Table of Contents:
Title Page
Copyright page
Synopsis
Dedication page
Chapter 1: Alone in a White Padded Cell with a Rubik’s Cube, Oil on Canvas
Chapter 2: Smoke Signals (or Donuts) on an Empty Beach, Etching
Chapter 3: Fruit Bowl with Melons, Synthetic Polymer Paint on Paper
Chapter 4: Snarky and a Boy Chatting in a Coffee Shop, Bronze
Chapter 5: Portrait of an Artist in Green, Glitter on Cardstock
Chapter 6: Shipwrecked on a Starry Night (Without Balls), Acrylic on Canvas
Chapter 7: The Long and Abstract Road to Trip On or Thelma Buys the Farm, Lithograph in Two Panels
Chapter 8: A Landscape of Nudes (and Gnats), Oil Paint on Burlap
Chapter 9: American Gothic in Wonderland (Without the Overalls), Graphite Pencil on Vellum
Chapter 10: Metamorphosis of a Barn, Recycled Materials
Chapter 11: Donkey Punch on the Dance Floor, Mixed Media
Chapter 12: Gorgeous Gorge, Collage
Chapter 13: Seagulls and Tapioca Cheese on a Sand Dune, Plaster
Chapter 14: A Splash of Beige on a Lime Green Pool Noodle, Sand Textured in Oil
Chapter 15: Salvage, Black Sugar Paper on Ply Board
Chapter 16: Sand on the Tongue, Relief Engraving
Chapter 17: Shades of an Apocalyptic Undertow, Pastels on Velour Paper
Chapter 18: A Paper Covered Moon, Black Chalk
Chapter 19: The Ugly Landscape of Truth, Crayon and Pasted Paper
Chapter 20: Blanket on the Horizon, Fresco
Chapter 21: The Wasted Landscape of Perfection, Red Pen on Graph Paper
Chapter 22: A Field of Personal Fouls, Chalk on Sidewalk
Chapter 23: Two Girls on a Beach, Mixed Media on Transparent Paper
Chapter 24: The Singularity of Driftwood, Watercolor Landscape
Chapter 25: Still Life with Puppet, Finger Paint on Paper
Chapter 26: Ego at Sunset, Salted Paper Print
Chapter 27: Coffee Cups and Starry-eyed Reflections at the Shore, Ink Pen on Receipt
Chapter 28: Tropical Island in the Distance, Permanent Marker on Surfboard
Chapter 29: Portrait of an Artist, Patchwork Collage
Chapter 30: Open Door, Found Materials
Acknowledgments
Books by Coleen Patrick
About the Author
Connect with Coleen
The Art of Second Chances
By Coleen Patrick
The Art of Second Chances
Copyright 2014 by Coleen Patrick
ISBN: 978-0-9890951-4-3
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/published contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Labelle’s Editorial Services
Cover images by Donald Bowers & Iulias used under license of Shutterstock
Cover designed by Coleen Patrick
Synopsis
Got baggage?
Sixteen-year-old Grace Callahan was sure she was done chasing normal when she and Zac fell in love.
But old habits die hard when Grace is rejected from the art program she thought was a “sure thing”, and she projects dating expectations onto her brand new, we-are-no-longer-just-best-friends relationship with Zac. Grace is convinced all she needs is a spring break at the beach with her boyfriend, so she plans an itinerary worthy of a reality TV dating show.
Until a visitor from Zac’s past shows up, sending Grace and Zac’s relationship—and her romantic comedy agenda—into uncharted territory. Chaos becomes Grace’s guide as she navigates spring break with an uncharacteristically weepy best friend, a still-just-as-nuts-as-ever older sister, a set of parents who act like they’re in a middle school relationship, and a hot guy in a barn (who loves art as much as Grace).
And Grace has packed all of her insecurities for the trip.
Worse, she may not have Zac anymore…and she might be to blame.
