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people.
    “Aww. Just… come on. You’ll love it, and you haven’t been to the new workshop yet. Neither of you have.” She touches my arm for a moment and then starts walking. “I’m looking forward to seeing some new work from both of you. I know that you, Hunter, haven’t done much drawing in the last couple of years. Are you feeling up to it this year?”
    “Definitely. I was working on something new this morning.” Hunter walks on my other side. Now I’m between them and I can’t do anything but just follow them. “I guess that actually knowing that I should be working on my art, and having deadlines, works better than playing to be working on my art.”
    I can’t imagine not working on my art. Even when I’ve been at my worst, I was always creating. Then I remember what Hanna said, something really bad happened to him—something that made him drop out of class and get into trouble and stuff like that. I look up at him. When he talks about his art, he’s just a different person, he relaxes and even smiles. But when he came into class this morning… that was a whole other Hunter. The darkness in his eyes and the scowl… So not attractive.
    Then we stop, standing in front of a modern building. I wouldn’t have guessed that this would be the place, but it says it on the door: ‘Winter’s Workshop.’ I laugh. That sounds like a Christmas shop, not a place for artists.
    As Tamara opens the door I can already hear voices inside, loud voices. To the side, in the hallway, there is the steel bench that Hunter showed me a picture of yesterday. I’ve seen his art for years without knowing it.
    Hunter sits down on it, sprawling. “I didn’t think you’d keep it.”
    “Why not? It’s functional and shows that my students are the greatest.” Tamara waves us further into the building. “Out here there are the toilets, the storage room and my office. You need to be through here.” She steps into a large open space.
    When I say large, I mean huge. It is maybe three floors high and as large as a gymnasium. In one corner a couple of people are trying to raise some white curtains with ropes and pulleys and other things. It doesn’t look very safe. Just off to the side there is a tripod with a camera on it. They must be some of the other artists.
    “Tamara!” One of the boys from the group comes over, a big smile on his face. “We’ve nearly got the curtains up. We got them for a couple of bucks at the thrift store.”
    “That’s great. Do you think you can make it work?” She follows the guy to the others and Hunter and I stay, looking around. There are some paintings, some clay statues, other mediums, all strewn around the room. When I look up, I realize that even the lights overhead are pieces of art. I’ve definitely been away too long. Just seeing all this art in one place makes me want to stay here and work on something myself. Just being here makes me want to be creative.
    After a while, Tamara comes back to us. “This is the main room. There are some small, more private, rooms off to the side. And upstairs there is a small kitchen. We’ve got anything you need here.”
    “Do you have stuff for scrap metal?” Hunter gives her a look like he’s challenging her. This must be something that they’ve discussed in the past.
    “Okay, almost anything. You know that metal and welding supplies would be much harder to store.” She rolls her eyes with a smile and walks to the other end of the room. There are some couches and a door to the outside. “We’ve even got some outside space, for spray painting, but also to just hang out if you’d want. Also”—she looks at Hunter—“no smoking inside.”
    “I assumed as much. I wouldn’t do that with all the cloth and paint fumes.”
    We step outside and there are more couches out there too. Tamara sits down on one.
    Hunter pulls out his cigarettes and lights one as he slumps down on another couch. They both look at me and I lean back against the