Come Friday, I wake up late and have to rush to class. Rudolf and I ended up getting together last night for a bit, but he seemed distracted the entire time. It's like he doesn't know how to react to having people to talk to or something. It's kinda sad. I tried to keep the conversation going, but it's like he didn't know how to respond to even the most mundane questions.
In class, everyone's sitting around waiting for the professor. I take a seat next to Rudolf.
"Hey," I say.
"Hi," he responds.
"Nervous?"
He shrugs. I wonder if he'd even care if everyone trashed his piece. He doesn't seem like he cares about anything.
No matter how hard I tried to get started on this project, in the end, I just threw something together. It's honestly pathetic how outside my skill-set this style of art is. I thought about asking Rudolf for help last night, but I felt too weird. I was mostly done by that point anyway, and it felt like a death sentence to scrap my project last minute.
Whatever. At least after this we only have one more painting due for the final. I'm so over this.
Last night, I was messaging Cameron to bitch and he told me to come to this party with him tonight and unwind. I knew he'd hassle me if I said no, so I just agreed. Hopefully, it will be better than last week. I'm going to invite Rudolf too, but who knows if he'll want to come after last time.
"All right, let's start with this piece," Flores announces, pointing to a random painting on the wall.
This tall dude who never shuts up raises his hand to say it belongs to him. Ugh. I wish she'd picked mine first like last time. I like getting this shit out of the way. That way I can relax for the rest of class and watch everyone else sweat.
People go around the circle and make vague comments about how they like the color palette and other unhelpful shit. I don't bother saying anything and neither does Rudolf. The painting is fine. It's nothing special.
After we go through the critiques on a few more pieces, we finally make it to mine.
"It seems like you spent more time on this one," the guy from earlier says. "The focal point is really commanding, which could be a good or bad thing. It's sort of hard for me to evaluate this as a whole because I keep getting stuck on that one spot."
The professor looks at me, probably wanting me to make some sort of statement about my creative process, but I have nothing to say. I don't care what people think of my work.
Cameron says that's part of my problem.
A few other people offer suggestions on how I could improve and I really do try to listen, but I seriously give zero shits about this painting or this class. I just keep tuning people out. I think everyone catches on because we move on pretty quickly. Rudolf is still sitting next to me, so Flores picks him to go next.
"Uh, yeah, it's that one," he says, pointing to the painting hanging at the end of the lineup.
We sit quietly for a minute while everyone formulates their opinion. I already saw Rudolf's painting last night while we were working together. He said he wasn't feeling very inspired, but at least he got this one done on time.
Finally, this girl named Fiona seems to figure out what she thinks.
"The composition of this piece isn't very balanced," she says.
Ouch.
I glance at Rudolf, who looks surprised. Then he looks annoyed.
"The green is too saturated," Fiona continues. "Especially on the left side. I think you could have gotten better movement if you lightened it up a little bit."
I look back to the painting and stare at it critically. I'm not sure if I agree with her. Then again, it's not like I know jack shit about abstract.
"Yeah, I can see what you're saying," another girl who I forget the name of agrees. "I think you could have put more work into this. The colors are too heavy. I think you should redo the entire bottom part."
Jeez, they're really laying into him. A few other students add equally harsh comments and by the end, I feel like I must have literally no idea how to judge art.
I look back at Rudolf. He looks pissed off and severely unhinged. He brings a hand up, rubs a palm over his forehead, and then says, "Well, my last painting wasn't even fucking finished, so I think you're all just full of shit."
I feel my jaw drop because I did NOT expect him to say that. I didn't expect him to say anything.
Rudolf gets out of his chair so fast it tips over. He stomps over to his painting and rips it off the wall before heading for the door, chucking his work in the trash. Everyone stares and no one says a damn word. Not even the professor.
Rudolf kicks the trash can over and then swings open the door, slamming it behind him.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Should I go after him?
Flores looks startled and so do the rest of the students, but none of them move. They just sit there, frozen, looking like idiots.
Ugh. Typical.
I roll my eyes and get out of my seat, heading for the door. I'll go find Rudolf and talk to him. I'll bring him back to class. Sometimes critiques get out of hand and people's feelings get hurt. He doesn't have anything to feel bad about though. We all get our work shit on eventually.
