“It’s called dry-brushing. You do it real faint, like this, so that only the raised parts get painted. That’s how I get these wicked highlights,” Sandy explained.
He held up a figure of polar magus. The model's skin was a ghoulish, frostbitten blue. The snowflakes on his robe were perfectly outlined and sparkled with silver metallic pigment. It was perfect. In contrast, Sandy’s room was a gyre of soda cans, comic books, and art supplies, all inexorably drawn towards the messiest desk Robin had ever seen. He was doing Robin a big favor, teaching him to paint better. Robin didn’t hear a word. There was an angel in the hallway.
“OK so this is ink wash—you with me, Martillo?
He wasn’t. Robin was completely distracted by the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Yvonne Amsler had freckles, curly hair, and bad intentions. From the hallway, she caught Robin's eyes. She held a finger against her lips and crept into Sandy’s lair, silent as a cat.
“Uh sorry, I spaced out.” Robin said. “Can I see that model?”
“Sure, check out the dark areas around his robe. So ink washes are like the opposite of dry-brushing, they’re great for getting into cracks—ACK!”
In a surprise attack, Yvonne dumped a handful of ice cubes down the back of Sandy’s shirt. Sandy yelped and stood up so fast his chair fell over. He contorted to get them out but they too, were good at getting into cracks.
“Ah!” Sandy cried. He shook himself out, a cube fell out of his pant leg and skittered across the floor under his bed.
“You! And you! You traitor! You saw her coming.” Sandy wheeled on Robin. Robin blinked, caught in the middle, but then he saw Sandy wasn’t actually mad. It was strange to Robin, if he’d pulled that with Una she’d have smacked him into next week. Sandy was the oldest of five, he’d probably seen worse.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“What are you doing in my room, goof?”
“The door was open. I just thought you might be hot,” Yvonne tried to keep a straight face but she cracked up and started giggling. Robin was enthralled. Yvonne noticed him staring and covered her mouth with her hand to hide her braces.
“Uh huh. Don’t be surprised when you wake up tonight and Peter’s in bed with you.” Sandy nodded over at the terrarium where Peter Parker the tarantula eight-eyed them from atop his heat rock.
“You wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t I?” Sandy cracked an evil grin, pressed his hands together and mimicked a spider creeping towards her.
“Eww!”
“Now scram! We’re busy.” Sandy pointed at the hallway to order her out the door.
“Busy with what? Who’s this guy? Why are you wearing a hat inside?” Yvonne bubbled right over Sandy’s command.
“I’m Robin,” Robin stood up, surprised to find his voice still worked.
“What are you, ten? Sandy’s hanging out with middle schoolers now?”
“I’m twelve,” Robin said.
“No way. What school do you go to? What grade are you in?”
“Garfield. I'll be in the seventh grade,” Robin said, uncomfortable. In truth, he’d only gone for two months after transferring and missed a lot of days before the summer began. They still let him pass.
“Well I’m starting eighth grade and I go to Madison. Waaayy better president.”
“Oh my god, no one cares where you go to school, Yvonne. Stop hassling us, get out! I’m trying to teach him to paint.” Sandy’s exasperation was no longer feigned. Robin got the idea it was like this all the time.
“Saaaandy goes to Highland, but no one likes him there. That’s why he has to hang out with middle-school kids.”
“He’s in the club,” Sandy bristled.
“The club is even worse. At least middle-schoolers bathe. Hey!”
After a brief scuffle, Sandy picked up Yvonne and hucked her into the hall. Before she could scramble back in, he slammed the door shut and locked it.
“Sorry about that. Girls are the worst,” Sandy shook his head.
Robin nodded, though he didn’t agree at all.