But as spring break turns into a spring breakdown, and Grace finds she’s not the only one with secrets, she begins to see her friends, family, and Zac in a whole new light. And Grace discovers there just might be a second chance on the horizon.
For Gav
Chapter 1
Alone in a White Padded Cell with a Rubik’s Cube, Oil on Canvas
I couldn’t tell whether the fiery buzz blazing a trail from my gut to my head was due to the extra shot of espresso in my iced mocha or excitement. Or, just your average I-don’t-want-to-stand-on-this-stage-no-matter-how-tiny-it-is dread.
Whatever the reason, Zac said this was supposed to be my moment.
I pressed a palm to my stomach. Where was Zac? Higher Grounds Café was busier than usual, all twelve tables appeared taken—and there was a line at the counter that stretched almost into the middle of the room. From my perch in front of the small stage at the back corner of the coffee shop, I glanced at the sheet draped on the wall next to me and shivered.
No, this was dread. For sure.
Chloe Winters, my BFF, weaved her way through the tables to me.
“Wow,” she said, studying the white sheet.
“Too much, I know. But Mr. Anderson wanted some fanfare for the mural reveal.”
“Well, ya gotta do what the client wants. So, what are we waiting for?”
“Zac.” I scanned the coffee shop another time.
“Where is Mr. Boyfriend?” Chloe planted her hands on her hips.
I shrugged as I pulled out my phone. I had no idea. Maybe he was doing something for the paper, or track, or maybe he was in the school guidance office researching scholarships, and had lost all sense of time. He’d done it before. Ever since he went to the juniors’ Kick Off for College assembly earlier this month, he’d been busier than ever. Lately, I only saw him Saturday nights, in his family room, for our standing movie date. But I had to admit, seeing Zac shift into his new frenetic pace was the first time I was glad I’d been held back in kindergarten. I was actually content to be a sophomore. I wasn’t ready for the pressures of college application time. I could barely handle a mural reveal.
See you at five.
That was what his last text said. He was fifteen minutes late. Not a huge deal when I factored in how much I protested this whole mural reveal thing. Maybe Zac wasn’t in a hurry to get here because he thought I didn’t care. I did care. About my art, I mean. The spotlight part I could do without.
“Do you have to wait for Zac?”
“Well, I--”
“Wait for who?” The question came from Kong. Aaron Braverman-Kwong, my high school newspaper’s resident photographer. His camera flashed. I blinked.
Chloe put a hand up. “Enough with the pictures, Kong.”
He let his camera dangle in front of his chest. “Make up your mind, Winters. Two minutes ago, you told me not to miss any photo ops.”
“I was talking about Grace’s mural.” She pointed at the white sh
eet still covering what we had yet to reveal.
“Still. Kind of confusing. Don’t you think?” Kong pressed a finger to his temple. “MUD.”
“Mud?” I asked at the same moment I heard Chloe mutter, Don’t ask.
Kong grinned, big and toothy. “Yeah, M-U-D. Mind. Under. Duress. MUD.”
“Oh.” I had no idea what he was talking about. Kong was an amazing photographer. A very visual guy. As for audio, or conversing? I only understood half of what he said. It was like he was so smart, his intellect inverted. Not three hundred and sixty degrees to stupid, but to some sort of parallel intelligence. The final frontier. Where no human brain had gone before.
“It’s cool, right?” Kong bobbed his head, his gaze darting about the room as if he expected some kind of applause. Not that anyone else was even looking at the three of us at that moment, let alone listening. “It’s my new thing. Acronyms. Making. All. Jargon. Overly. Rich. MAJOR.”
“You ready, Grace?” Over my shoulder, Zac’s dad, Mr. Anderson, stood next to the sheet, waiting to start.
“Oh, I…” I turned back to see if Zac had walked in, but Kong was in front of me, his camera in my face again. He was more than a little close. From my view, it appeared he was taking macro shots of my nose.
