“Actually, you wouldn’t believe what happened.” Stace perked right up at the chance to share some scandalous gossip. “Renee is pregnant.”
I gasped. “Nuh-uh.” The car in front of our drive did a U-turn, and then crawled down the street.
“Yes! Matt’s family is flipping out.”
I listened to her ramble while staring at the car. It was weird, going maybe five miles per hour. Once it passed the stop sign it turned into a house on the opposite side of the street.
“What the heck?” I muttered to myself.
“Huh?” Stace interrupted my thoughts.
“Nothing, I was watching something on the street.” The glass was slightly warm on my fingers as I leaned into the window.
She picked back up where she left off, and I watched the garage door open. The car disappeared.
It was the largest and most elaborate house on the block. They could live there. Totally, with their sleek clothes and arrogant attitudes.
If they were that close, why not walk?
They did have a pretentious air about them, so I could see that they’d want to drive. Not to mention, not get their clothes sweaty in the ninety-degree weather.
Now only half invested in the conversation, I let Stace finish her story and then made some lame excuse to get off the phone.
As I lay in bed that night, my thoughts wandered to Rhys and his family. I tried not to think about dick face Trey, though. The question of how Dad knew them crossed my mind more than a few times. Especially since I hadn’t seen them at church.
The next two weeks were monotonous and lonely, except for my time in art with Ryan. He definitely spiced things up, but not in the way I might have thought.
“Astrid, sit here.” Ryan called as I came through the door of the art room.
He had a look about him that said he had all the dirt, and he was ready to serve it up on a nice hot platter. One day, when I was completely in the zone flipping through my pictures, he walked up behind me. Ryan oohed and ahhed over the shot as he abducted my phone, scrolling through all my pictures. Somehow, he weaseled my secret out of me and now he was directing me to the people that pissed him off.
Not that he had to work hard at it. It was ridiculously easy to pinpoint the bullies of the school and all of his targets were people I already captured or would have.
“What’s the hot item of the day?” I spread my sketchbook out on the table. Our table was off to the side so the kids in class generally left us alone. Not that I put out a welcoming air, either.
“Juicy, juicy, juicy. I’ve had an angry hard on for this guy in my math class. I bet if you followed him you could get all sorts of blackmail worthy information.” He laughed like we were going to send this guy to prison or something.
“And just what did he do to you? Hmm?” I had come to really like Ryan. He wasn’t as close to me as Stace was, but it had only been two weeks. Something about his weaseling ways was getting right under my anti-people wall.
But even in that time, what hurt him, hurt me too. It could also be my need to latch onto someone. Yeah, better to not examine that particular thought too closely. He looked out for me so I colluded with him in these little revenge games. And that was enough for me.
He understood I would never share the pictures. Anything I found was just for us to laugh over.
“This guy is low key homophobic, and it drives me crazy. He doesn’t come right out and say anything, but it’s all over his face anytime I walk too close to him or happen to talk to someone sitting with him.” He grinds his teeth. “You are like a thief in the night the way you can get pictures. It’s a gift. I’m dying to know what you can find out about this guy.”
“That sucks, Ry. But you still haven’t told me who it is. Kind of hard to do what I do if I don’t know who I’m going after.”
Ryan drummed his fingers on the table and glanced around the room one more time. He was really paranoid about whoever hit his hot button today.
“His name is Trey. He’s a douche.”
No wonder, if it was who I was thinking of. “Trey Bennet?”
He nodded solemnly.
Nope. No way was I following that guy. He already hated my guts. There was nothing that Ryan could tell me that would change my mind.
“I don’t think he’s an option for my little hobby. He’s bad news bears.” I broke eye contact and I wasn’t even sure why.
Trey had dutifully stayed away from me just like the other guys in their group. Rhys had the same lunch I did, but other than a few pensive stares, he pretended I didn’t exist.
“What? Your skills are top notch. It’s practically poetic the way you are able to get your shots. And don’t even get me started on the actual compositions.”
My heart warms at his words. Taking pictures had always been something that I’d kept close to the vest, because people are judgy. And honestly, if Ryan hadn’t found out by accident, then he never would have known.
But he does know, and he’s the type of person to tell the ugly truth even if it hurt my feelings. So that he had this type of confidence and respect in my abilities made me happy.
“That’s sweet of you, but I get a bad vibe around that guy. It’s not a good idea.”
Just when Ryan opened his mouth, Mr. Music slammed the door, signaling the start of another wonderful lesson.
“Kids, today is a work day. You all have your still life assignment in the center of the room. I will be meeting with all the Juniors and Seniors in the class that are interested in the scholarship.” He jabbed his finger at his desk where a sheet of paper was taped down. “Write your name down here if you want to chat. I’m happy to look over your portfolio if you have it uploaded. Now, chop chop.” He clapped twice to magically throw us into productive mode.
Low murmuring twisted around the room as chairs were scooted into position. Ryan tried to catch my eye but I was on a mission.
“I’ll be right back.”
