25 Skyler Sheds His Layers

July 24th

I hadn't heard from Lucas or Robin in several days, which presumably meant I no longer had any friends. Bianca, one of the ranch hands whose daughter lived near campus, drove me to and from The End Is Neigh, but ever since Darren had showed up at the ranch, I hadn't seen Lucas or Cheyenne at all.

This morning I was doing fence maintenance—some of the horses loved scratching themselves on the posts, which slowly collapsed, becoming increasingly horizontal and stretching out the wires. It was my job to walk along the fence and do the little repairs I could by hand, and mark where we might need new postholes. I'd stopped to rub the nose of Hortense—one of the sillier but sweeter senior horses—when I heard the puttering of a golf cart.

I turned to see Cheyenne Barclay pull up in the "feed wagon," and she hopped out to set a bucket in front of Hortense, who no longer cared even a little bit about me.

"Hey, Skyler." She grinned. Her blonde hair was in a tiny ponytail and a plaid shirt was knotted at her waist over high-rise jeans. It was weird—she looked like a stereotype of her job. "You doing okay?"

I smiled. I'd been hoping to run into her to ask about Lucas, but she'd been away from the ranch on non-horse-related business. "Yeah, thanks. Um. How's Lucas?"

She sighed. "He's okay, poor baby. Just a bad breakup with Darren, which I can't say I didn't see coming. He's staying with some friends right now, but he'll be back soon. I'm sure."

No wonder I hadn't heard from him. For some reason I couldn't figure out, Lucas had really loved his boyfriend, and I was positive that, whatever had happened, it wasn't his fault. "That's awful," I said, trying not to think about Lucas "Eternal Positivity and Sunshine" Barclay being emotionally devastated. "I mean, I did meet Darren once and he was ..." Was talking about this with Cheyenne unprofessional? Screw it. "Kind of a dick to Lucas."

But Cheyenne didn't chide me. She leaned in closer, eyes wide. "He was always a dick! That boy's been toxic for years, and I know why Lucas never listened to me about him, but I kept hoping maybe he'd realize it and break things off. Just ..." Her face fell. "I hate that it ended like this."

I nodded, pulling off one of my work gloves so I could scratch my nose. "I hope he's not being too hard on himself." I hadn't known Lucas that long, only a couple of weeks, but that had been long enough to notice that as nice as he was to other people, he could be pretty mean to himself.

"I hope so too." Cheyenne came over and thoughtfully considered the work I'd done on the fence. "This is looking good! Hand me those pliers, would you?"

I kept working until midafternoon, when Bianca drove me back to campus, then I took a quick shower and headed to the arts building, where Professor Demetrio had asked me to meet him.

I checked my phone as I walked, but there were no new messages. It was understandable why Lucas wasn't responding to my texts. But I still had no idea why Robin was doing the same thing. I hadn't heard from him all weekend, since we'd had tea and I'd told him about ... her.

I hadn't told anyone about her before.

It was a little unsettling to think about how easily it had come out of me, after months and months of keeping my feelings for Delia locked down, knowing they would ruin everything for her and Matt if either of them ever suspected. And for some reason Robin had seemed so eager to know about me ...

He'd wanted to divert the conversation away from his assault.

God, I was stupid.

I still believed that Robin should report Terri—it seemed like the best way to try to ensure his own safety on campus—but had I forced that issue too strongly? We had only just met, and the both of us wanted a friend, and maybe I'd already scared him off. I should've been gentler, should've used that time to make sure he felt comfortable, to talk about something other than that traumatic evening ...

Robin must've been hesitant to text me back. Still, I sent him a quick message to see how he was doing.

The message stayed on read.

Nothing to do but wait. Wait and see a man about a job.

Armand had wanted me to bring someone with me for the run-through, but the only person I would've asked was Lucas, and even if I had heard from him, it didn't seem like he'd be up for naked-model chaperoning.

I reached the art classroom and knocked; a muffled voice called, "Aye, come on in."

The lecture hall was currently abandoned save for the man stooped over the desk at the front. The last time I'd met Professor Demetrio—no, wait, he wanted me to call him Armand—we'd been in his tiny office, where he'd been hunched into a seat. He was slouching now, but was still absurdly tall and broad.