On my way out, I stop by the garbage and grab his painting. Luckily, I don't think there's any damage. The cleaning guy empties the cans every night and since we're just using today for evaluations, there aren't any trashed paint palettes hanging around.
When I get into the hallway I glance around, but I don't see Rudolf. He probably booked it straight out of here. I guess I don't blame him. He seemed really upset.
I zip down the stairs and catch him before he can storm out of the building.
"Rudolf!" I call, but he doesn't slow down. I groan to myself and jog up to him. He glances at me but doesn't react. His expression is perfectly neutral again. If I didn't know better, I would think nothing was wrong.
"Oh, hi," he says.
I guess he's going to pretend he didn't hear me. Whatever.
"Hi. Are you okay?"
"Completely fine."
I raise an eyebrow. "Look, crits can be really shitty and overwhelming, but we all get ripped into sooner or later."
He still doesn't react. He looks away from me and stares straight ahead. I keep following him, waiting for a response.
"I don't care," he finally says.
"You made a big scene for someone who doesn't care."
"Well, they deserved to hear it. They have no original thoughts. Fiona started it and everyone just agreed with her. It was like a big fucking circle jerk."
"Um, yeah," I agree awkwardly, pushing out the post on my lip piercing. "Don't throw your art away though, all right?"
I hold the painting I'm carrying out to him, but he doesn't take it. He doesn't seem convinced.
"Don't let whether or not other people like it determine how you feel about your own shit," I insist, hoping it will make him feel a little better. "Besides, I think this one looks good."
"Then keep it," he deadpans. "I literally don't care."
"Dude…" I mumble, but Rudolf doesn't stick around to hear anything else I have to say. He turns away from me and trudges through the parking lot back in the direction of the dorms, leaving me standing there with his painting.
Jesus Christ. There's more I want to tell him but it doesn't look like it's going to happen. He probably just wants to be left alone.
Guess the party invitation is a no.
With his painting still in my hand, I wander back inside and head to class. Awkwardly, I open the door and let myself into the room. Everyone looks at me, but it seems like Flores is wrapping today's lesson up. I sit back down for a few minutes until she lets us leave.
This is such shit. I guess crits are a pretty lame idea when it comes down to it, but I didn't think anyone would ever react like this. I've witnessed a couple of breakdowns and some tears, but Rudolf was explosive. I didn't think he had it in him. Maybe it's not the worst thing in the world, though. Maybe this means he can stick up for himself.
After classes, I head home and decide to grab a bite before getting ready for the night. I text Rose and ask if she wants to tag along, but she says she's too tired from work. It's not surprising, because she tends to hate this sort of scene. I do too, but whatever. It is what it is.
I send a message to Cameron too letting him know that it will just be us tonight. He doesn't bother replying. I probably won't hear back until he's literally on his way to get me or at my front door.
Finally, when it's nearing ten, I hear my phone buzz.
No Rudy? the message reads.
"Nah," I reply but don't go into detail. If Cameron wants to know what happened then I'll explain when he gets here.
About fifteen minutes later, I get a second text telling me to come outside. I bundle up and lock the front door behind me because Megan and Danielle are already in bed.
Cameron's parked out front. I slide into the passenger seat and say hey.
"Hey. So, Rudy didn't want to come? Not surprising after what happened last time," he snorts, like the entire thing is funny to him now.
"He kind of freaked out in class. I didn't bother inviting him. He was in a bad mood."
"Oh, yeah?" Cameron asks, sounding disinterested as hell as he pays attention to the road.
"Yeah, we had a crit and everyone in the class ripped into his painting," I say. "He got up and chucked his painting in the trash before stomping out. It was fucked."
Cameron laughs. "Wow, seriously?"
"Yep," I nod. "I felt really bad for him. I even tried to get his painting and go take it to him, but he said he didn't want it and didn't care. I even said I liked it but then he just said keep it and pawned it off on me."
"Tch," Cameron clicks his tongue. "Did you take it?"
"It's like, in my bedroom," I jab a thumb back in the direction of my house.
"You're gonna keep it, yeah?"
