Vivian is caught shoplifting, causing her parents to reignite an old tradition. They send her to Clear Lake Academy, a tight-laced academy for girls. There she meets a childhood friend and is forced to confront emotions she didn't understand back th...
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After Ms. Jacot's introduction, she had everyone get to work. I picked up my pencil along with the other students, only to be dragged out of the room.
We went out into the hallway. I expected Jacot to yell at me, wracking my brain for something I did wrong recently.
But even though her face was stern, she didn't yell. My teacher said, at a respectful volume, "Maine's finest art museum is looking for teen artists to display their work in an exhibit.... This is going to be a wonderful opportunity for our school. "
"So?" I responded.
She put her hands behind her back, "They expect a thousand entries, so you're going to blow them away with yours. And if you do not craft your paragon, your parents will receive an absolutely scathing report of behavior."
I didn't care what my parents thought of me, but they still had control over what happened to their daughter.
"What do you get out of this? Money?"
"The school gets a grant," Ms. Jacot dispassionately answered.
She opened the door but didn't let me through. Her voice lowered so that only I could hear it, "You're a wrench in the gears of our school. You owe us this much."
When school ended I walked through the halls trying to come up with something, trying to plan in my head. All at once, I had to come up with something deeply meaningful and provocative but acceptable to my teachers and the judges.
Nothing was coming up no matter how long I considered it. I couldn't come up with anything but disasters.
I would destroy a canvas if given the freedom, tear it apart and paint it all black. In white, I would paint myself falling apart. But that wasn't what anyone wanted.
When I passed by the library I stopped.
Taylor was at the table just like the first day. She was surrounded by stacks of paper, open textbooks, and books piled on top of each other. Her face was held up by her hands. She looked down at a paper almost completely covered in led pencil notes.
I pulled out a seat and pushed it next to her. I said, "Are you ok?"
She spoke in half laugh, half cry, "I love it. I love doing this. It's just so easy to... feel worthless."
"But you're in advanced classes aren't you?"
She sat back and sighed, "I am, but so are all my competitors."
I didn't know what to say so I just stayed silent. I'd never been good at anything academic so I didn't know how to help.
Competition seems to destroy some people.
Taylor had to be better than better. I wish I would have told her that those stupid competitions didn't make her any less amazing. But I was scared that it was the wrong thing to say. She did like it... in a way I didn't really understand, but I loved her.... so I didn't speak.
I put my hand over hers on the table and looked into her eyes, watching them was like watching the desert from the sky. She reminded me of where I used to live. Her skin was the desert too, the place I grew up.
"I'm sorry I haven't had much time for you," Taylor sighed, "I love you."
Taylor didn't just remind me of home. Taylor was my home.
* * *
A soft gust of night wind blew through the curtains. The forest vibrated with every creature that sat in the dark. Angelica's side of the room was pitch black.
The desk lamp sent a spotlight down on my Clear-Lake-provided sketchbook.
I'd gone through half of it already, pages of art ruined by my panic, destroyed completely, or not needing any destruction for it to be garbage.
I turned to a fresh page and laid the edge of my pencil down on it. It circled around, creating the beginning of a person's face.
It was somewhere in me, the ideas, the talent that I pushed away. Everything in me didn't want to bring it back, but it wasn't my choice.
My hand shook and I stopped the moving. Nothing ever was.
