Casey tightened her grip on the pole as the train lurched beneath her. Beside her, Mark shuffled his feet, presumably for balance, but knocked into her anyway, threatening her already precarious mood. She clenched her jaw at the squealing brakes and blast of the overhead speaker announcing their arrival in Queens.
A sleepless night had left her feeling out of sorts, but insomnia plagued her during times like this. She fluffed the hair at her neck still damp from her shower and tried to blink away her weariness. The woman beside her shot her an irritated glance as the train rumbled into the station, so Casey stilled her jiggling leg and inched away.
Mark yawned and gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m glad you set a backup alarm. Leave it to me to set mine for six in the evening instead of the morning.”
His sandy hair covered his eyebrows, and she envied his long eyelashes. Add in his flawless complexion, and Casey couldn’t help but admire his looks. She’d never been interested in dating him, though. Their friendship and arrangement as roommates suited them.
“We’re going to need to buy a coffeemaker if we’re getting up this early every day.” Casey rubbed her eye.
“Not quite this early. I asked you to set it for six to make sure we weren’t late today.”
The train came to a stop. Casey exited the car onto the platform, and her swollen backpack bumped into commuters hurrying to board. As she and Mark ascended the stairs at the Vernon Boulevard-Jackson Avenue station, she squinted into the bright sunlight warming the neighborhood. The temperature never dipped too low in August, even overnight.
Mark motioned to a nearby café. “Erica says the food here is good.” He checked his phone. “We still have forty-five minutes. Want to grab breakfast?” When she hesitated, he elbowed her. “My treat, to celebrate our first day as students of the great Leighton Vaughn. I know you don’t get paid until Friday.”
Casey appreciated his thoughtfulness. While the art store paid her every other week, the coffeehouse wouldn’t deposit her next check until the end of the month. At least she’d have her tips until then, but she’d need them for groceries and her half of the utility bills. Her checking account balance depressed her, and she didn’t want to think about her credit card. “Sure, thanks.” A proper breakfast sounded more appetizing than the granola bar in her backpack, and Mark wouldn’t have offered if he hadn’t meant it.
When they entered the café, the inviting smell of bacon and maple syrup greeted them. Cracked floor tiles and faded framed prints on the walls made the place seem quaint rather than old. So did the way they touted their diner-style fare on the front windows in chipped yellow paint. Customers occupied all of the tables, but she and Mark snagged a couple of stools at the counter and two hot cups of coffee from a waitress passing by with a pot.
Mark studied the sticky menu they shared and ordered pancakes, three types of meat, and eggs over easy. “Hash browns and toast, too. Wheat, please.”
Casey ordered an apple turnover, one of the least expensive side items. With her nervous stomach, she wasn’t sure how much she could eat, anyway.
The server lifted an eyebrow over her red cat’s-eye glasses. “That’s it, hon?”
“You better get an order of bacon, so you don’t steal mine.” Mark stirred some creamer into his coffee.
“Yes, bacon, please.” She’d planned on snatching a strip. He knew her well.
The server slid her pencil behind her ear and slapped their ticket beside the short-order cook.
While they waited for their food, Mark texted someone, and Casey distracted herself by watching the cook crack eggs one-handed onto the flat-top grill. She took a large swallow of her coffee, and her mind wandered to the thoughts nagging at her—more time demands, fewer hours to work, and less money. And what about Andy? Was she being selfish? When a plate slid in front of her, and the warm, sweet cinnamon scent rose from the steaming apple turnover, she sighed. Sugar and caffeine. Just what she needed, if only for now. And within minutes, the rest of their food arrived.
“Why didn’t Erica come with us?” She didn’t live with them, but she had a place nearby.
Mark, lean and muscular in his navy T-shirt, swirled a bite of pancake through maple syrup. How he ate like he did and stayed so fit astounded Casey.
“She wanted to be there early to help get everything ready.” He poured more syrup.
Casey looked away to keep from rolling her eyes. She peeled the flaky layers of her pastry apart. “Is she excited?”
“Mostly because she gets to boss me around in an official capacity.” He didn’t sound thrilled at the prospect.
Mark and his cousin Erica shared an almost sibling-like relationship within their close family, with all the squabbling and competitiveness that entailed. One of the second-year students, Erica would be a teaching assistant in some of their art classes, at least for the first of their two years at the atelier, so she’d have ample opportunity to lord power over him.
Despite her queasy stomach, Casey ate a strip of bacon and a few bites of the turnover. The rest she’d save for later. Mark finished his breakfast while Casey stared into her coffee and wondered if she’d made the right decision.
