Phoebe hated picking favorites among her friends, especially considering how long they had stuck together.  But she couldn’t help it when she just gravitated to some more than others.  She was closest to Keesha, that much was obvious.  The two practically told each other everything.  But even with Keesha, who had helped to pull her up off her knees and gain some confidence in herself, Phoebe still felt like she had to puff out her chest and choose her words carefully.

That was never the case with Tim.  He just had this presence...this warmth to him.  Phoebe didn’t feel the pressure she usually did with him around.  Not that a little pressure now and then from her friends was a bad thing.  Everyday she found herself coming out of her shell more and more.  But if she just wanted to be quiet for a day, without pushing any of her own boundaries, Tim let her do that.  She was more comfortable with him than anyone else - even Keesha.  Maybe even her father, just because of the age difference.  They just clicked.

Today in particular, Phoebe came over to his house after school to study.  His mother let her in, explaining that Tim was busy on the back porch spraying down a newly finished piece with sealant, and that she was more than welcome to wait in his bedroom.

On his desk was a stack of works in progress.  Phoebe knew she shouldn’t have been flipping through them, but hers was an innocent curiosity.  Since he had started to get serious with his art, he seemed to be working at it nonstop, and Phoebe only saw perhaps a tenth of his work compared to all those years ago.

Sketches of the view from his bedroom window, school projects, swatches of watercolors he kept meaning to use but never did.  It amazed her that Tim had a comfort zone when it came to his art; he seemed like the type of artist who could do something spectacular with just about anything you set in front of him.  Then, at the bottom of the stack, Phoebe found something that made her jaw drop.  A big sheet of heavy drawing paper with an almost finished portrait splayed across.  Her portrait.  He was drawing her.

The photo he used for reference was proudly displayed on the corner of his desk: a group picture all of them had taken over their summer trip to the lake.  Arms thrown around each other like one eight-headed organism, they were all pulling some sort of silly face, except for Phoebe, who was too busy laughing at something someone said.  Her eyes were pinched closed and her stringy wet hair was floating at awkward angles.

Tim and his magic touch had copied every single detail about her and brought it to the page with a softness Phoebe had never seen in the photo before.  The crinkles in her eyelids and her laugh lines.  The way the hair at her temples curled around.  The angle of her collarbone and the shape of her lips as she laughed a good, honest laugh.  Tim was meticulous about his details - Phoebe thought most of his work belonged in a science textbook - but that didn’t mean his pieces were cold and structured.  Particularly this one.  If she dare say so herself, Phoebe had never seen herself look so...lovely.  And clearly that’s what Tim saw or he wouldn’t have chosen to draw her in the first place.

There was a smaller piece of the same thick paper clipped to the corner of the drawing with swatches of color - pastels, from the look of it.  She could see it had taken him several attempts to reach her skin tone and the exact reddish brown of her hair, as well as appropriate shadows and highlights.  For a brief moment, she wondered how he would have planned to color her eyes had they been open.

Footsteps echoed down the hall and that’s when Phoebe remembered the bedroom door was wide open.  She drew back her hand as if electrocuted, allowing the stack of projects to fall back where it was and remove all evidence of her spying.

Tim flashed her a brilliant white smile the moment he caught her.  His hair was getting longer, and the wind had blown it into a new unique shape.  He smelled like chemicals and fresh cut grass.

“Hey, Phoebs.  Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait.”