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“The great mystery every girl at Charleston wants to solve.” Her grin resurfaces. “But maybe you’ll find out.”
I snort. “Anyway. What do you think about Britney’s invite?”
A sneaky expression forms. “Brandon won’t be there if that’s what you’re thinking. He doesn’t partake in anything with the rest of us.”
“Ugh.” I squirm and pick at the grass, mumbling, “I wasn’t thinking about him.”
“Right.” She drags out the word, then flashes me a cunning grin when I look up.
I gesture for us to resume reading our textbook, but my mind wanders to Brandon and his issue. I can’t imagine not embracing my parents or anyone, having no contact whatsoever.
I wonder what caused him to be like that.
Using the academy’s expensive easel in art class makes me want one badly. I love the quality of the wood and how thick and sturdy it is.
The mini paint kit won’t last past the week, which means I’ll need my own supplies immediately.
Our assignment today is to paint a turquoise vase with yellow and red tulips.
My turquoise paint runs out, and I opt to mix colors to complete my work.
As an artist that doesn’t mind risks, I’m satisfied with the results.
But when Ms. Jung comes around, she stalls on my canvas and wrinkles her forehead. “This is lovely, Kayla. But my instructions were clear. Replicate what you see. So, why am I looking at a pastel blue vase?”
The girl sitting across from me chuckles with her friend.
I frown. “I’m sorry. My paint ran out.”
Ms. Jung sighs as she looks at the mini kit I’m using. “Those won’t last in this class. You need larger bottles.” She nods to her desk and tells me, “Use mine for today. Start the entire thing over.” The bell rings, ending the final period. Everyone packs up to leave.
“You mean I should stay back?” I confirm.
Her expression remains unmoving. “Yes. This class assignment is due today, Kayla. If you don’t finish, you’ll lose points. Your art scholarship is on the condition you uphold your grades.”
Thanks for the reminder.
“I’ll finish it,” I say with certainty. “Thank you for letting me use your paint.”
She expels a long exhale. “Please remember always to come prepared. This is an advanced art class.” With that, she gathers her things and heads from the room.
I set aside the first painting and start a fresh one.
My shoulders droop as doubts pour over me like a rainfall, but I straighten again at the reminder that Doreen wouldn’t be discouraged. She always faced challenges head-on.
Retrieving my art teacher’s paint, I begin the piece again, pouring effort into every delicate stroke to bring it close to perfection.
By the time I finish, it’s gray outside.
I place my assignment next to the others after signing my signature at the bottom. I wash my hands, grab my backpack and the scrapped painting, then head out.
While walking to the exit, realization smacks my ass hard. It’ll be night by the time I reach the nearest bus stop.
Great.
The second I step down from the concrete entrance to start across the parking lot, a car engine roars to life. Headlights blare.
Glancing over, I instantly recognize the black Mercedes. Relief submerges me.
