't give her the answer outright, but picked up a pen and worked through the derivation step by step. His handwriting was appealing—slightly cursive but mathematically precise. She stared at his hand moving across the page, barely registering his words. All her senses focused on him—his scent, his voice, the soft fabric of his hoodie.
"...so the vertex coordinates are (2, -5). Got it?"
His question pulled her back. She looked up, meeting his eyes directly. They were warm amber in the afternoon light, filled with humor and gentle inquiry.
"Um... yeah. I get it now." She quickly looked down, her cheeks burning.
"Do you really?" He sounded skeptical as he pointed to another problem. "Then solve this one."
This time, Zoe forced herself to focus. She followed the steps he'd shown her, working through the calculation. Caleb didn't rush her, just sat quietly watching. His gaze made her feel like she was taking the most important test of her life.
When she finally reached the correct answer, he chuckled softly.
"See? Not so hard," he reached out as if to ruffle her hair, then seemed to reconsider and lightly tapped her forehead instead. "You're smart, Zoe. You just overthink things."
The warmth from his fingertips sent a tiny electric current through her entire body.
Zoe sat frozen, not moving even after Lucas called Caleb away to join their game.
She raised her hand and gently touched her forehead, where the ghost of his touch lingered.
After that, homework help became their unspoken routine. Whenever Caleb visited and Zoe "happened" to be struggling with math or physics, he'd spend fifteen minutes patiently explaining concepts. Gradually, Zoe's nervousness faded to comfortable familiarity. She even learned to fake concentration on formulas rather than on the movement of his Adam's apple when he spoke.
Beyond homework, they had other moments together.
Once, when Lucas wanted to try a new burger joint downtown, Caleb mentioned having business near campus and offered a ride.
"Take Zoe with you," Mom told Lucas. "Don't always leave your sister home alone."
"She never wants to come anyway!" Lucas protested.
"Says who?" Caleb called from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a wink at Zoe. "More the merrier. Come on, little artist. I'll buy you a milkshake."
"Little artist" was his new nickname for her, coined after he'd glimpsed her landscape sketches and sincerely told her, "You've got real talent."
Zoe's heart fluttered at the endearment.
She raced upstairs to change into her favorite dress.
The burger place had a retro vibe—red leather booths and a vintage jukebox. Lucas and Caleb talked basketball and college parties that meant nothing to Zoe. She sat quietly, nibbling fries and pretending to people-watch while actually studying Caleb across the table.
When listening to Lucas, he'd raise his eyebrows slightly, his focus complete.
When he smiled, he showed white teeth, crow's feet crinkling at his eyes. Before drinking his vanilla shake, he'd always stir it first. Like a collector with precious artifacts, she cataloged each expression and gesture in her memory.
"Hey, Zoe," Lucas suddenly turned to her. "Why aren't you drinking? Don't like strawberry?"
"No," she quickly grabbed her cup and took a huge gulp, shivering at the cold.
Caleb laughed at her flustered reaction. "Slow down. Nobody's going to steal it." He pushed his barely-touched onion rings to the center of the table. "Try these. The rings here are amazing."
Lucas immediately grabbed a handful and stuffed them in his mouth. Zoe carefully took one and nibbled it. Years later, she wouldn't remember their taste—only that Caleb had offered them to her.
Two years passed in a series of "coincidental" encounters and brief interactions.
Zoe grew taller, her hair longer, her skin clearing of teenage acne. Her classmates debated the hottest celebrities and coolest seniors. During these conversations, Zoe would listen silently while Caleb's face floated in her mind.
Those boys were nothing like Caleb. They were immature and showy, like summer cicadas—all noise, no substance.
But Caleb was like autumn—a complex novel worth rereading endlessly.
Her secret grew with her. When her sketchbook filled, she got a new one. The old one went into a locked box hidden deep beneath her bed. She never dared let anyone see its contents, especially the final page.
That page was created after her seventeenth birthday.
That day, Caleb had given her a set of professional German technical pens. He'd apparently overheard Lucas mention "my sister's been getting into art" and remembered.
"Upgrade for the 'little artist,'" he'd joked, handing her the elegant metal case. "When you're a famous artist someday, don't forget to paint my portrait."
Zoe had clutched that metal case like it weighed a thousand pounds.
It wasn't expensive, but to her, it was priceless.
Because it proved he'd been paying attention to her.
That night, Zoe had sat at her desk and carefully opened the case. Taking out the finest pen, she'd turned to the last page of her sketchbook—the space she'd kept blank all along. Stroke by stroke, in her most beautiful handwriting, she'd written a single sentence.
—Must get into New York University.
