Extraits

Blinking, Skylar turned toward the speaker, a mousy, scrawny, hunched male student with a permanent glower stitched on his face. He wore a dark-blue apron stained with paint, several brushes sticking out of the right-side pocket. The plaid shirt the apron protected was frayed at the collar and cuffs, and it fit the man so poorly it looked like he’d dressed in his father’s closet. His jeans were equally worn, and his tennis shoes sported soles flopping open at the toes.

The man glared at Skylar with dark-brown eyes peering from a shag of slightly curly, too-long bangs as he waited for Skylar’s reply.

Skylar cleared his throat and struggled to find his usual confidence, feeling clearer with the artwork out of a direct line of sight. “Sorry. That painting is so gorgeous it knocked me off my game a little.” Digging his smile out of his stupor, he crawled back into what his fraternity brothers called Silver Stone Mode and stuck out his hand. “Skylar Stone. I’m the risk manager for Delta Eta Sigma. I’m looking for Mr.Xander Fairchild. Can you tell me where I might find him?”

The mousy guy didn’t accept the handshake, and if anything, his scowl deepened. “What do you mean, the painting is gorgeous?”

Skylar turned back to it, rubbing the smooth line of his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I mean that the painting is gorgeous. I feel like I could look at it for hours.”

“The paint is too thick, and the brushstrokes are a mess.”

“That’s kind of what I like, though. The thickness. The roughness. It feels almost 3-D. I don’t know anything about art, so I wouldn’t know a brushstroke is you hit me with it, but I love this painting. Do you know who did it?”

Scowling Guy snorted “Me”.

“Wow. Really? That’s fantastic. I can see someday I’ll be forking over and arm and a leg for the righto hang your work in my living room.”

The artist hunched his shoulders and glared harder. “What do you want?”

Right, no more compliments. Skylar got down to business. “Like I said, I’m here to see Mr.Fairchild. Do you know where I can find him?”

“You already did. Now tell me what you want, so I can tell you no and get back to work.”

“You mean – you’re Xander Fairchild?”

“Yes. And you’re one of the frat boys who spray-painted penises all over my mural.”