The Mandala Girl (COMPLETED)

Chapter 15

My chilled skin slowly thaws. Passing through the portal is worse than walking through the frozen goods section at the supermarket. Why is it so cold? Maybe the void between the two realms is like the conditions of outer space: cold and dark?

My eyes flutter open and I recognize that we're in the classroom of Cubby's art studio. The five of us are sprawled out across the wood floor, and the Mona Lisa is resting on the easel like it was when we passed through it.

"Phew! That was close," TJ says as he stands up from the floor. He extends a hand towards me and helps me to my feet. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm glad to be back in the real world."

Da Vinci gets up off the floor, looking rather pleased. "You did it, Mandala Girl! You really did it. You brought this old codger back from the other side. I never doubted you for a second."

I shake my head in disgust. "I hope you're happy. You don't have a clue what it cost me to bring you back." Then again, I'm not entirely certain just what it cost me. The last time I journeyed through a painting, my disappearance made the local news here in the real world. There's no telling just what changed while I was away this time.

"I'm deeply sorry," he says. "Please know I earnestly appreciate what you sacrificed."

"Yeah, well—whatever. It's not like it's your problem."

Leon claps his hands together, switching topics. "Congratulations, master! You're officially the oldest man alive. How do you feel?"

Da Vinci inhales deeply. "Reborn!" He rotates his head, absorbing our surroundings. "So this is it? This is the modern world I've heard so much about?" He sounds disappointed.

"This is merely a classroom, master," Leon says. "And it happens to be the exact place where I discovered how bad an artist Riley truly is." He snickers. Like I haven't heard that remark before. "It took a lot of faith for me to show up here each week. I couldn't believe someone like her could be the Mandala Girl, but here where are. Stranger things, I guess." He crosses his arms over his chest and smirks in my direction.

If it were any other time, I'd parry his sarcasm and fire a retort, but not today. I need to get home. I'm both curious and fearful to see what all has changed.

Without a word, I rush out of the building and head straight for home.

* * *

The entire way home, I thought about what excuse I will give my family. I can't tell them the truth; they wouldn't believe me. I'll have to concoct a story, one that doesn't involve me being warped to a mystical realm where I meet Leonardo da Vinci.

Naturally, my car isn't sitting in Cubby's parking lot where I had left it, so I'm forced to walk home. I guess that shouldn't surprise me; it's been a year since I was last here. It probably got towed away the week following my disappearance and is likely rotting away in a junkyard somewhere. At least I live within walking distance.

Thirty minutes later, my house slides into view; a modest three bedroom, two bath home with a large backyard. When we were growing up, we used to play out there every day during the summer. My brothers used to pretend they got drafted to the Arizona Cardinals—their favorite team—and would toss around the pigskin for hours, while me and my sister set up a tea party and a few of my stuffed animal friends would join us. Those were much simpler times back then. What I wouldn't give to revisit those days. I wouldn't have to deal with mysterious voices, disappearing for a year at a time, and bringing world-renowned artists back from the dead. Well, alleged dead.

As I draw closer to home, a leery feeling in my gut swells. Something isn't right. The house isn't the same mint green and eggshell paint combination it used to be, and the roof has been redone. My fears intensify as I pass by the mailbox. Our family's surname, McGrath, used to be spelled out with letter stickers on the broadside of the mailbox, but now there's nothing there except for the faded outline where the letters once were.