“See, Kong? This was what I was talking about.” Chloe attempted to steer me toward the mural and away from Kong. “Can you cool it for a second?”
“Wait.” He steadied his camera. “One more. I need a before the reveal shot.”
“Kong…” Chloe said.
“No, it’s okay. All part of the process.” I was proud of my work. So unless I only wanted to confine all of my creativity to my notebooks, I probably needed to get used to the idea of some kind of public attention. Or as Chloe had said last night, I needed to put my big girl pants on.
I posed for the camera. When I shifted, I felt the envelope in my back pocket bend. I bounced on my toes a little. The letter arrived that afternoon. Getting a spot in CU’s Summer Art Intensive was another victory I’d never forget. At least that’s what I hoped.
I put my hands on my hips, and Kong snapped away. I was glad Zac talked me into doing the whole formal reveal. Even though the project was for art class (and I still hadn’t come up with a title, let alone a name for an entire art movement as was the requirement for my art class project), it was still technically my first commissioned work of art (outside my family). It was kind of nice to get recognized for something I really liked to do. Finally, after sixteen and a quarter years, I had a passion and I knew which direction my life was headed. It was the beginning of my life as a real artist.
“Can you get some shots with this?” I held up my acceptance letter envelope. Kong jumped into action, clicking away.
“Is that what I think it is?” Piper, the assistant manager at my mom’s smoothie café, Zen, nodded toward the envelope. “You got in? Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I said, not correcting her as she reached out and squeezed my hand, because at that moment, the official status regarding my acceptance was a mere formality. I hadn’t opened the envelope yet. I wanted to wait for Zac.
Mr. Anderson cleared his throat, then flipped the switch on the mic. “Attention everyone. Our artist in residence is getting ready to reveal a Grace Callahan original.”
I shrunk back, my calves pressed into the small rise of the stage. It was easy to get excited while posing for pictures with my friends, but standing on a stage in front of the entire coffee shop? I was back to feeling spineless, and in response, my fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the sides of my legs. Ode to a jellyfish.
I really needed to muster some confidence.
I straightened, let out a big breath, then clasped my hands together to discourage further fidgeting. It helped. Plus, I took solace in knowing if any self-doubt clung to me after today, the art program would cure me of that.
Behind me, Zac’s dad explained the mural. I pictured the painting I’d finished the night before. It was mostly a giant Rubik’s cube, but it was what Mr. Anderson wanted. Apparently, Zac’s dad had been some kind of champion back in high school. It was nostalgic for him. I had fun painting the cube. It was cool how creating stuff could make me find connections to other areas of my life. Painting all those colored squares side-by-side kept reminding me how my life was less chaotic, finally lining up, matching my expectations.
“Grace?
I jumped from hearing my name over the sound system.
“Would you like to say a little something before we reveal?” Zac’s dad asked.
I hesitated. This was the part where Zac might have taken over, covered for me, saved me. He knew how much I’d be embarrassed by my uncontrollable neon blush face (and if it got really bad, red stripes on my neck). Mr. Anderson wouldn’t think of that.
You got this.
I nodded in answer to myself. Except, as I stepped onto the small stage, I suddenly remembered how when I was a kid, Mr. Anderson used to ask me to wiggle my ears for the café crowd every time he saw me. I guess it was the kind of thing that happened when someone knew you your whole life, from the time you were snotty and in diapers. Zac finally got him to stop a few years ago. But Zac wasn’t here to stop him now.
Mr. Anderson waved me toward the mic stand.
Was he looking at my ears?
I froze. Zac’s dad took a step in my direction.
What was he doing?
I shook my head.
Please, oh please, oh please.
Then he reached a hand out, as if he were going to introduce my ears before asking me to wiggle them for the crowd.
Instincts I didn’t even know I had kicked in, and I threw up my arm, blocking Zac’s dad with a move I probably learned from the movie, The Karate Kid.