About the best thing that could have happened in the move was uploading my previous artwork onto the school’s portal. I could easily show Mr. Music what I was working with. I cringed for him on the inside. Who knew what he would say when he reviewed my stuff. Chances were, he wouldn’t shoot me down right out. He seemed more of the type to gently let me down, then direct me toward something like math. It didn’t require the kind of skill and patience art did, and when he saw my elementary school worthy portfolio, he’d know right away I wasn’t talented in art.
Skirting around the table, I speed walked to the teacher’s desk so I could beat the masses. Only, when I turned around, apparently I was the only one that was interested.
What was wrong with these people? Did they have such perfect lives with perfect families, they had no desire to get a shot at a full ride?
That’s straight. The less competition for me. An advantage I needed.
Ryan craned his neck around, watching me walk back to the table. My fingers twitched at my sides and I glanced away. He was my friend, but he still made me uncomfortable when he stared at me. It didn’t matter who it was, if I couldn’t immediately decipher what was working behind their eyes I got nervous.
“Interested in majoring in art? I hadn’t realized you wanted to go that route, but it makes sense.”
“What do you mean?” My chair scraped against the scuffed white speckled tiles.
“Come on. I mean your photos. You could totally work on a portfolio of photography and rock it. You definitely aren’t going to make it anywhere on your sketches.” He flipped the top of my sketchpad open and let it fall shut.
“I’m trying really hard not to be offended by that backhanded compliment, because you’re genius, Ryan!” The spark of excitement that ignited in my tummy died off quickly. “That’s not going to work. I don’t have any of that type of artwork in my portfolio.”
“Astrid,” Mr. Music called from the front. “Do you have a laptop or do you want to use mine?”
Heat stained my cheeks
as I pushed away from the table. Now everyone knew I didn’t have my own laptop for school. Not that I needed to have one, most kids carried one because they had to have as many electronics on their person as possible.
Being from a “nice” Christian family, they felt that screen time was addictive and not a good behavior conducive to loving Jesus. Hypocritical really, considering how my parents treated others.
I should have just stayed at the front so it wasn’t broadcasted across the classroom.
“Yours.”
We tucked ourselves away behind the desk, and his monitor gave at least a little illusion of privacy. I made sure to position myself where the screen and Mr. Music were the only things in my line of sight.
“So, you want to major in art?” Mr. Music said absently as he scrolled through my portfolio once I pulled it up.
“Um… I do. I would like to, if you think it’s possible.” Please say it’s possible. It would crush my spirit if he laughed or sent me back to my table.
“Where’s the confidence?” Mr. Music shifted around in his chair and pushed his glasses on top of his head.
I studied his eyes for any hint he was mocking me, but he appeared innocently curious.
“Come on. You can see for yourself that I can’t draw my way to the bathroom on most days.” I threw my hands up defeat.
I hadn’t known why I even bothered. The competition for a full ride was going to be steep regardless of the motivation I had backing my interest to shoot for it.
Seconds away from heading back to my desk, Mr. Music gurgled in the back of his throat.
Weird.
“I see what you mean. Usually lines are straight, but your squiggly lines are all over the place. You might have a career in abstract art. Can you give me some deep insight and emotion behind random splotches on the page?”
He gestured to a thumbnail of a painting I attempted last year of a flower arrangement, fit for my grandmother’s funeral.
Mr. Music was a great guy and one of my favorite teachers at this school. But right now, I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or genuinely offering a way for me to have a shot.
“Sure, I could make lots of things up to explain that hot mess. I somehow don’t think that’s going to win the scholarship though.” I deadpanned.
He swiveled in his chair until he faced me fully, staring too hard for my comfort.
“Tell me why you want this scholarship, Astrid.” He demanded.
Caught off guard, I had no idea how to answer this question. The honest way? That I needed a shot at surviving life on my own terms. The suck up way? That I’d always dreamed of being an artist.
“I enjoy art. I want to immerse myself in something that I appreciate, instead of selling out to the idea my parents want me to be.”
Ha! That was a little bit of both.
Mr. Music smooshed his lips to the side as if he was weighing my words.
“Talk to me about art. What medium is your go to?”
“I haven’t really had a go to. I’ve always taken art classes and done the assignments, but you have my portfolio right there. It’s not life changing by any stretch of the imagination.” I pointed to the screen.
Ryan popped his head next to mine as he pulled a chair up beside me, screeching all the way.
“I don’t mean to intrude on your appointment here, but I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation.” He was the picture of innocence and I snickered at his wide-eyed expression.
“By all means Ryan. You have the floor.” Mr. Music grinned at Ryan like he expected this type of behavior.
“I was trying to tell Astrid before she left our table, there is an alternative option for her to enter the competition, without embarrassing herself with her chicken scratch.” He sounded so formal, until the last bit. That made me want to put gorilla glue in his face lotion.
I slapped his arm. “Real nice, Ry. I thought we were friends.”
“We are. That’s why I hijacked your chat. Give me your phone.” He reached for the baby blue phone in my lap, but I snatched it up and out of his reach.
“I don’t think so. There’s classified information on this device.”
