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Finley’s soft breasts press against, she smiles like she’s happy She likes teach

ing me And at the end, we have a vase An actual vase

She holds it up like Si “We’ll put it away in this Tupperware for a bit—” she gestures to a tub that’s pushed against the house’s wall— “so it will dry evenly despite the wind Afterward, you can paint it and we’ll set it in the kiln”

I’ as she talks, and I picture the bowls and plates in the kitchen “Wait…those plates inside?”

Her cheeks redden as her mouth curves—a little bit mysterious, just like a siren

“Daood”

She shrugs and does a girly spin thing, sort of like a pirouette She looks happy and…I think that’s maybe bashful?

I step over to the rubber trash can where she keeps her clay There’s a foot or so gone off the top of the pile, cleaved aith so circular

“You used up all that so far?”

She nods, and I run a fingertip over a ridge in the clay “Those lines are your fingers” I smile

“Yes,” she murmurs “Their imprint”

“Did you do theold-flecks sheen

She smiles shyly, and I cup her chin in my hand

“What?” she whispers She’s s, but she looks embarrassed

“You’re an artist, Siren”