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“Ally…” I start, not sure of where to go next. Was I sorry? I was sorry that other people saw it; I didn’t really mean it. But it was cathartic at the time. That’s what art is supposed to be, right? Sometimes, you have to get it out—that’s what she always says.
The woman stays still as a fucking statue.
“Everyone is watching us, Ally. We should go.”
She turns and looks at me over her shoulder, her expression seething, then grabs the canvas in her hands.
“I hate you!” she screams, and—before I get a chance to react—she brings the whole thing down over my goddamn head. I stumble backward and desperately try to grasp anything to keep myself on my feet, and that something ends up being the sleeve of Ally’s hoodie. I pull her down with me as I careen into the refreshment table, causing it to flip onto its side, and the entire assortment of food and punch comes down on top of us.
We both flail on the ground for a minute in the mess. I struggle to get the giant canvas off me, and just as I do, Ally makes it to her knees and starts pummeling me with anything she can get her hands on. Cupcakes, cookies, celery and carrot sticks, plastic cups, wet fucking napkins—all of it.
“I fucking hate you!” she yells again. “You asshole!”
“Stop!” I yell. “Stop it, Allyson!”
She’s crying again when I finally get ahold of her arms and make her stop.
I look up when I feel Mr. Ames and the principal both standing over us, and so does Ally.
“Both of you need to go to my office—now,” Principal Coleman says. “Get up. Start walking.”
Her voice seems to snap Ally out of her rage-induced blackout. She looks around at the mess and the crowd, then pushes to her feet and walks wordlessly toward the principal’s office, trying not to make eye contact with anyone along the way.
“Have a seat,” Coleman says, ushering us both inside. “And don’t touch each other. Don’t talk to each other. I’ll be right in.”
Ames appears next to her just as she closes the door. I try to make out what they’re saying but can’t quite hear anything.
“Ally?”
“Shut up,” she says. “She said no fucking talking.”
“Ally, I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” she says and laughs before grabbing my bag from the chair next to me and raising it over her head. I attempt to shield myself with my arm while she brings it down on me over and over again. “You’re fucking sorry!?”
“Yes!”
“How.” Swing “Could.” Swing. “You.” Swing. “You mother.” Swing. “Fucking.” Swing. “Asshole!”
“Stop! Fuck! She said no touching!”
“I’m not touching you!” she grits through clenched teeth, throwing the bag at me one last time. “You called me ugly.”
Her lower lip starts to quiver. She crosses her arms over her chest and turns to face the front of the room.
“I didn’t mean that. You’re beautiful, Ally. You know I think you’re beautiful.”
“Shut up!”
“Okay,” Coleman says as she steps inside the office. “Well, you two ruined the art show.”
“It was my fault,” I tell her. “Ally didn’t do anything. I shouldn’t have…drawn that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she says. “And to be honest, Ames probably should have realized what he was putting on display, but he’s new here and didn’t.”
“So, can Ally go?”
“I don’t need your help, Devon—” Ally starts.
