The Campus Gallery Ch 02

Oliver showed up on time the next evening--barely. He hesitated outside the gallery door, glancing at the murals again before taking a deep breath and stepping inside.

Quinn was already behind the desk, sketchbook open, her pencil scratching softly against the paper. She didn't look up.

"Not late," he announced, setting his backpack down behind the counter.

Quinn smirked but kept her eyes on her drawing. "Progress."

Oliver leaned on the counter, peering at her sketch. A loose, expressive portrait of a woman's face was taking shape, the eyes shadowed, lips slightly parted. "That the next anonymous self-portrait?"

She glanced up then, arching an eyebrow. "Nah, just doodling."

"Your 'doodling' looks better than most people's finished work."

Quinn huffed a small laugh, flipping the sketchbook closed. "Flattery's cute, freshman, but it won't get you out of cleaning duty." She tossed him a microfiber cloth. "You can start with the glass cases."

Oliver caught it, grinning. "The highlight of my night."

As he moved to the first display, he glanced around the quiet gallery. The low hum of music played from the speakers, the scent of paint and aged paper hanging in the air. Something about the space felt... different tonight. Or maybe it was just knowing that Quinn had painted that self-portrait. The knowledge sat in the back of his mind, coloring the way he looked at her now.

The painting had been on his mind since she told him that it was her. The brush strokes, the colors, the play between light and dark, the curves, her curves. It wasn't just that it was her, but the talent she has. It was far better than the other works in the gallery, including the faculty and the few well known artists on display.

He wanted to ask her about it, but didnt know how to bring it up. "So," he said, polishing a case. "The murals around campus--did you design them all?"

Quinn glanced up from her sketchbook. "Most of them. A couple were collaborations."

"They're incredible," he said, meaning it. "There's this one--by the library--of the woman reading, her hair turning into ink. That one's yours, isn't it?"

Quinn's lips quirked. "Yeah. That was my junior year project."

"It's my favorite. The lighting, the play between the dark and whimsical, you have a unique style."

She studied him for a beat, something unreadable in her expression. "You really like art, huh?"

Oliver shrugged. "Guess I just like when something makes me feel something."

"Umm..."

She knew it was coming, ever since she admitted the self portrait was hers. The coolness of the gallery had nothing to do with the goosebumps forming on her arms and back. It excited her, knowing that he saw her so exposed, and had been thinking about it.

"So.. the other painting, why anonymous? It's such an amazing piece."

"You think i'm an amazing piece?"

"I didn't mean that," he stammered.

"So you don't think i'm an amazing piece"

"I.. I just can't imagine..."

"Oh, what exactly are you imagining?"

Before he could answer or dig the hole deeper, she cut him off. "Maybe I didn't want every pervy freshman with an art kink knowing exactly what I look like naked."

He was speechless, he felt like she had gutted him and knocked the wind out of his chest. Until he looked up at her and she was smiling, holding back the chuckle.

"Chill Ollie, i'm just fucking with you." He finally caught his breath, and was able to laugh with her.

Quinn tilted her head slightly, considering. Then, she stood, grabbing her keys. "Come on."

Oliver frowned. "Uh... where?"

"Just lock the front door and follow me."

Intrigued, he did as she asked, following her through the dimly lit gallery. She led him toward the back, past faculty pieces and alumni work, stopping in front of a locked door. Without a word, she unlocked it, pushing it open to reveal a set of stairs leading down.

Oliver hesitated. "You're not about to murder me, are you?"

Quinn snorted. "Not today, freshman."

With that now familiar smirk, she descended. Oliver followed, stepping into what felt like a different world. The basement was larger than he expected, the air thick with the scent of oil paint and varnish. The walls were lined with canvases--some finished, some only half-realized. A long wooden table in the center was covered in brushes, tubes of paint, and sketchbooks. A single lamp cast golden light over the organized chaos.

"This is..." Oliver trailed off, taking it all in. "Your studio?"

Quinn shrugged, "My Batcave," leaning against the table. "Or something like that. It was just an old storage room, mostly. But I work down here when I don't want people bothering me."

Oliver turned slowly, his eyes landing on a large canvas near the back. It was covered with deep blues and shadowy reds, layered in thick, expressive strokes. And at the center--a figure, curled in on itself, obscured yet open. Exposed.

He exhaled. "This is you?"

Quinn didn't answer, but she didn't need to.

Oliver stepped closer. "It is."

He turned, meeting her gaze. "But why? This is... real. Raw. It deserves to be seen."

Quinn crossed her arms, expression guarded. "Not everything is meant for the public."

"Then why put the other piece in the gallery?"

"Well part of it was I just didn't want everyone to know what my vagina looks like. Also, I painted that in my first year. The few people who knew I painted it said it was my best work so far and I wanted it in the gallery, but I was awkward and shy. No one had ever seen me naked before and it made me so vulnerable and exposed. So i submitted it anonymously"

Oliver nodded slowly, understanding. "You said yesterday that every artist has some form of trauma, is this yours?"

"Part of it, now when I see people looking at it, not knowing that it's me, it's exhilarating, it's a rush, it makes me so..."

She trails off.

"But yeah that's my trauma, plus the abandonment issues, ADHD, and an insatiable addiction to Mountain Dew Code Red" She laughs off the question.

He turned back to the painting, letting the silence settle between them. After a moment, he said softly, "You capture things people don't say out loud."

Quinn let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. "And you see things people overlook."

A beat passed. Then--

"Alright," she said, pushing off the table. "Show's over. Back to work, freshman."

Oliver grinned, following her up the stairs. He wasn't sure what this was yet--this quiet pull between them--but he knew one thing for certain:

The gallery had just become his favorite place on campus.