"It has to be here!" Carly yells from the kitchen, ducking into one of the lower cabinets as she scours the house for something she's lost. She told me what she was looking for but I was too enamored with my ham sandwich to pay attention. A frustrated scream comes from the kitchen, followed by her head popping back up above the island countertop. I shoot her an annoyed glance before going back to devouring my sandwich. "Can you help me find it?" She pleads, walking over toward me.

"Uh-" I begin, ready to tell her I had absolutely no idea what she was even looking for.

"I'll buy you ribs." She blurts, obviously out of desperation. My attention is piqued now. I didn't even bother asking her what she was looking for, because either way- I get ribs. I quickly shoot up from the couch, dropping my sandwich to the floor. Sorry, I thought as I stare down at the ground. You've been replaced. "Okay." She breaths, "you check Spencer's room and I'll check the studio." Without question, I dart into the hallway, and then just as quickly duck into Spencer's room.

I've been in here more times than I can count, but for some reason I still feel weird- like I shouldn't be in here. I walk casually across his floor, glancing around at the various pieces of artwork he randomly placed around his room. Spencer has a weirdly specific structure to his room- where it looks completely unorganized and random, but to him everything is in the exact place it's supposed to be. It's almost as if his room is just another one of his random, under appreciated sculptures- made out of a bunch of his random, under appreciated sculptures.

Since I have no idea what I'm actually looking for, I just sort of start snooping around Spencer's room, knowing full well I shouldn't. Next to his bed is a set of lockers- I know, weird to have a set of lockers in your bedroom- and inside is a bunch of notebooks, but what catches my eye is the big sketch pad carefully hidden in-between the notebooks. Spencer has always been weird about people looking at his sketchpad, even though he's so open with his sculpting. The only time I've ever seen a drawing of Spencer's was when Carly showed me this bunny he drew- she said he didn't even have to look at the paper to draw it- and it was amazing, I was actually kind of jealous at how well he could draw.

I look around the room nervously, as if someone would've magically appeared in the corner to see me slowly reaching for the sketchpad. Opening it to the front page is a drawing of his robot sculpture. Odd, I thought before flipping to the next page, showing a drawing of a bird. I take a second to note how cute the bird is before casually flipping to the next page. I almost shriek when I see my face appear on the next page, though, throwing the pad down on his bed. After taking a few seconds I pick it up again, looking more carefully at the drawing. The drawing is of me sitting on the barstool smiling like an idiot. I remember this. It was like four years ago when Spencer asked me to model for him- he said he was going to sculpt me but ended up sculpting a fish. Maybe he ended up feeling bad about it and thought this would help his conscience. Confused and a little nervous, I slowly flip to the next page. I can't help laughing a little when I notice his next drawing- a beavcoon. Don't get me wrong, his drawings are all very random- but still really good. He truly is an artist.

The next drawing is of me- again. This time it wasn't posed, though. It was just me- eating. As if I didn't already feel self-conscious enough, he had to go and draw a picture of me eating. I suppress the urge to fling his little sketchpad out the window, staring at my very accurately drawn face enjoying a piece of pie. I hate how good he is, I thought bitterly before putting it back in the locker. I've seen enough of Spencer's drawings for a lifetime.

I exit his room, feeling as though minutes had been hours. I'm suddenly drained and more than a little upset. Carly comes trotting down the stairs, "found it." She says with a satisfied grin on her face, holding up her phone charger. Great, I thought as I try not to glare too hard. The only thing keeping me going is knowing I'm about to get some free ribs.

Later that night, Carly and I are having a Friends marathon on the couch, almost falling asleep when Spencer steps out from the hallway. "Hey!" he shouts, startling us both out of a near-sleep trance. "Did either of you go in my room?"

Carly shoots me a wary glance before looking up at Spencer. "No." She says with a thick layer of innocence. "Why?" She adds, looking back at me as if wondering what I might have done.

Spencer pauses, looking at us suspiciously before answering, "no reason." He darts back into his room.

"What did you do?" Carly half laughs, half accuses me.

"Nothing." I protest, suddenly feeling self conscious all over again. I hate that he drew me at all, but couldn't it have been a nice drawing? You know, not one where I'm shoving pie in my face.

Carly yawns loudly next to me, "okay… I'm gonna go to bed." She says sleepily. "You comin'?" She adds, noticing I'm not following her to the stairs.

"I'll be up in a bit." I say with a weak smile. "I need some chocolate."

"In the freezer." She says, her back turned to me as she stumbles upstairs.

I make my way to the kitchen, grabbing a pint sized container of rocky road ice cream and a spoon. Not even two minutes later, Spencer is strutting out of his room, pausing only when he notices me standing at the island with a mouthful of ice cream. Great, I thought, forcing my eyes down to the counter.

