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PETER SLID INTO THE SEAT!
Ned glanced up from his seat, setting his pencil down as his friend began to ramble. Around the art room, kids wandered with their canvases and paint.
"I have a plan. Okay, first, I'm gonna sit next to MJ on the flight. Second, I'm gonna buy a dual-headphone adapter and watch movies with her the whole time. Three, when we go to Venice— Venice is famous for making stuff out of glass, right?" He waved his hands around as he spoke.
"True." Ned focused on him, unsure of what his intent was.
"So I'm gonna buy her a black dahlia necklace, because her favorite flower is the black dahlia—"
"Because of the murder."
"Four, when we go to Paris, I'm gonna take her to the top of the Eiffel Tower, give her the necklace. Then, five, I'm gonna tell her how I feel. Then, six, hopefully she tells me she feels the same way."
"Oh, don't forget step seven."
"Step seven?"
"Don't do any of that."
"Why?"
"We're gonna be bachelors in Europe. Look, I may not know much, but I do know this: Europeans love Americans."
"Really?"
"More than half of them are women."
"Okay. Sure. But I really like MJ, man, okay? She's awesome, she's super funny in a kind of dark way. Sometimes I catch her looking at me."
Corazon held a paint palette in one hand, and was balancing three paints in the other.
Her canvas was set up beside the desk, grey pencil markings just barely visible in their placement. All of her artwork hung featured around the room.
Peter tugged her wrist, and caught the cans of paint before they could slip. "Cory, you're a girl."
"You're just now noticing this?" She questioned rhetorically, setting down her materials.
"Read this." He thrust the sheet of paper at her.
She took the notebook pad, skimming the list of steps. She scrunched her nose in confusion and then realized what his intent was.
"Dude. No. Don't do any of this." She dropped the notebook in front of him.
"I told you!" Ned shoved his arm, as though one person's confirmation made him victorious.
Corazon knew everything. He knew this, because every stupid question he had was always directed at her. Anything he could think of was messaged to her, no matter the time.
"But also don't do anything Ned's telling you to do." She cut in, peeling the seals off the cans.
She'd run through art supplies like it was water, each portrait stored in the attic. She didn't always know exactly what she was drawing, but it came to her eventually.
