Portrait of Us (17 page)

I didn't know how much time had passed until a soft knock on my bedroom door jarred me out of my zone. I put my pencil down. “Come in.”

The door cracked open, and my grandpa's head stuck through the gap. He gave me a tentative smile and then came inside. When he saw my drawing, he stopped, stared at it for a long moment.

My breath caught in my lungs. What would he think of it?

“This is truly your best work,” he finally said. “I see your heart in this piece already, even at sketch form. You have feelings for this boy, don't you.”

I gave a miserable nod. “Been trying to fight it, but they're there.”

Grandpa gave me a sympathetic smile and patted my shoulder. “Your father just wants what's best for you. Don't get discouraged. Stay true to yourself.”

I nodded.

He gave me a quick hug and opened the door. As he went to leave, Mom came inside. She stood right in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed over her chest.

“Corinne,” she said, her voice heavy. “We need to talk.”

Chapter
Sixteen

M
y lungs squeezed tight, but
I kept my face as neutral as possible. “Yes, I think we do.” It was time I told my parents I needed space to be myself, to explore art and math and whatever else interested me the way I saw fit.

If I failed, I failed. But I wanted it to be on my own terms. Not because they were pushing me in the direction they felt I should go or telling me what I should deem important.

Mom closed the door behind her and sat down on the bed. She stared at my drawing for almost a full minute, not saying a word. For some reason, I was more unnerved about her seeing it than Grandpa. Maybe because he was an artist, whereas she didn't seem to care about art at all, other than how good it made our house look.

Would she point out spots where I'd messed up? Small flaws I knew peppered the picture?

“It's beautiful,” Mom said in a quiet tone.

I paused, blinked.

“Your art has always been so careful,” she continued, eyes still locked on the drawing of Matthew. “So . . . precise. It's interesting to see a difference in this piece. The lines aren't as perfectly drawn, but there's more confidence in the picture. I can tell the class has really changed you.”

Not just the class. But I couldn't exactly admit to her how I couldn't stop thinking about Matthew, the way he continually pushed me out of my comfort zone. How I now saw everything as being worthy of attention, even if not conventionally beautiful. “I think I'm really good at art,” I said to her. “I love it. But Dad makes me feel like it's not important because it's not academic. Why can't I do both?”

Mom sighed and finally looked at me. She rubbed the back of her neck, a sudden weariness in her eyes. “Your father saw how hard it was for me growing up with a parent who was so heavily focused on the arts. Your grandma was the business-minded one in their relationship. She kept the bakery running for many years while your grandpa continued to travel a lot across the country, following his dreams and learning new baking techniques. Leaving me and Grandma alone for weeks at a time.”

I didn't know any of this. Mom didn't speak about her childhood often. “So you worry about stability with me? But I'm not
a grown-up yet. I just want to enjoy my life right now. Doesn't mean I won't buckle down when I get older.”

She gave a small smile. “I know.” Then she patted the bed beside her.

I sat down and crossed my legs.

“It took a long time for your grandpa to get his head out of the clouds, Corinne. Well into my adulthood, maybe just a little before you were born. Yeah, he wanted the business and loved it. But he also wanted to still be an artist and live that free lifestyle. It wasn't easy for him to find that balance. He did eventually, though. It just took a long time.”

Was she saying that it would be the same for me? I sighed, trying not to feel dejected about her words.

She rubbed my back, the way she used to when I was younger. “Corinne, you're growing up so fast. Sometimes it's easier for your dad and I to still pretend you're a little kid. That we can simply tell you how to live your life and you'll jump right to it. Doesn't help that you were always so eager to please, you did everything we suggested.” She laughed. “But now I'm starting to see more of that Walters backbone in you. You're finding your own voice. I might not like it, but I can't exactly argue about it.”

A smile crept across my face. “I think it's always been there, Mom. I just didn't know it yet.”

Her voice softened. “Honey, I've always loved your art. Always. Even as a little kid, you used to draw me pictures. I've kept them all carefully preserved in an album in my closet.”

Now the tears filled my eyes again, and my heart swelled in my chest. “Really?” I squeaked out.

Maybe my mom wasn't as vocal as Matthew's mom about her praise, but she was still proud of me. That sting of jealousy faded completely away, and in its place came a peace I'd been longing for.

“While you got your mother's backbone, you also got your father's competitive streak,” she suddenly said with a laugh. “Not sure how that happened, but I know you'll figure out how to balance everything you want. Just give yourself time—life is meant to be savored.” Her hand stalled on my lower back, and she glanced back at the picture. “Does he know how you feel?”

I swallowed. “Um, what?”

She raised an eyebrow at me, and I laughed. Yeah, like I could get away with playing dumb. “I wasn't born yesterday,” she said, mock affronted. “You're in love with this boy. It shows in all of your careful details. And in that picture you took of him too. I've never seen you like this.”

My pulse roared in my ears, and I pressed my suddenly clammy hands to my thighs. Was she right? Had I already jumped off that cliff?

