The Crushes by Pamela Wells Page A

back side of the cafeteria. The sky was dusky outside and smoke-gray clouds covered the sun, turning it into a white glowing orb off in the distance.
    “I wish I had my camera on me,” Quin said just as Sydney was thinking the same thing.
    “You’re into photography?”
    He looked at her, furrowing his brow. “You are, too?”
    “Yeah. I actually won the amateur photo contest that the hospital put on.”
    “Yeah!” Quin pointed a finger at her and smiled. “I thought my sister said you won, but I was talking to her on my cell at the time and she kept breaking up. Congratulations.”
    Sydney couldn’t help but grin. “Thanks.”
    “That contest is a huge deal around here,” Quin said. “I couldn’t enter it because my sister works here. You should be proud of yourself.”
    Sydney hadn’t talked about it much, but she was proud of herself. The feeling she’d gotten that day was better than any feeling she’d had from passing an academic test.
    “So, how long have you been a photographer?” he asked.
    “I just started this year, but I have hundreds of photos already. I haven’t yet mastered the art of distinguishing between good and bad, so I’ve kept them all.” She shrugged. “But I think eventually it’ll be good to have them around. Then I can see how much I’ve learned and changed.”
    Quin nodded. “You’re right, there. We are our own worst critics, but after a few years you’ll look back and see that you’re better than when you started. That should count for something.”
    Sydney took a bite of salad, then a drink from her Coke. “So, do you do photography on the side or—”
    “No.” He smiled. “My sister would love for me to go to medical school, but I’d rather be a starving artist than a starving resident. I’m actually going into my sophomore year at the Brooks Institute in California.”
    Sydney’s mouth dropped open. “Serious?”
    He nodded. “I know, it’s big. Sometimes I think it’s bigger than I can handle.”
    “Yeah, it’s only like the best photography school in the country. And also extremely hard to get into.”
    A blush fanned across his cheeks. “Well…”
    “Are you into any other art, then? Or just photography? Because I know the Brooks Institute offers degrees in graphics and film, too.”
    Quin nodded. “They do, but I haven’t taken much of them. I’m into almost all kinds of visual art, so I wouldn’t close myself off to the idea of something different. I mean, I like all art. Including the less accepted forms.”
    Sydney frowned. “What does that mean?”
    “Let me show you.” He unbuttoned his white Oxford shirt. He had on a plain black T-shirt beneath it.
    Sydney wondered what he was getting at when he pulled the Oxford shirt off and she gasped.
    His arms, from the line of his short sleeve all the way down to his wrists, were covered in black tattoos.
    “Oh my god.”
    Setting the Oxford shirt aside, he said, “I’m not supposed to let my tattoos show here, for obvious reasons.”
    Sydney grabbed his hand and held it up, turning his arm so that she could see every angle of it.
    There was a lotus flower on his forearm and a Buddha above it. There were Latin words and dates, stars and strict linear patterns.
    “I never would have guessed.”
    Well, he did have the long black hair, which was sort of odd coupled with the formal dress he wore to work. Still, Sydney had figured the long hair was something he liked. If he’d never taken his shirt off, she never would have known he was covered in tattoos.
    Now that he was in a black T-shirt, several strands of long black hair hanging along his face, Sydney felt she really saw him, that she was looking across the table at the real Quin, and she respected him even more.
    “How was work tonight?” Drew asked, stooping down to kiss Sydney’s forehead.
    She stilled, wondering if she should tell Drew about Quin. She felt she should be honest with him. If he was hanging out with someone at work,