Read Becoming His Muse, Part Three for Free Online

but you know what? Over the holidays, I really missed Jonathan.” She sighs.
    “Seriously?”
    She nods and says, “Hearts are such fickle contraptions.”
    Fickle or not, I don’t have the heart to tell her I saw Jonathan walking across the quad with Laura earlier today.
    “Tell him how you feel before it’s too late,” I say.
    “Too late for what?”
    I shrug. “Just tell him, if that’s really how you feel.”
    She sighs again. “I honestly don’t know how I feel.”
    “At least tell him that.”
    Then I tell Ruby about Logan’s invitation to go to New York after exams. She is ecstatic for me and promises not to breathe a word to anyone.
    “What if you don’t come back?” she says, leaning over her half-finished plate of spaghetti.
    I laugh. “Of course, I’ll be back. I have to graduate, and there’s the show, and opening night. This trip will be a little taste test, and the inspiration I need to convince my parents.”
    Ruby’s eyes kind of glaze over and she grabs my arm, whispering intensely, “What if…? What if you end up moving to New York and living with Logan O’Shane and he gets even more famous with this new book he’s writing and you’re in the book and I’m your friend and I’ll come visit you two in New York and we’ll go to readings and plays and fancy restaurants and—”
    “—Ruby! You’re getting carried away.” Chuckling, I shake my head. “You and your imagination. Use it for your writing .”
    She narrows her eyes and gives me a mischievous smile. “Hmmm… Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll write a story about you two…”
    “You promised you wouldn’t tell a soul, remember?” I glance around the cafeteria double-checking that no one’s listening to us.
    “But after you graduate, after you’re a famous painter and you two are a couple and you have kids and—”
    “—Ruby stop!” I’m full on laughing now, but I do feel a giddy excitement deep in my belly. I like where her imagination is taking her. But how do I get myself there?…

Chapter Seven
    At Dr. T’s next lecture, Casey gives me a key with sparkly bike handle tassel attached to it.
    “You can keep that one for a few weeks,” she says.
    “Thanks.” I tuck it into my back pack for safekeeping.
    On Thursday, I send Logan the address to Derrick and Casey’s loft on Thurlow and tell him to meet me when he’s finished teaching. I decide to skip Thursday’s classes and do some painting at the loft during the day, which means I can sleep in, since I don’t have to compete for early studio time. I carry over a canvas and my paint box, plus a small overnight bag. I pick up some milk and coffee and things for breakfast plus a frozen pizza to bake later. We will not be leaving this place until we absolutely have to.
    The loft is above a printing shop. An iron gate to the left of the shop blocks access to a narrow flight of wooden stairs. I try the first key. Once up the stairs, I find a metal door painted with graffiti. I’m pretty sure that’s Derrick’s work. He’s a fan of graffiti art. I try the second key.
    When I open the door, I’m engulfed by the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. The light inside is murky and tinged crimson, the effect of several gauzy red curtains over the large windows. The floors are beat up old planks except for a square of linoleum marking the kitchen area, which does not look very clean. It’s when I look up that I nearly have a heart attack.
    Suspended from the ceiling beams are dozens of puppets, about half of life-sized. Some are unfinished, but there must be more than thirty of them. They are dressed in vintage clothing cut down to size. Are they part of DnC’s secret art project? Very strange.
    I carry my supplies inside. The place feels a little creepy. There’s a puppet-free corner with an easel and table set up. And off to one side, not far from the easel, is a low bed heaped with colorful silk pillows. Thankfully, the puppets are segregated from the bed by