He looked up past scraggly, dark curls, raised his eyebrows, and muttered in that gravelly English accent, "Ah, Skyler, you made it. On your own, then?"

"Yes, sir." I gave him a smile that turned apologetic when he winced. "Right, I forgot you don't like being called ‘sir.'"

"It's fine. Er, shall we get started?" He seemed distracted, but maybe he was nervous. He'd been awkward last time we'd met, though not for any apparent reason. Just, baseline awkward.

He waved me toward a raised platform in the middle of the room. There were a few yoga mats lying on it, side by side. I glanced over at him. "What are those for?"

Armand gave a lopsided smile. "Your knees and hips, mate. You stand that long with no cushion, you'll feel it in your joints."

Immediateflashbacks to the thirty-hour bus ride. "Good to know."

Armand took a deep breath, then launched into it. "I want to start them off with some gesture drawing, so quick poses, no more than a minute and a half each." He clambered onto the platform and struck a pose, feet flat on the mat, knees bent and arms held out in front of him—his bottom half moved like he was doing tai chi, but the arms made him look like he was hugging a barrel. "You can do whatever you like with these, as long as it's dynamic." He turned smoothly, one knee coming down to the mat and his arms rising as if to block a blow from above.

It was weird. His movements had been so nervous and jerky before, but now he seemed natural. Almost graceful.

Armand kept switching the poses, and I realized I should be paying attention so I could get an idea of what he wanted. Like he'd said, it was mostly poses that caught him in the middle of a movement. I was pretty sure I couldn't make the transitions between them that elegant, though. It was like he was dancing.

He stood up straight again. "For the longer poses, we'll do one standing, if that's all right, one sitting on that thing"—he pointed at a foam block—"and one on the floor." He sat down on the mats and leaned back on his arms, one leg folded in front of him and the other lying straight out. "Twenty, twenty-five minutes each if that's all hunky-dory?"

I nodded; there was a lot more to this job than I'd expected. When I posed for Lucas, he usually preferred to capture me in a natural stance before quickly moving to another. Belatedly, I started taking notes on my phone.

"If you get pins and needles, just make a muscle, little contractions." He showed me on his leg, where I could see his quad stiffening and then releasing. "And don't forget to warm up beforehand. Have a good stretch." Then he was quiet for a bit. "Er, Skyler?"

"Yeah?" I was still typing the notes about stretching, and when I glanced up, he'd stood and was awkward and hunched again.

"At the—your other modeling gig ..." He swallowed. "The photographer ..."

"Lucas Barclay," I supplied.

He nodded and bit his bottom lip, hands in his pockets. "Do you know if he's ... all right?"

It took me a moment, but then: "Wait, do you know Lucas?"

"I, er," Armand hedged, "I think I live with him."

No. Way. "Oh my god." I stared at him, eyes widening. "You're Lucas's mystery roommate? You're Mothman!"

Armand's hands flew out of his pockets, and he folded his arms over his chest, rocking on his feet. "He told you about me? And he calls me Mothman?" His eyes widened in horror before he shook himself. "Er, never mind. Do—do you happen to know if—"

"He went through a breakup." I wasn't sure if Lucas wanted me to be telling people his business, but Armand looked so worried. "He's been staying with friends for a couple days. He's not dead, but that's all I know." I couldn't help grinning at him. "Wow, I can't wait to tell him I actually met you."

His face flushed, and he climbed down off the platform. "Aye. Right. Um. Take your clothes off."

I laughed in surprise. "Okay? Buy me dinner first?"

"No! That's not—" He blushed darker and used both hands to push the hair out of his face. "Bugger it, I meant the first time you stand up there starkers, best if it's not in front of a classload of students, eh?"

"Good point," I agreed, and started kicking off my shoes.

"Er, I know you didn't bring anyone along, but shall I grab another member of staff or—"

"I don't think a stranger would make this less awkward," I cut him off with a grin, "and besides, if I can't trust Mothman, who can I trust?"

Armand sighed and turned away to grab something from his bag, which turned out to be a plain white sheet. "This is yours going forward. Things can get minging without your own sheet."

No idea what minging meant, but I finished getting undressed and took the sheet from him, spreading it over the yoga mats. Then I climbed onto the platform and looked out over the empty classroom.

