Portrait of Us (5 page)

It wasn't his fault she'd picked the two of us to work together.

“I don't understand this at all,” I said to Ava after chewing a bite of juicy hamburger. It was late afternoon and we were in the food
court at the mall, noshing on dinner from a burger joint. Voices hummed and buzzed around us, teens and parents and guys and girls laughing, talking, eating.

When I'd gotten home from art class, in a total funk and mentally distraught, I'd sent Ava a text immediately, asking her to meet with me whenever she was done babysitting her five-year-old cousin. My brain wouldn't stop churning about this whole mess.

I needed the easy clarity of her wisdom. Ava was good at helping me get through rough spots, putting myself aside to view the big picture. If I ever needed perspective, it was right now.

Ava snagged a fallen pickle slice from her plate and popped it into her mouth, closing her eyes as she chewed in slow pleasure. Today her blond hair rocked sassy, wavy curls, and she had on jean shorts and a hot-red T-shirt. “If I could eat nothing but pickles for the rest of my life, I would.”

I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “I'll remember that for your next birthday.”

“Okay, back to your issue,” Ava said. She dabbed a napkin at her mouth with delicate finesse, then put it on the table. “Although I have to admit . . . I don't quite understand what the problem is.”

“Um, what?” Had I not explained everything clearly enough? I'd rattled on for fifteen minutes, barely taking a breath the whole time. Surely that had been enough.

She lifted a finger. “One, you made it into the competition. You're being sponsored by the artist, which is what you'd hoped for. Right?”

I reluctantly nodded. “Technically yes, but—”

“Two, he's cute. I mean, super adorable. Have you actually ever
looked
at him?” She sighed and propped her chin on her hands, elbows resting on the table, eyes glazed as she stared into the distance. “Those blue eyes pierce right through you.”

I fidgeted in my seat. I wasn't quite ready to admit out loud how very, very attractive Matthew was, though I had to be honest with myself—I already knew it and had for a while. Over the weekend I'd spent more time than I cared to confess considering the nuances of smile, wondering if I could capture those deep dimples in a portrait.

Embarrassing and awkward.

I swallowed. “Well, he does have classic features that some people might find handsome,” I tried in an offhand, casual tone.

Ava snorted and took another big bite of her burger. She saw right through me, of course. “Uh-huh. Some people? Try everyone in our school. Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your spot? Working one on one with him for long hours, close together, getting closer and closer?”

“If it weren't for the fact that I have to, I would gladly let all those girls have him.” A miserable sensation swirled in my stomach, combined with an emotion I couldn't name. Something like nervous anticipation, speckled with dread. “I already said yes, that I'd do it, but I'm freaking out a little. What can we possibly find as a subject for our piece that we'll both agree on? He likes abstract art. I loathe it. He's a jock. I'm an egghead. We're far too different.”

“You should give him a chance—a
real
chance,” she added. “You might find you're not as different as you think you are.”

I huffed. “Yeah, who knows? Maybe we'll both end up being cocaptains on the mathlete team next year.” Okay, that wasn't nice. Just because he wasn't as intellectually driven as I was didn't mean I needed to be mean-spirited. I felt bad for making that comment and suddenly wanted to change the subject to something, anything, else. “So, you said earlier you're going on vacation with your family. Where to?”

Ava brightened up, taking the bait. “Scotland! My dad's family is from there, and he's always wanted to go back to his roots. So we're gonna go for a couple of weeks and explore our heritage. I have no idea what to expect, but I've been spending hours researching it all online.”

“That sounds amazing. You have to take a bunch of pictures.” I smiled.

Her face grew serious, and she reached out a hand. “Hey, it'll all work out. I know you're stressed, but I'm sure he wants to win too. You guys will figure out the perfect project.”

I gave a weak grin; I knew she'd see right through it, but maybe if I kept smiling it would become genuine. Fake it till I make it, right? “Maybe you're right. I wish I had your optimism.”

“Well, not everyone can be as amazing as me. It took years of refinement for me to even get to this level.” Her teeth sparkled with her wide smirk.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, smothering a low chuckle.
Leave it to Ava to find a way to pull me out of my funk. “You're crazy. In a good way. Thanks—for listening to me whine and not choking me in aggravation. I know I'm stubborn, but I just . . . I want the best. I want to
be
the best and have a fair chance at this competition. I'm nervous.”

“Like I'd be anywhere else right now than here with you.” Ava reached over and hugged me. “So, I do believe we have more shopping to do,” she declared, cramming the last of her fries into her mouth and chewing fast. “I need some clothes for Scotland, and you need . . . well, a good distraction.”

We cleared our trays and walked around the mall for a while, window-shopping for the most part, though we did buy a couple of small things. I found a red wrap bracelet that went perfectly with one of my dresses, and Ava got dangly silver earrings that brushed her shoulders. We had a great time, and my mood lightened with every goofy hat or wild scarf we tried on.

I was so thankful for her.

Ava and I had been best friends since sixth grade when, as the new girl, she sat beside me on our first day of middle school. She hadn't been shy at all about introducing herself and asking my name. And when she told me she loved my margin doodles, then showed me her own, I knew we were going to be close.