Mr. Anderson’s arm swung out to the side from the force of my learned-on-TV martial arts skill. Someone snorted, and I dropped my karate stance.
Mr. Anderson’s eyebrows danced. He appeared to be waffling between his own amusement and confusion.
“Excuse me, Grace,” he said, reaching around me to grab a hold of the sheet.
More laughter. I closed my eyes from the rush of embarrassment. I shuffled sideways, out of his way, closer to the mic stand, all the while focusing on the middle of the white sheet, purposefully avoiding the audience. My face throbbed. I wasn’t quite at full blinking neon candy cane neck status. Yet.
If only my mural was something karate related. Then I could explain away what just happened as a skit.
For my next trick, watch me catch a fly as I hold two coffee stirrers like chopsticks.
Once in front of the mic, my fingertips trembled, and I squeezed my hands into fists. I scanned the room. The tables were still full. I recognized some people from school, like the two freshman from our Blue Pride paper staff that I’d been training in graphic layouts, and others as the usual Higher Grounds crowd, like Piper, my mom’s assistant manager at Zen. Not everyone was paying attention to me though, and, for that, I was grateful.
“Um,” I said, leaning into the mic. “I just want to say thanks to Mr. Anderson for this opportunity.”
Then I skittered back behind him, folding myself into the corner. Origami came to mind.
Mr. Anderson tugged on the bottom of the sheet, and Chloe grabbed the makeshift drape as it fell. Kong snapped away.
Clapping started. Some cheers and a whistle from Piper. I took a deep breath, my gaze fixating in on the one square that signified the cube wasn’t solved.
I wrinkled my nose. That yellow square still bugged me, but Mr. Anderson insisted that the game be unfinished. Reminds me to try again, he’d said. Obviously, he didn’t have closure needs, not like I apparently did. When life got messy, I liked to clean it up as soon as possible.
Zac’s dad patted my shoulder before hopping off the stage. I surveyed the room again. Two people I didn’t know shuffled closer to look at the Rubik’s cube, but everyone else had gone back to their coffee, their conversatio
ns. Small favors.
And that’s when I saw him.
Zac.
Except he wasn’t the Zac I’d seen at lunch. His floppy, boyish bangs were gone, as was most of his hair.
Uh, wow.
Just breathe, Callahan.
His eyes zeroed in on me, and he maneuvered around the tables effortlessly (he was used to it, he worked at Higher Grounds), then he hopped up on the stage and grabbed me in a hug. Instantly, I remembered the Halloween pageant almost four months ago, with us on the large auditorium stage at school. I’d stood there and let the world know (well, my school) my feelings for Zac. We’d been best friends forever and got stuck in a very unclear place between friendship and love, and I needed clarity. I got it in the form of a public spectacle. But I also got Zac.
“Sorry I missed it,” he said.
“Your hair…” I stared at his head. The fact that he was late disappeared from my mind. His hair was all I could focus on. “A buzz cut?”
Zac grinned, and I couldn’t help but match his expression. This was crazy. He looked so different. My tongue poked its way through my teeth as I smiled.
“You like it?” He tipped his head to the side.
I nodded, slowly, but I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. The only word that bounced around my mind was sexy. Not that I hadn’t considered Zac sexy before. It was that something about the edgy cut made him seem…
Older. Mysterious. Dangerous.
Sexy.
“Why?” I asked, feeling the need to clear my throat.
He shrugged. “I needed a change.”
I blinked. I couldn’t stop staring and, again, he wrapped me in a hug, the kind of hug that made me wish we were alone. His hand rubbed a slow circle on the middle of my back, then downward.
“What’s this?” He patted the back pocket of my jeans.
I pulled away. Zac held the envelope between us. I reached for it. “I wanted to surprise you, but…” I pressed my palm to his barely there hair. Sharp. “You’re the one doing all the surprising.”
The Art of Second Chances Page 1
