Leaving Tracks by Victoria Escobar Page B

for the forgotten skates. Almost. There was comfort in this routine as much as there was in my skating ones though.
    When the music kicked on , I was almost done rotating stock from kiln to table and back in again. I still had a few carved pots to glaze, and since the ones that just came out of the kiln looked so well, I wanted to make more in a few different shapes.
    I hummed along to Halestorm as I finished loading the kiln and set the timer. There was something about routines and good rock music that lifted spirits. It didn’t keep my mind from wandering towards thoughts of Hadley. Didn’t keep me from sending positive thoughts out that way, but it helped having something to do with my hands. If I hadn’t, well, I’d have found something to do.
    I hated dealing with the email. It was always ridiculously huge, but it was something Wesley put his foot down on. I would deal with the emails. Wesley would do the rest.
    The email from the University of American Fine Arts stopped my cursing. Curiosity had me open the email and skim it. Shock had me start over and read it slowly from the beginning. I hadn’t had time to do the entrance testing and whatnot; instead, I had sent them the link to my website. That was as good a portfolio as I had time to build at the moment.
    I hastily composed a reply, proofread it to make sure I didn’t sound like a star struck idiot then sent it. Since waiting for a response was as bad as waiting by the phone for a girl to call, I pretended I wasn’t waiting and finished sorting emails and sales slips. Wesley would get the receipts from PayPal for shipping and accounting purposes–the only reason I printed and filed the emails was to compare against PayPal for quality and inventory purposes.
    Deciding against working with glazes– I’d lose track of time and Wesley would have to come get me for supper again–I began the tedious process of pulling inventory off the shelves for shipping. It was a necessary part of retail service; a part that I loathed with fervor usually reserved for longtime enemies.
    I was an artist and as such found it a waste of time to have to stop my process to pack and ship. However, if I didn’t pack and ship then I wouldn’t sell any art and I’d be up to the ceiling in useless pottery. That would definitely annoy Thierry more than he was already annoyed.
    The phone rang as I was fighting with the labeling machine. How the hell had the sticker part gotten stuck on the metal part? And how did I fix it so it stopped ripping the labels down the middle. The phone was only an additional annoyance and I answered it as such.
    “Hello? What?”
    “Can I speak to North Graton?” a hesitant, but pleasant woman asked.
    “That’s me, hold on a second.” I set down the phone long enough to rip the rest of the roll out of the label printer and chucking it in the garbage. “Sorry about that, mechanical difficulties with a printer. How can I help you?”
    “My name is Reaghan with U niversity of America Fine Arts. I’m an academic advisor here at the University. Do you have time to speak about your interest in classes?”
    I sank to the floor as my knees gave out with my surprise. “Yea, ah, yes. Sure.”

Hadley
 
    I rarely took naps. The reason behind that was time–training didn’t allow it–and I didn’t nap well. I always woke disoriented and groggy. After crying was no different. If anything, it was worse.
    The room was lit only by the fireplace. I could smell lavender on the air with something else. Something almost but not quite citrusy. Calm and soothe, I thought as I sat up.
    The motion caught the attention of the person sitting in a chair on the other side of the coffee table. “You hungry?” Glory asked from her partially shadowed seat.
    “No. Headache,” I mused glad the light was low as my head throbbed in time with my heart.
    “Bound to happen,” Glory moved from the chair to sit on the coffee table’s edge. She studied my face. “You could