She laughed again and patted my back, standing up. “Don't worry—that will work out too, the way it's supposed to. But do me a favor and don't mention it to your father yet. Poor guy is already struggling with realizing you're growing up. This might push him into heart-attack zone.” Her eyes were twinkling, so
I could tell she was joking. “Now, get back to work. You have a project due soon, and all this talking is just getting in the way.”

She stroked the back of my head with a soft smile, then left me alone, thoughts swirling like a tornado.

I took a moment to calm myself down and get my emotions under control. Mom's words were a healing balm on my heart. Things weren't perfect, but I knew she supported me. Loved my art and understood my need to keep going with it. And if she would, surely my dad would start to ease up too and stop pushing me so hard on academics. And if not . . . well, all I could do was try.

I moved back to the drawing. A few more touches of shading to the sketch, and it was ready for me to start painting. I grabbed the clean sheet I'd be fusing with Matthew's image of me and started transferring my lines to the paper. At this point, I only had to refer to my picture of him a few times. I'd basically memorized the lines of his face.

I worked late into the night on blocking out the base colors, caught up in the moment, unable to sleep a wink. Unable to tear myself away from rendering Matthew's image as full of life as the original.

I was giving this piece my all. I just prayed it was enough.

“Class, your color studies came out amazing.” Teni waved her hand at the pieces hanging around the room. “I want you to take a few minutes and wander around, really examining your fellow students' works. I am so proud of your progress.”

The class moved from piece to piece, murmuring discussions to each other as they pointed out various elements in each artwork. I kept a little apart from the group, not wanting my opinion to be influenced by the masses. It really was cool to see how far we'd progressed in such a short time.

And there was only one more week left after this.

A sigh slipped from my lips. It was going to be hard to go back to summer now that our classes were almost over. Maybe I could still keep up the regimen even at home. All I knew was that I couldn't give this up.

“Yours came out great,” Matthew said as he inched beside me. “I like the use of red for the sunset-on-a-lake scene.”

I shot him a wide smile. “Thanks. I wanted to try something unexpected.”

“Ready to work on our project tomorrow?”

I nodded, stomach flaring up in a nervous flutter. “I think so, yes.” I'd been spending most of my free time over the last couple of days painting. Tomorrow would be our final meeting, where we would blend the project together and do all the last touches. Then Friday, we'd present it to Teni and hope she liked it.

He smiled, leaning closer. The irises of his eyes seemed a little darker today, like a stormy ocean. I couldn't stop staring at him. “It'll be fine. I'm excited to see your half . . . and to show you mine. I hope you like it.”

His breath smelled like fresh mint, and I fought the urge to breathe in deeply. Did he feel the chemistry between us too?
Surely it wasn't just me. My skin was tingling, a sensation that made my stomach flutter even more.

We followed just behind the crowd and kept looking at the other art pieces. Matthew made a few running comments about theme and other elements. I tried to give what I hoped were halfway intelligent answers. But the truth was, I was doing my best not to stand too close to him, afraid he'd be able to read my mind and see all of my jumbled thoughts about him.

Tomorrow was our last day working together, and next week our last class session . . . and then what?

His arm brushed against mine. Was it on purpose? An accident? Argh, my mind was overanalyzing everything now.

Finally we all filtered back to our tables. Teni told us that for our last project, we were open to doing whatever we wanted, using any media we saw fit. But she wanted us to incorporate lessons we'd learned in class so far about color, theme, tone, and media to make our final piece.

I studied my blank paper, just letting my mind wander. I really wanted to make a piece that resonated. But what about?

“Hey,” Henry whispered. His eyes twinkled behind his thick glasses. “So, what are you doing your project on? I'm fresh outta ideas.”

I laughed. “I was
just
thinking the same thing. I don't have a clue.” I turned to Janice. “What about you? Do you have your subject picked out yet?”

She grinned and tucked a strand of red hair that had come out
of her ponytail behind her ear. “Nope. I'll just let inspiration come to me as I start drawing out something.” Her eyebrow darted up as she looked at me. “So . . . you and Matthew, huh?”

My face instantly flamed. “Um, what?”

Her grin grew wider. “Come on, everyone can see it. The air practically crackles between the two of you. And you've been spending a lot of time together lately.”

My first instinct was to flush more and ask if she thought Matthew might feel the same way I did. But then her words kicked in. Everyone could tell how I felt? Really? I frowned. “We're project partners,” I said. “Of course we're together.”

“Uh-huh.” She chuckled. “Hey, nothing bad. I'm just surprised because you guys seem so different.”

Henry shoved his glasses up his nose. “That's true. He has that jock vibe going, and you seem very . . .”

“Nerdy?” I filled in lightly, though my heart wasn't feeling that way. It was easy to get caught up in my own bubble and think we had potential, think we had chemistry. But when push came to shove, even almost complete strangers noticed how different we are. And I wasn't just talking about skin color.

“Opposites do attract,” Janice declared.

I wasn't ready to hear their thoughts on why we wouldn't work. I already had my own concerns about it and had been torn over the last few days between focusing on those issues and ignoring them.