“Like you’re getting any. Give me the damned phone.” I was so shocked, he pulled the phone right out of my hand without any fight on my part. The bastard knew how to catch me off guard.
“Secrets my ass. If you have such dangerous stuff, your password should not be one-one-one-one.” He bent over my phone, looking for my camera app.
“This is all highly amusing, but there is one other student in this class that would also like to chat about the scholarship.”
When I glanced up, Mr. Music seemed like he didn’t care at all. He was amused but attempting to play the hard ass teacher part.
“Here.” Ryan shoved the phone in Mr. Music’s face. “This is a picture that Astrid took at the mechanic shop in town.”
A deep line separated Mr. Music’s eyebrows as he reached for the phone. There was no tell whatsoever on his face that gave away his thoughts.
I waited for him to laugh, or for pity to enter his eyes. It’s what my parents would have done before telling me that art would have no future. I didn’t even need to mention the possibility of the art scholarship to know their reactions. A patronizing gleam would take over my dad’s eyes as he lectured me on how starving artists were a drain on society and no daughter of his would live that life.
My mother, on the other hand, would raise her voice and shake the sharp green vegetable knife in my direction, as she reminded me of my uselessness and how without them, I wouldn’t be able to tie my shoes.
“You took this picture?” Mr. Music’s voice crackled like a warm fire.
He startled me right out of my thoughts and into the present.
“Yes?”
“You’re not sure?” Now he was looking at me like I was a few rhinestones short of a bedazzled phone case.
“No, I did take it. I just don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”
His dull brown eyes drilled into me, small wrinkles crinkling at the corners. I sucked in a breath at his expression.
“This is nothing short of amazing, Astrid. Especially, or maybe precisely because it was taken on an old android.”
Ryan nudged my ribs with a sharp elbow, but my brain didn’t quite get the memo that it should have hurt. It sounded suspiciously like Mr. Music thought my picture was good. Like artistic good.
“You mean that?” The surprise and disbelief practically took on a solid form between us.
“Yes. I do.” He spun around and started scrolling through my portfolio again. “Why isn’t there any photography in your portfolio?”
“The only pieces in there are assignments I’ve done. I haven’t really had any photography assignments.” I shrugged.
“Okay, truth time kid. How serious are you about studying art? Is this scholarship something you really want to pursue?”
The feverish tone of Mr. Music’s voice jazzed me right up, making it hard to sit still.
Did this mean he thought I had a shot? The end of the school year started to look like a bright pinprick of light at the end of a long tunnel, instead of the electric chair waiting to shock the life from me.
“Yes. Absolutely. I love art. I’m not great at everything like drawing, but I can take a decent photo.” My nodding didn’t begin to even hit the tip of my conviction.
“Show me a few more pictures.” He demanded and handed the phone back to me.
When I opened the phone, the picture I’d taken of Beck lit the screen. Warm sepia colors blended across the phone, highlighting the veins in his hand and forearm as he used the cloth to wipe the headlight.
Swiping right, I stopped on a picture of the neighbor girl squatting over a crack in the sidewalk. Her pigtails blew in the wind with wasps of sweaty hair stuck to her forehead.
“This one.” I flashed the phone long enough to get a nod, and then found a side profile of my father with
a drink in his hand at our old house. He stared at the desk like it offended him for having the audacity to simply be, and his knuckles were nearly white from gripping the glass so hard.
It was the last night before we started packing to move here, to Colorado.
“And this one.”
“That’s… that picture right there is a great shot.” He tapped the screen with his forefinger. “You guys go sit back down and I’ll talk to you before you leave.”
Less than five minutes was all it took to look at my portfolio and weigh my worth. Was my work really that bad, or was my photography that good? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to cave if I pestered him for his thoughts, so I opted to follow his instructions instead.
Feeling antsy and out of sorts, I was out of the chair before he finished speaking.
Ryan toddled after me, squinting at me as if he didn’t recognize me anymore.
“Why are you being weird?” He leaned back in his chair.
“I’m not. Okay, maybe I am. It’s just strange getting this kind of attention for something I know my parents wouldn’t approve of. It makes me nervous.”
And it did. Most days, I would plan and dream of ways to defy them and finally get out from under their roof. It had been my dream since about thirteen when the blinders fell away, revealing what hypocrites they really were.
But putting an actual plan into motion? That took a whole different set of balls I still wasn’t used to. I’d get there. But the feeling was alien.
“Your parents, gotcha. You don’t need to say anymore. I know all about disapproving parents.”
The door to the classroom creaked as it opened and a head stuck in.
“Mr. Music?”
Jonah. The nerd I slammed into the day of the pep rally stood in the door. His hair was artfully disheveled like he ran his hands through it recently, and he kept the majority of his body out in the hallway. Clearly he had other places to be.
“Yes, Mr. Perez?” Mr. Music seemed unusually distracted now. He was always present, always ready with a weird dad joke or strange quip.
“The principal is requesting you in the office.” Jonah’s voice didn’t match his appearance at all.
Pretty Lies: A contemporary YA Romance (Astrid Scott Series Book 1) Page 4
