Masterpiece

Chapter 2

"Mom, dad, I'm home!" I yell into the empty hallway of my home, listening to my voice echo across the walls.

Of course, no one's home.
I head into the kitchen for a snack and notice a note on the fridge that read, Ramona,
Working late. Dad's out of town for the weekend. I'll by back by ten tonight. Love you,
              Mom

I sigh, heading upstairs, suddenly not hungry. I take in the numbers of paintings strewn on the walls, instead of an actual wallpaper.
Sitting on my bed, I wonder how I'm going to put this into a career.
It's hard not to know what you're doing with the rest of my life.

I'm bumming myself out. Victoria's right; it's our senior year. I should have fun tonight.
I head into my closet, sighing at my lack of dresses. I only have a few sorry looking ones that I wore for Easter a couple times.

So I put together a red shirt and tuck it in a skater skirt, finishing my not so classy look with a pair of black converse.

Good enough.

I check the time: 6:45.
Victoria should be here in, 3,2,1. The doorbell rings.
I bounce down the stairs and open the door. As expected, Victoria stands smiling in the frame of the doorway, fitted with a short, blue dress.

"Way to be modest, Vic," I say taking in the length of her dress.

"You know it. You look good," she says stepping in the house. We spend the next 30 minutes sipping tea and watching tv. Enough time to be fashionably late, as Vic would put it.

We end up arriving at the party just in time for Ian to crank up the obnoxiously loud music. I was already starting to get a headache when I walked in the door.

By 7:30, people came.
By 8:00, they were spiking drinks.
By 9:00, people started to occupy rooms for reasons I can't bear to name.
And by 10:00, I was standing next to Victoria as she stood stoned, drinking mindlessly from a red Solo cup.

"This party is amazing!" She says this half screaming. "Don't you think?!"
I look at her disapprovingly.
"Oh, it's definitely something," I say wanting to be anywhere but here on a Saturday and looking at the grinding bodies and puddles of alcohol on the floor.

"Come on, Ramona, have some fun, will you!" I roll my eyes.
"I think I'm gonna go have some fun on that couch."
She smirks "Oooh, I'm jealooouss," she says, her speech slurring.

"Oh, God, Vic. I meant I'm going to sit on the couch!"
She looks disappointed. "Oh." I step away from her half worried, half wanting to go home.
I knew I shouldn't have come. This sucks.

At this point, I think I'm going to throw up from the stench of  tequila and drugs, so I leave. But of course, not without Victoria lazily among my arms, half conscious.
"Come on, Vic. I need you to walk."

"Whyyy? Where are we going. Oooh, we-we should go to Mexico. That's my favvv country."

She jumps out of my arms and starts dancing some form of Mexican dance and humming some form Mexican style song.
I laugh out loud at her clumsily stepping out of tune on Ian's lawn.

"Ok, ok. Come on."
-
We arrive at my house after I'd been left to drive to my house, because she's drunk and I really wanted to drive her car.

I came to my house, because her parents would have a cow, if she'd come home squeezed in a blue dress, drunk. I shot them a text from her saying she was going to crash at my house since she was "tired".

No surprise, my mother still wasn't home. So, I drop her onto my bed, because by now she's snoring like a wild bear and drooling.

I collapsed onto my couch, my eyelids ready to give out.

And they do.

My eyes strain to open and I hear a thump from upstairs.

Vic must be awake.

I go upstairs to find her on the floor, groaning and gripping her head.

"I feel like shit." She says this looking up at me.
"Yeah, well that's what happens when you down five cups of whatever was in that punch bowl."

"Now, move over," I say scooting her over with my foot.
"I'm putting my easel here. I'm going to send in one of my paintings to the Institute of Fine Arts in New York."
"Woah," she says rolling over then wincing, " that's huge."

"Listen, I'm going to head home. I need to shower."

"Alright, but you might want to put brushing your teeth on that list. It's not so hot."

"Ha, ha," she says already on her way stumbling down the stairs.

I turn to my unfinished work and mentally sigh. I have no idea what I'm going to paint. But, nonetheless, after about an hour of silently staring af nothing, I decide on the ocean.

It's blue overlapping the dark crevices of the shore. My hands are cramped and my eyes are sore from intently staring at my art. I'm starving, and I'm just now realizing that I hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon.

Just as I reach the end of the stairs, the door opens and I am greeted by my parents.
"Hey, guys," I say kissing both my parents on the cheek.

My dad glances at my hands and his graying, brown facial hair turns up as he smiles.
"Painting, I see."
I smile back.
"Yes, actually. I'm sending it to that art institute down in New York."

"Woah, that's a nice school. I remember you telling me about it, but I didn't think you were gonna go through with it, Lise." He pats me on the back.

It's cool when he calls me Lise, considering I'm named after the Mona Lisa, famous art work, but also ironic because I was birthed from a mother who doesn't like art. Life is funny.

"You didn't tell me about it," my mom says jutting into our conversation.
That's because you would never let me do it.
"Sorry, must've slipped my mind."

For almost an hour, me and my father converse over sandwiches about the school. I really hope I get in.

I go up to my room, because I'm beyond exhausted. When I reach the top of the stairs, I immediately regret it.

Holy crap.