He was modeling for us. All the students have to take turns modeling for the art classes. I was just lucky that he had shown up in mine. Mostly I don’t notice the models. Hank was different. I hadn’t been able take my eyes off him. I thought he was human perfection.
I formed the Plasteel into several long cylinders, hardening them with freeze-gel. I attached the cylinders to the hemisphere.
I had willed him not to notice me. Tying to hide my painting, I attracted his attention. He looked at my work, took a deep breath, and told me that it was terrible. I wasn’t expecting honesty. I agreed and detailed everything I thought was wrong with the painting. He laughed his deep, good-natured laugh. It was at that point that I fell in love with him.
I continued to work the Plasteel. I formed section after section of long, curved, flat panels, hardening each as I finished. The addictive, sweet odor of the freeze-gel made me smile.
Hank’s a lot nearer Graduation than me -- in twenty-second form. Mom and Dad want to tell me that he’s too old to be my sigpair, but they can’t come right out and say it since we’re both still students. He’s listened to a lot more instructional discs than me. He can even read, something that’s Forbidden until twentieth form. Despite that, he’s teaching me how. My folks say he’s a bad influence on me. They’re right about that.
When the panels were finished I stuck them together. Then I added loose Plasteel, shaping around the framework.
We’ve spent many nights on the hill near the spaceport staring up at the stars, the sharp blades of grass jabbing into our bare skin, watching the ships come and go.