The art building was modern, large, and so spacious that John wondered how the hell he was ever supposed to find Aureus. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he walked through a long white corridor, smelling the oily scent of paint and hearing music coming from somewhere. She'd definitely said it was down here, but it wasn't until he heard the warm bubbling of her laughter that he could pinpoint which studio she was in. Pushing the door open, he stuck his head into the room. "Hey!"

Aureus looked around from the tall black woman she was speaking to, and he saw her eyes lighten when she recognized him, which made him smile. "Hey there, yourself," she said. "Come on in. I just gotta go wash up, and then I'll be right there."

She and the woman disappeared into an anteroom, and as John slipped into the studio, he heard the sound of water running.

Floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall bathed the studio in white Carolina sunlight, catching sparkling dust motes in the air. There were canvases everywhere, piled up against the walls, on easels, lying on the floor, but it was the ones hung on the far wall that captured his attention. Looking around to check if Aureus was still busy, he hesitantly approached the pictures.

They were a series of life studies, each portraying the same woman, all of them nude. He let his eyes wander over the pictures, feeling his heart swelling. Each curve, each stroke, was beautiful, and it was all he could do not to put out his hand to feel the roundness of a hip, a breast, the smooth arc of a shoulder. It was the first time he'd been overawed by a naked form. This wasn't porn. This wasn't himself in the mirror—this was true beauty, and he felt an overwhelming ache inside him. Imagine, he thought, looking into the mirror and seeing her. Imagine for a moment being so beautiful. And the rush of emotion was so real, so strong, that for a second he thought his head might explode with it.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" asked Aureus.

"Huh?"

He came out of his thoughts like re-surfacing from a dive, shaking his head to clear it.

"I said, they're beautiful, aren't they?" Aureus smiled at him.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. Beautiful didn't even begin to cover it.

"They're always looking for models, you know, if you fancy stripping off," Aureus said, struggling to get her sweater over her head.

The room was air-conditioning cold, but outside was still burning hot.

"Yeah, right," said John.

He knew she was kidding and let it slide, but the thought of taking off his clothes in front of strangers actually made him feel physically sick. But it wouldn't if I looked like her, he thought, taking one more glance at the portraits on the wall. If he looked like the model, he'd walk down the damn street naked.

"It pays okay," Aureus said, flicking her blonde hair back into place and stuffing her sweater into her bag.

"Mmm, think I might go for a job in the library or something," John said, finally tearing his attention away from the pictures. "Heard they're always looking for people there."

"Not a bad plan." Aureus zipped up her backpack. "You free for the afternoon?"

"Got a bio lab at four-thirty, but till then, I'm yours. What's the plan?"

"The plan is cheese fries," Aureus said with a grin. "Apparently they're legendary, and I'm starving."

"Lead on, then, my lady," John said, bowing.

As Aureus pushed open the studio door, he couldn't resist one last look at the paintings, the anonymous woman turning her face away as the sunlight caressed her body.

***

"So . . . rush," said Aureus as the waitress placed a steaming plate of fries covered with cheese and bacon on the table in front of them.

"Rush where?" John said, putting out a hand and getting his fingers burnt as a reward.

"Wait until they cool down, idiot. And not 'rush' as a verb—'rush' as a noun, double idiot."

"Ugh, you mean fraternities and sororities and shit?" he asked. "Not my scene. Are you thinking about it?"

"Being surrounded by a bunch of drama queens?" laughed Aureus. "No, thanks. But I am thinking about the parties. There are awesome rush parties, and it'd be a good chance to meet some people, try out your new social skills, you know?"

"Yeah, I might skip those." He took a fry more carefully this time and blew on it.

"Now look."

Aureus put her elbows on the table and stared at him seriously. Knowing he was in for a lecture, John put the hot fry into his mouth and sighed.

"You have to come out of your shell. You gotta meet people, make friends, and have some fun, for God's sake. It's what college is supposed to be about."

He nodded. She was right, undeniably. "I guess, but frat parties? Really?"

"Either you go to a frat party with me on Saturday, or you accompany me to church on Sunday morning. One or the other. Either way, you'll meet people." She unwrapped a fork from a napkin and delicately speared a cheese fry.

John grimaced. "Fine. I'll go to the party. For an hour. And you can't leave my side. Okay?"

"Deal."

***

"Do I really look all right?"

They were walking through the dusky campus, the heat of the day fading away. Aureus looked at his button-down shirt and khakis.

"Yep, it's what all the other guys will be wearing. Now stop being such a girl; you look fine."

She herself was dressed in a short denim skirt and a tight t-shirt, her endless legs stretching down to pumps.

"You look amazing, Aur."

He could barely take his eyes off her smooth, tanned legs. And in the back of his mind lurked the images of the paintings he'd seen. Several times in the last couple of days, he'd let himself daydream about the model. He'd thought of going to see her while pretending to pick Aureus up from the studio, but he'd restrained himself, knowing the pictures could become one of his obsessions. Something them, like the things in the box, would have to be hidden away. They gave him feelings he couldn't explain. He had outgrown these obsessions; he had no room in his life for them. He had other things to do. Parties to go to, for example.

God, he couldn't believe he'd let Aureus talk him into this. Then she smiled at him and was obviously happy he'd decided it was worth an hour or two of his time, however uncomfortable, to make her happy.

"Thanks for coming," she said, reaching out and grasping his hand.

"Yeah, no probs."

He squeezed her hand and kept hold of it all the way to the frat house, feeling the fragile, bird-like bones and impossibly soft skin and wondering what it felt like to touch things with hands like those.