"Yeah," I confirm. "I mean I do actually like it. I wasn't just saying that."
"Well, the people at our school are idiots," he scoffs. "Half of them never even sell a piece to someone other than their grandparents so I don't know how the professors expect critiques to be accurate at all."
"Yeah, I'll say."
They've always seemed like a ridiculous idea to me. Rudolf's right in his anger. Half the class is always full of shit, trying too hard to sound like they know what they're talking about.
"No one likes crits," Cameron continues. "But I guess he should probably learn how to handle criticism if he wants to be an artist."
He pauses and then adds, "Maybe he doesn't want to be an artist, though. He seems like he doesn't know what the hell he wants at all."
I nod. "Yeah, that's kind of true."
For his sake, I hope he figures things out. It sucks going through life with no plan. I don't have a plan either, though, so maybe I'm just being a hypocrite. Before I can think too hard on that, we pull up in front of a house that already looks overrun with people.
"This it?" I ask, unbuckling my seatbelt.
"What do you think?" he snorts.
I squint my eyes at him but follow as he gets out of the car.
"There should be some people here we know this time," Cameron tells me.
"Like…?" I press, hoping he doesn't mean Jackson.
"Patrick, that crew," he tells me. "Lydia unfortunately."
Ah. I actually like Lydia. If Cameron ditches me to flirt or "make connections" then at least I'll have someone to talk to. That whole group of people is fine. I think they're full of themselves, but anything's better than awkwardly hanging by myself in the corner and getting way too drunk. As long as I'm socializing, Cameron won't hassle me. The last party was nice until that Jackson guy fucked it all up. That pissed me off.
At least I got to know Rudolf better. He's full of surprises. He proved that today by freaking the fuck out.
When we head in, Cameron nods and says hello to various people as we move to the kitchen for drinks. Cameron goes for a beer, but I decide to mix myself something. Nothing special. I survey the room. People are coming and going, refilling their cups and chattering loudly.
"Outside?" Cameron offers after a moment.
He must not see anyone he recognizes. If he did he'd be trying to talk.
"Sure," I comply. "Wanna smoke?"
"Yeah, whatever," he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a pack, tossing it my way.
I pull a cigarette out and put it between my lips as we walk through the house and out to the front porch. When we get there, I hand the pack back to him and dig around in my pocket for a lighter.
"I kind of wish Rudolf came," I admit. "It was fun having him around last weekend."
"You could have tried harder to convince him," Cameron scrunches up his nose. "I mean you didn't even ask, right? Maybe he would have wanted to come."
I guess that's true. Ugh. I'm bad at this shit. Cameron should have just asked Rudolf himself. He probably would have been more likely to say yes to Cameron anyway. They probably bonded when they were in my room.
"I didn't want to piss him off even more," I justify.
Then again, maybe being at a party would have put Rudolf in a better mood. Whatever, fuck it. I'll just invite him to the next one. I'll nag him about it if I have to. It'd do him good to get out as much as possible.
Cameron rolls his eyes. "He's probably already over it."
"I don't know, man. You weren't there."
"Was it that bad?" he asks.
"It was pretty bad. I didn't expect him to blow up like that. I didn't think he was capable of it."
"He's pretty fucked up," Cameron says, laughing.
He takes a long sip of his beer. "It's not that shocking, I suppose."
I nod, not really knowing how to expand on that.
We stand there for a minute, smoking in silence, when Cameron tells me he wants to find another beer.
"Cool," I say and he disappears into the house.
I wonder if he's gonna get distracted. That wouldn't surprise me at all. He always finds someone who interests him and of course, anyone Cameron wants to chat with wants to chat back. Sometimes I get sucked in, but not often. It takes a lot of effort for me to make small talk like that so I usually just get brushed as Cameron's stuck-up friend. Having Rudolf around was nice because he was honest and for once there was someone more uncomfortable than me. Fucking hell. I really should have tried harder to get him to hang out tonight.
It probably would have been as good for me as it would for him. It would have been less awkward, too, because I wouldn't be hanging around alone. I feel like Cameron will inevitably ditch me at some point. He always does.
I lean against a railing and sigh, finishing my cigarette and flicking it onto the pavement below.