I glanced over at her as she flipped through a rack of clothes, looking for her size in a dark purple off-the-shoulder top. It was going to be lonely here when she went to Scotland. I was happy for her, but kinda jealous that I wasn't going on a fun vacation
like that. My parents hardly ever took time off work. At least she would have good stories to tell when she returned and maybe have fun flirting with a boy or two while there.

I pushed all thoughts of Matthew and Scotland out of my mind and focused on enjoying this moment with my best friend.

Chapter
Five

I
could hear my pulse
racing in my ears as I stepped through the art studio doors on Wednesday morning. The cool air smacked me in the face. It was already a scorcher out, and the sun was still rising, so I was glad for the indoor reprieve. Still, air-conditioning wasn't enough to distract me from my pending fate.

Facing Matthew. Working with him.

I'd spent a little longer than normal this morning picking out today's outfit, braiding my hair and twisting it into patterns around my head. It wasn't for him—not at all. I simply wanted to present a professional front. Mom always told me the clothes made the man . . . or woman. And she was usually right about these things.

Matthew was already at his station, working on his newest
art piece. I made my way to my station and grabbed my mosaic materials to work more on my piece.

His back to me, I took a moment to look at him closely, study him with an unbiased eye the way Ava had advised me to. The soft hair that dusted the top of his neck. The length of his hands, their strong fingers—no doubt enhanced because of his focus on sports. His striking long legs, firm calves. His shoulder blades flexing beneath the plain black T-shirt.

There was a tiny freckle above his elbow on his right arm. For some stupid reason, my fingers itched to touch it. I opened the plastic bag and took out the colored scraps of paper, then spread them across the table in front of me. Right now I was going to lose myself in the moment of creating. I blanked my mind, tilting my head to study my work in progress.

The image started to come to life. The base colors I'd layered in were working surprisingly well. I found the next shade I wanted to work with, for the flower petals, and began gluing them on. It was a rich, vibrant blue, and the petals popped.

“Lovely,” Teni said as she approached my piece. “I like how you're building the image from dark to light, making sure you have those rich shadows to give depth to your work. What made you decide to do the flowers in blue?”

I shrugged. Truth was, I'd been drawn to that shade. The flower vase in front of me had yellow flowers, but my fingers had just grabbed the deep blue paper pieces. “It seemed right for the piece.”

She patted my back. “Keep working. When class is over, you and Matthew stay after. We'll go over the rules and work out a schedule. You'll probably need extra studio time, and I want to supervise your sessions at least once a week so I can assist if I'm needed.” Teni walked over to Henry's station, and I heard them whispering softly about his work in progress, a charcoal drawing.

It took me a full ten minutes of working on the flower to realize where that shade had come from. It matched Matthew's eyes perfectly.

Boy, did my face flush. I hoped he wouldn't notice. I couldn't believe I'd done that. Well, I couldn't deny that he was attractive, that he had striking eyes. I was appreciating him with an artist's perspective. There was no crime in that, right?

Class moved along at a nice clip. I kept my attention firmly on my piece, not looking around at any particular person as I ripped and glued and ripped and glued. It wasn't perfect, but I had to admit, there was something interesting about the roughness of my piece. I felt daring, like I was pushing my boundaries.

This was the rush of creating art, that strange, stomach-dropping, nervous anticipation of trying to take the image in your head and re-create it on paper, or canvas, or whatever.

“I'm so happy about today's progress,” Teni said as she slipped up the center aisle. “You're all pushing yourselves in new directions. I know it's not comfortable, but this is how we grow. Our class is almost over, so take a few more minutes and then clean up your stations.”

“Hey, Corinne.” A light whisper came from behind me.

I turned to see an older teen smiling at me. Her red hair curled wildly around her head, and her face and bare arms were covered in spatters of freckles. Her teeth gapped slightly. She wasn't conventionally pretty, but her face was so friendly I couldn't help but smile back. However, I couldn't remember her name, and she didn't go to my school. How did she know who I was?

Duh, Corinne,
I chastised myself. Teni had said my name out loud when announcing the results on Monday. Unlike me, this girl probably paid better attention to those details.

“Hi,” I whispered back.

“I just wanted to tell you I really like your piece.” She nodded toward my mosaic. “I've never tried to do that before, but you're inspiring me to pick that medium for my next project.”

My heart gave a strange twist. “Thank you.” I stepped back to her station so I could see what she was doing.

My breath caught in my lungs. The image was already stunning, and she was still in the drawing phase. She'd sketched Teni standing near a window, light playing along the planes of her face. There was a faint hint of a wistful smile as she stared outside.

“That's beautiful,” I said.

“Oh, thanks. I couldn't resist when I saw her standing there. I grabbed my phone and took a picture so I could capture the moment.” She pointed down to her phone sitting on the table. The exact same image was right there.

I had to admit, I was jealous. Why hadn't she gotten picked for the competition? She clearly outshined me with talent.

“I'm Janice, by the way,” she said, offering a smile.