***

The frat house was buzzing. There were people everywhere, spreading over the yard, sitting on the steps, thronging inside. The air smelled like cheap cologne and beer, and raucous shouts of laughter and screams of joy could be heard. Aureus squeezed his hand once more, then let go.

"Come on, just for an hour, okay?" she pleaded.

Her smile sealed it for him, and he walked beside her through the crowds on the front porch and pushed into the frat residence. A haze of smoke hung over the open hallway. There was already someone passed out at the foot of the stairs. Trying not to look anyone in the eye, John followed Aureus through the house until she stopped by the door to the back porch.

"Just where I thought it'd be," she said with satisfaction, pointing to a beer keg. "Hold on right here, and I'll be back."

She was gone before he could say anything, and obediently he waited, leaning against the wall to appear as casual as possible. In a couple of minutes she returned holding two red cups.

"Aur, you sure about this?"

She nodded. "It'll make you less nervous. Promise."

He'd only ever sipped from his father's beer before, but with the thought maybe drinking would make him seem more normal as well as less anxious, he gulped the ice-cold fluid, barely tasting it.

"Whoa, slow down, soldier," said Aureus, looking at his almost empty cup. "I'll get you one more. Then you're on your own, 'cause queuing for drinks is no fun."

The second beer made him feel warm inside, though it was also cold. He suddenly felt more relaxed and wondered why he'd never drunk before. He was happy to tail Aureus and even spoke to a couple of people she introduced him to. He lined up for his own third drink, noticing the guys were congregating around the beer keg.

"Hey, Birdman," said Aureus in his ear. "Wanna go dance?"

Shrugging, he nodded and followed her into the house. They found a dark room where music was blaring and people were already drunk enough to dance. But one look was enough. The way they were moving, the way they casually touched each other, the thought of his skin touching someone else's, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He almost couldn't breathe at all, and when Aureus tried to pull him by the hand onto the floor, he shook his head. Out of nowhere a guy appeared, tugging Aureus to dance, and she was gone. Feeling momentarily stranded, John drained his cup and slowly backed out of the room.

What now? Well, the beer was where the guys were, and his cup was empty, so why not? Filled with Dutch courage, he strode to the beer keg, holding out his red cup. And it was only when he got there he noticed J.P. standing with his arm loosely around the waist of a short blonde girl.

"Yo! Ladybird!" J.P. shouted.

John had a split second to think things through, but the alcohol clouded his brain, and his feet propelled him forward.

"Ladybird, let me introduce you to my date," J.P. slurred. "This is Brandy, and this here is Ladybird, faggot and all-around weirdo. And where's your date, Ladybird? He gone to take a whizz?"

The shaking had started, and John's head was spinning.

"No, wait," J.P. was saying. "You came with Aureus, right? Where's she at?"

In a sudden burst of what seemed like comradery, J.P. slung an arm over John's shoulder and leaned in, breath heavy with beer. "You know, I totally tapped that," J.P. whispered. Laughing, he let John go.

John turned and found himself surrounded by frat guys, their khakis and shirts indistinguishable from his own, the smell of testosterone suffocating him. He pushed through them, hyperventilating. This wasn't something he could do. He dressed like them, drank like them, but wasn't one of them. And fuck it, he didn't want to be. Didn't want to be drunk J.P. screwing beautiful Aureus. Didn't want to be sweaty and hairy and intoxicated and God knew what else. Didn't want to be.

He was sobbing by the time he made it out onto the quad, jogging as breath tore from his chest, slowing to a walk only when he couldn't run anymore. He stopped, taking ragged breaths until he could calm himself, slowly starting to walk again as he scrubbed at his eyes with his t-shirt. It wasn't until he'd blinked away the last of his tears that he found his feet had taken him to the art building.

Looking up, he saw lights. There were still people inside. He couldn't stop himself. Pushing open the door, he walked the long, empty corridor, conscious that at any moment he could be seen, until he found the studio he wanted. It was in darkness, but the door was unlocked.

He slipped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. Safe at last, he leaned against the wall in the dark and slid down until he was crouched, his arms around himself. This wasn't working. He'd thought he could pretend until he was real, but he couldn't. He wasn't like them—he was and always would be different. He blinked again, denying himself the luxury of crying again. Instead, he took deep breaths. J.P. Aureus. How could she? No! It was none of his damn business. It wasn't the sex act that bothered him, though he thought it probably should. It was the sudden feeling of being surrounded by men, being drowned in them, being not one of them. It had terrified him.

John pushed his hands into his eyes, feeling the pain and seeing sparkling stars from the pressure. He knew. He'd always known. He knew exactly what the problem was. Ever so slowly he stood, his hand brushing the wall until he found the light switch. The fluorescent bulbs hummed then flickered to life, and as soon as he saw her, he was calm. He walked to the wall, drinking in each picture, one at a time, each curve, each pose, each brush stroke.

Deep in his heart he admitted it to himself, told himself what he'd known all along. The words burned into him and frightened him and exhilarated him all at the same time. He wasn't jealous of her. He didn't want her. He didn't love her. As his hand reached out to touch the swell of the portrait woman's hip, he closed his eyes.

The problem was, he wanted to be her.

His eyes shot open, his stomach began to tremble. Fleeing the studio as fast as he could, not caring who heard or saw him, he managed to get outside of the building before he vomited. Stale, sour beer cascaded from him, his eyes stinging as he dropped to his knees. And when he was done, he wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and stood. Why him?

"Why me?" he yelled as loud as he could to the sky, his shouts echoing around the empty courtyard. But there was no answer.

*****