I’m going to need a forklift to pick up my jaw from the ground. I don’t even need Blake to finish his sentence. Matter of fact, I don’t want to hear the rest. The guys start hooting and hollering, all now aware of our conversation as I flip them off, grabbing my art supplies with me.
“Don’t be such a P-U-S-S-Y, bro!” Braxton jeers, and I make sure to emphasize my lifted pinky finger as I leave the room, the sound of my friends laughter mocking me the entire walk to my bedroom.
When I enter my room and flicker on the lights, my eyes snag on Sienna’s list on the desk and then on the old Halloween mask from last year hanging up onmy wall. A small thought expands in the back of my mind as I look at the items, and I know just what I’ll use them for.
twenty-three
Sienna
“Andthis,class,iswhat I’d like to call one of the most engaging works of art in all of history, theMona Lisa. TheMona Lisa…” My History of Modern Art professor drones on about theMona Lisa’s significance, giving us all the details in the world about one of da Vinci’s most esteemed works.
I try to focus and listen to everything he says, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. Class proceeds like this for two more hours, with him talking and me trying to remember what he’s saying to me.
I don’t really know enough people in this course to ask anyone for help, and my stupid pride won’t even let the thought of asking for help linger in my brain.
“Can anyone name the artist behind this painting right here?” he asks, holding up a familiar painting. I squint my eyes to focus on the work ahead, raising my hand with all of the confidence in the world as I’m called on.
The painting depicts a man lying dead in a bathtub. From the few times my nanny Elaine would take me to Paris, she’d always gush about this painting whenever we’d go to the Louvre, even though the real one’s not there.
“John Singleton-Copley?”
My professor purses his lips, running a hand through his greying hair, and there goes my confidence.
“No, you’re about twelve years too early and in the wrong art style. The correct answer is Jacques-Louis David. Everyone, your homework will be due Sunday at 11:59…”
I cringe, ducking into myself as he continues on with his lecture. My grade in this class isn’t horrible, but a C isn’t great either, forcrying out loud.
Don't you know anything, Sienna? How do you expect to ace a class when you can’t remember an innocent detail like that?
I tug my bottom lip between my teeth, caving into myself as class continues on. Once Professor Hewin dismisses us, I’m one of the first people out of the door.
The air is a lot crispier than it has been these past few weeks, making me thankful that I wore a hoodie and leggings today instead of my usual wear. Parking myself by the large oak tree in the quad, I sigh as my butt hits its root.
That was so embarrassing…
Sighing, I fold my arms over my knees and rest my head on top of them. I know that honest mistakes happen and that I don’t have to be the best at everything, but a part of me believes that I do. I need to be the best. I have to have my shit together. I have to be the greatest because at the end of the day, I’m the only person in my corner.
I’mrooting formyself.
Getting things wrong, not being perfect—it’s like letting myself down.
I made my list to be able to free myself and let loose, but even with that, I feel like I’m doing myself a disservice if it’s not perfect.
My body shakes as I try to compose myself, counting down from ten.
I’mokay.
I’mokay.
I’m okay.
Everything’s fine.
Chills run up my spine as something brushes against my fingertips, and just as I’m about to freak out, my eyes land on a large pair of black and gold orbs. I blink, adjusting my focus on the orange and white cat staring into my soul.
“Hi…What’re you doing here?” I coo, petting behind the cat's ear. When it purrs and leans into my touch, I grin.
His fur is dirty with little pebbles sticking out of it like he rolled in the rubble outside.