"Brilliant, you're a natural. Make sure not to rest all your weight on one foot during the longer poses." It was weird to see him swing between awkwardness and businesslike instruction. "And if you start having a reaction, let me know immediately."

I frowned down at him. "A reaction?"

He'd gone back to baseline awkward, but it didn't seem to be because of my lack of clothes. "Er, yes. If you start getting shy. Or hives. Or an erection."

Somehow it hadn't even occurred to me that that would be a concern. I tried out some of the poses Armand had done, contemplating how to respond. "Okay. Um. That doesn't happen to me very often, but I'll let you know."

He nodded, as if making a note for himself, then went back to demonstrating the best ways to stand without messing up my joints. It was strangely moving how casual he was acting.

"Is that something that happens with a lot of models?" I asked. "The ... erection thing."

He shrugged. "Sometimes. It's natural." He smiled at me. "Sounds like you've nothing to worry about. Are you cold at all?"

"Nah, I'm good."

Once he indicated I should, I climbed off the platform and got dressed. Even though this was only the second time we'd met, I felt weirdly comfortable with him—maybe it was because I'd just been naked, or because he was so clearly worried about Lucas.

"I know I sound like a broken record—" Armand clasped his hands, suddenly making strong eye contact "—but if you ever feel out of sorts, or want to back out ... believe me when I say I know how vulnerable this experience is. You're, well, literally and figuratively naked. It can be rough ..."

His earnestness was appreciated, and as he spoke, I remembered something he'd said to me before, about having done something like this in the past. "Can I get your advice? It's related but, um, personal I guess?"

Armand broke off, eyebrows high with surprise, but he nodded.

"So ... I know you said it was important to set the tone, or boundaries or whatever, and how this isn't sexual." I leaned back against the desk, letting my arms cross against my chest. Was it weird to be asking him this? I checked in with Armand, hoping I hadn't overstepped our professional relationship, but he simply inclined his head in encouragement. "But I'm worried I won't be able to tell if things become sexual, because I don't usually feel that kind of thing. Attraction or, um, drive. What if ... what if I give off the wrong vibe?"

Armand's shoulders unclenched. "You're not responsible for how other people react to you. I'll boot their arse if they don't follow your lead."

And he would too, I could tell. I let myself smile a little, even though I still prickled with nerves.

"And I don't know if I need to tell you this," he continued, "but there's no wrong way to have emotions."

He left me the opening; I had to push through. "Okay, but, um, what if you can be wrong? Or like, hypothetically, you had accepted that you don't feel romantic or sexual things, but then one day you do, and it's really weird and unexpected, but it hasn't happened again so it must be a fluke, right? Or I just never knew myself in the first place, or I'm lying or—"

"Do you know why I hired a life model?" He dropped his hands to his hips, still making more eye contact with me than he'd managed the entire afternoon. "Rather than having the kids trace stock images?"

I shook my head.

"Because nothing stands still, not really. And that's life, innit? Changing, fluid, never static? Good art captures that. In the same way, you don't always have to stay in one pose, in one shape."

Only someone like Armand could successfully equate my sexuality crisis to his art class. "I guess. Still feels jarring, though. You sure that not being sure doesn't make me strange?"

Armand looked confused for a moment, then his dark eyes cleared. He smiled at me. "No more than anyone else, mate." For a moment he hesitated, as if he were contemplating the pros and cons of patting me on the shoulder before deciding against it. "But if you wanted to talk ..." he continued, his large hands spread to either side.

"Thanks." Somehow, I'd relaxed having verbalized all this: labels, identities, or whatever. My vulnerability felt safe here with him. He'd seen me naked, after all. "This was really helpful. Sorry if I made things weird."

"I think we already established that being weird is not weird." Armand loosened a little, giving that sad, lopsided smile and scratching at his scruff. "All right. Er. See you tomorrow. Don't forget your sheet."

I was almost to the door when Armand said, "Hey, Skyler?"

"Yeah?"

He was looking tortured again. "If you see Lucas—" He shook his head. "Never mind. Forget it."

I raised a friendly eyebrow but didn't push. "It was an honor doing business with you, Mothman. I'm a big fan."

"Get out."