After paying for their meals and leaving the café, Mark took off down the sidewalk, and Casey struggled to match his long strides. He glanced back and slowed his pace. “Why so quiet? You’re not nervous, are you?”
Nervous didn’t come close. She had so much riding on her acceptance to Atelier Vaughn. “Some. It feels more real today than it has the past few weeks. Now that we’re starting classes, I wonder if I should’ve chosen to work full-time instead. At least I’d have money to pay my bills and debt.” She stepped over a chalk drawing on the sidewalk.
“Your dream isn’t to slave away at two minimum wage jobs the rest of your life to make ends meet. This is your dream, isn’t it?”
She ran her hand through her hair. “Yeah, it is.” The magnitude of how much she wanted this opportunity embarrassed her. She’d even had dreams in which she worked in Atelier Vaughn’s studio, but she never seemed to complete her painting before the dream ended. She wouldn’t be sharing that with Mark. “I’ve wanted to become an oil painter since the first time I stepped inside the Met. As a kid, I hoped one day to create a piece worthy of hanging in a museum. High aspirations for a third grader, weren’t they?”
He laughed. “I never realized you were that young.”
“I knew early.” She gave him a wry grin.
He nudged her. “Do you know another reason you shouldn’t be having second thoughts? No other students arriving today received a full-ride scholarship to go to one of the best art schools in New York, if not the country, me included. That alone should tell you that you’re doing the right thing. Who’d turn that down?”
“Sorry. I’m grateful, I am. It must be first-day jitters getting to me. You know I worry about money, and attending classes will cut my work hours in half.”
He stopped and took her by the shoulders. “Hey, I’m doing this alongside you. We’ll help one another out, and together we’ll make it work.”
He always knew what she needed to hear, and his generosity in giving it touched her. She one-arm hugged him, then pulled him back into step beside her to keep him from noticing the sheen of tears stinging her eyes.
They’d met at the community college where they’d earned their art degrees, but their education had lacked in expertise and left them in debt. It took them an extra year to graduate while working multiple jobs to afford luxuries like their shared walk-up and food. And through it all, he’d been right with her.
Then, last year, Erica had gotten accepted into Atelier Vaughn, and from what she’d told them, the school appeared to offer everything they wanted. The elite atelier only took the most serious students interested in classical realism and ranked personal referrals high when considering new applicants. Casey and Mark had crossed their fingers and hoped their portfolios, coupled with Erica’s letters of recommendation, would be enough to get them in.
It had.
They stopped at the corner and waited for the light to change. This area of Long Island City looked forlorn, with concrete or brick comprising almost everything. Only a few scraggly trees dotted the street. It screamed utilitarian, its purpose pragmatic rather than aesthetic. It was an unusual place for an artistic atelier.
“We could look for better-paying jobs,” Mark hadn’t dropped the conversation, “or find a less expensive, one-bedroom apartment. I’d be fine sleeping on the couch. Let’s not worry just yet. Try to enjoy what we’re embarking on, what you’re embarking on today. You’ve been given a gift, Casey, and I’m not talking about your talent.”
She nodded, and they stepped off the curb in tandem. He was right, as usual, and saw hope where she found worry. It was part of what drew her to him as a friend.
“I’m just as jealous of you as I’m proud of you.” He gave her a smile but rolled his eyes.
Her face warmed at his words. When was the last time someone had been proud of her? She’d never admit it out loud, but she was a bit proud of herself, too. This was important. She’d wanted it, and she’d done everything in her power to get it, painting like a madwoman for a month to fill her portfolio with works she deemed worthy of submitting to the famous artist and atelier owner, Leighton Vaughn.
In the distance, the four red-and-white smokestacks of the Ravenswood Generating Station stood tall along the East River, transporting her back in time to the trips she and her parents made to visit her grandmother in Islip.
That was long ago, she recalled with equal parts fondness and melancholy. Her grandmother died when she was seven. Casey’s life might be different if the compassionate matriarch of her family still lived, but that didn’t matter now. The past was the past.
Over time, she’d learned she needed to be strong and pursue her goals. Her independent spirit and reliance upon herself were two of the few constants in her life. After all, it wasn’t like she had anyone to help her financially. Mark provided emotional support and pitched in more monetarily when he could, but he also struggled to make ends meet, and now he had tuition to pay.
Casey took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly to regroup. Despite her misgivings and second thoughts, she’d make this work. That’s what she did. Failing wasn’t an option.