Yumi and the Nightmare Painter(60)

“I am your humble student,” she said, bowing once more, “in the fine art of painting.”

“I suppose.”

“And in the finer art of being aggravating.”

This time he smiled. Which worried her. Despite her intentions, she was relaxing too much here, wasn’t she? What else could she do? She needed to enjoy this less.

Focus on the work, she thought, picking up a brush. “What is my next lesson?”

“Bamboo,” he said.

Yumi turned to look around the room, which was stacked with sheets of painted bamboo. They’d had to go to the supply store three times during the week. She felt she should clean the quarters, as she was severely adding to the clutter. Maybe she could have Painter ask Chaeyung and Hwanji for tips next time in her world. Cleaning up after herself was novel.

No. Don’t enjoy it. And it’s not right to talk to your attendants. You shouldn’t even think of that.

“I have mastered bamboo,” she said. “Yesterday I taught you something new. In return, you should also teach me an advanced technique.”

“There’s no reason for that,” Painter said. “You just need the basics to defend yourself in case of a nightmare encounter.”

“I can defeat this stable nightmare with…bamboo?”

“No,” he said. “Once again, you’re not going to face the stable nightmare. If we encounter it, we’re going to run.”

She sighed but bowed, this time sincere. She needed to listen to his wisdom—well, his experience—in this matter. So she launched into more painting. Until a knock at the door drew her away. A glance at the clock told her it was late in the day—at least as this society measured it. Although Yumi and he always rose at morning in her world, Painter kept a strange schedule in his world, working when many others slept.

It was dinnertime. Or breakfast, for the painters. The other painters generally met before or after shift to chat, and Yumi often had to turn down Akane’s invitations to those gatherings.

She pulled open the door, prepared with another excuse for Akane. Instead the entire group was standing out there. Not only Akane—who was stylish even in the trousers and painting shirt she wore on duty. But also Tojin, with sleeves rolled up to show his muscles. Short Masaka, with a turtleneck, her glaring eyes shadowed and lined with excessive amounts of dark makeup. Finally Izzy, the long-limbed girl with the bleached yellow hair.

“This,” Tojin said, “is an intervention!”

“We’re here to rescue you from your books, Yumi,” Izzy said, grabbing her by the hand.

“I don’t need—” Yumi began.

“We’ve all been there,” Akane said, “studying for the tests. Yumi, trust me. If you don’t relax now and then, you’re going to stress yourself to the point that your mind rots. You need a break.”

“Gotta rest the muscles between reps,” Tojin said.

“Oh, great,” Painter said (lowly), stepping up behind her. “I’d almost managed to forget about the weightlifting metaphors.”

“Just some food,” Akane said. “It’s Ashday. Even we get a half day off work, trading shifts with Department Three so they can take time off on another day.”

“Get rid of them,” Painter said, turning back toward the room with a yawn.

Yes. That was definitely what she should have done. But the thought of another day spent painting bamboo again and again and again…

She looked around by reflex to see if Liyun was there to disapprove.

“Very well,” Yumi said in a soft voice.

“Really?” Izzy said, jumping up and down.

“Wait, what?” Painter said, spinning.

She told the others to wait, then closed the door and hurriedly threw on a dress instead of the oversized painting shirt and trousers she’d been wearing.

“Wait,” Painter said. “I have to beg to get a water break, but you can go to a noodle party?”

“You told me I don’t need advanced techniques,” she said, pulling on her short jacket, then checking herself in the mirror and tucking a stray bra strap back in place. “I have bamboo down, right? So I don’t need further training.”

“I suppose…”

“Then,” she said, her heart fluttering, “I’m going to eat with them.” She paused and looked at him. “Can I? … Please?”

“It’s up to you,” he said. “Anytime you want to go, you may. I’m not your master, Yumi.”

Her choice? She hesitated.

What was she doing? She reached to begin taking off her jacket.

“Go,” he said. “Don’t think about it, Yumi. Just go. It’s all right. I want to see Design anyway.”

And so she did. Nervous, elated, terrified. She joined the others as they led her to the noodle shop. They mentioned going to some other restaurant, but they noticed how she panicked at that idea and quickly decided against it. In minutes she was seated with them, her money out on the table—at Painter’s suggestion, she’d offered to pay as a thank-you—a menu in her hands.

She ordered a flavor of broth she’d never had before. After all, if she was going to be terrified of the experience already, she might as well add more strangeness. A short time later, Design waved for Painter to go speak with her—leaving Yumi with four people who were practically strangers.