"Oooh whatcha got there?" He asks, and before I can answer he is already grabbing a spoon and sitting on the barstool in front of me. We sit in silence, both digging our spoons into the tiny carton for several minutes before he finally asks, "what's wrong?"

I pause mid-chew, "nothing." I don't even try to hide the grimace on my face, staring right at him so he doesn't miss it through the dimly lit room.

"Sam." He laughs lightly, putting his hand on my arm to stop me from taking another bite. "What is it?" He adds in a more serious tone. Suddenly my tongue feels like sandpaper, and I can feel my face heating. Luckily the room is dark enough, he probably can't notice- but with the silence filling the air around us, I'm sure he notices that I'm not breathing- and my arm underneath his hand is shaking vigorously.

Suddenly I'm able to regain control over my body as I shake my head, looking down at the counter, sucking in a deep breath of air as quietly as possible. Seconds tick by before I gain the courage to look back up at him, noticing his eyes still fixated on me. "I went into your room." I say shortly and with no explanation.

He nods, "oh." A smile forms at the corner of his mouth, causing air to escape my lungs once again. I notice how close he really is, and suddenly it's all that I can think about.

"Carly was looking for her charger and asked me to go in your room." I blurted, now unable to stop the words from escaping my mouth. "I didn't mean to- well I guess I did- but I didn't know-"

"Sam." Spencer has to talk over me to get me to shut up. "It's okay." He laughs, then gets up from his seat to put his spoon in the sink.

I turn to face him in the kitchen now. "But you've made it perfectly clear you don't like people seeing your drawings." I pause before quietly adding, "now I know why."

"I mean I don't." He begins explaining, "but I'm not mad or anything."

After a few seconds of considering everything, I cross my arms over my chest, glaring up at him. "Well I am."

"Huh?" He laughs, assuming I'm joking. "Why would you be mad?"

"Because." I nearly shriek, immediately hoping Carly didn't hear it. "Who draws someone eating?"

Spencer can barely contain his laughter now as he inches closer to me, causing me to take an angry step backwards. "Is that as far as you got?" He barely managed. Confused and a little annoyed, I stand my ground, not saying anything. Without another word, he walks away, heading back into his room. I consider following him, but my anger was rising with each second and I didn't trust myself not to do something stupid.

"Come here." Spencer says, coming back into the living room, sitting on the couch. I stand there in disbelief for a few seconds until I notice he's holding the sketch pad in his hands, flipping through it. I cautiously make my way over toward him, sitting next to him silently. He places it on my lap, showing me the first drawing I saw of myself where he was supposed to be sculpting me.

I shake my head, looking up at him. "What?" I don't bother trying to hide my irritation. It was late, maybe one in the morning, and now I'm just starting to feel insulted.

"Do you know why I didn't end up sculpting you?" He asks, when clearly I don't know why. "It's because I didn't think I could do you justice." I look up at him wordlessly- with a little less irritation, and more so confusion. He sighs, flipping to the next drawing of myself, the one that started this whole self depreciating spiral. I look away, not wanting to see it again. Like I said, Spencer is an amazing artist. The drawing itself isn't bad. I just don't want that to be how he sees me.

"Will you stop?" I say quietly, keeping my eyes glued to the floor.

"Do you know what I see here?"

"Me shoving pie in my mouth." I answer sarcastically.

"No…" He trails off. "Well- yes, but no." He laughs, clearly enjoying this. "I see you." I almost scoff, looking over at him, but his eyes were fixed on me, whether I was looking at him or not, he was definitely looking at me. He smiles, causing my heart to stop beating inside my now trembling chest for a split second. "I didn't draw this randomly. I drew it because when I saw you, you looked… Happy." Spencer laughs before continuing, "and I wanted to remember the way I felt when I saw you truly happy, 'cause it's a rare sight."

I let several awkward seconds tick by us before finally saying, "okay." I guess it wasn't so bad, him drawing me. I was suddenly feeling stupid for making such a big deal about it, when Spencer started to flip to another page.

"You might as well look at the rest." He said casually, placing it back on my lap. Rest? I knew immediately what the next one was, even though it was just a close-up of my face. The way my eyes were looking up- shining, a genuine but purposefully slight smile on the corners of my mouth, and just the utter emotion expressed on the page- I knew. I'd never seen it until now. I only recognize it because I recognize the feelings of the girl in the drawing. He's the only person to ever make me feel this way.

I look up at him, unable to say anything. My mouth is dry again, and I feel dizzy as I question whether I'm actually breathing or not. "That one's my favorite." He says, his voice serious but warm. I can feel his breath on my face when the words reach me, and it sends chills throughout my whole body. Suddenly I understand. It wasn't about the drawing, it was about the emotions that came with it. It was proof, an affirmation of what he'd felt- of what I'd felt.

I take in a shaky breath, "mine too."