100 Years to Live (Completed)

Chapter 21 : Bombs

It turns out the whole revealing-of-the-mural-masterpiece was not that embarrassing. The entire mini-ceremony was filled with 'ooh's and 'aah's and smart nods from people who pretend they get it when they know less about art than my left pinky. But who cares, right?

Ms. Atria and Mr. Oakley were bursting with proud excitement, I think they were doing a happy dance in the corner or something. All my friends were patting my back and telling me I did a good job. Everyone looks at the painting and makes of it what they will. I guess no one will quite understand my reasoning behind it.

My face and my mural were front page news on the local newspaper. But nothing ever happens here, so that doesn't really count as anything. Ms. Atria said she would send off my application for the scholarship right away. She said she had a good feeling about this.

And even though Ms. Atria isn't psychic like Sarah or Penelope(or Amy or Benjy for that matter), something about her belief in me makes me believe in myself.

If I could get that scholarship…that full ride to Julliard…I could be out of here.

I get so happy and excited when I think about the possibility of finally moving out of small town to big city. Then I remember Clarence and Ethan, which causes my effervescence to turn into guilt.

Because it's four days to December 25, and I can tell this will be the worst Christmas yet.

Recently, I tend to avoid being alone with either Clarence or Ethan. I take up any excuse I can: family bonding, hanging out with Kelly and Megan and Natalie, too much homework, headache, movies with Jonah and Benjy and Amy, knitting, learning Irish river dancing, etc.

But that's only made things more difficult. The time I spend avoiding them is the time I should be spending thinking over my "final decision" as they are all starting to refer.

Vampire (become a monster, but have Clarence) or werewolf (keep my family, but lose my dreams)?

Ever made a life-changing decision? Quadruple it and that's how I feel. I'm sitting in my room listening to music on a Thursday night completely and utterly confused.

"Noelle?"

Ethan walked into my room and I froze. I started down my mental list of excuses before he turned off my stereo and turned to face me. His face read you-can-make-up-the-best-excuse-you-got-but-I'm-not-going-away.

"Hello," I lamely said.

"Um, Ms. Atria was just outside," he said, pulling a package from behind his back. "She pulled up in the driveway when I walked over. She was really excited to give this to you. Something about 'just came in the mail.'"

I took the manila envelope. It read To: Miss Noelle Grey in professional Times New Roman font on the front. The return address, I saw with a lurch in my stomach, was from Julliard. Quickly, yet clumsily, I tore open the envelope and pulled out the first paper.

"So? Did you get the scholarship thingy, or whatever?" Ethan tried to sound indifferent, I could tell. And by his expression, I could also tell that he didn't want me to get the scholarship, more than anything. He wanted me to stay.

Did I want me to stay?

After viewing your application, along with your submitted artworks and community project, we would like to happily announce that you have been chosen for the Julliard National Young Artist Discovered Merit Scholarship…

My stomach lurched again. I got it. I GOT IN. I've been accepted.

Ethan was still casually looking around my room, purposefully not avoiding my eyes. If I showed him the acceptance letter, he would fake excitement. He'd say "congratulations!" and "I knew you would get the scholarship!" and "I'm so proud of you, Noelle!" and "I'm happy for you" but I knew. He knew. I knew he knew that I knew.