And then, there it was. My art had not been covered, but simply hidden from my view by the angle of the sun. There was my masterpiece of bursting colours. Staring at it stirred up feelings of anger and frustration, then doubt and gullibility. Finally, I felt the determination of the girl in the piece and grabbed my phone. It was good, despite my doubts. It was also a good thing I didn’t have my cannons with me or I might have had the urge to take them out and finish the piece. Daylight or not. Above or below the law. I smiled to myself. It was easy to think this way when I didn’t have the option. I snapped a few pictures and made my way back up to the street.
Seeing my artwork inspired me, so I rushed to the store. I always came to this Walmart to buy my paint. Justine was one of the cashiers, and she knew about the stupid Halifax bylaw that said minors couldn’t buy spray paint, but ever since we aced that history project last fall, she agreed to ring me through.
I found a sketchpad and got some new pencils too. I strolled through the ladies’-wear section and eyed the beautiful dresses. I felt the soft fabrics and even held different ones up under my chin to see what they might look like. None of them matched my spiked hair and pale skin.
“What are you doing?”
The gruff voice startled me. I turned and looked into the judging eyes of a security guard.
“I need a dress for prom,” I said sweetly. I held up the lacy blue dress in my hand. “Does this one bring out my eyes?”
The guy stared at me. Hard.
Wow. Did he really think it was that unbelievable that I could go to the prom? I went to put the dress back on the rack but changed my mind. Attitudes like his just made me so mad. I held it up under my chin again. “You got a phone?” I asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“So you can take a picture and stop staring.” I let go of the dress and watched it crumple on the floor in front of me. I turned on my heel and stalked off toward the checkout.
The alarm buzzed in my ears. Where am I? I blinked a couple of times and stretched my arms over my head. The alarm kept buzzing. Slowly, I realized I was at home and it was my phone. I searched for it on my nightstand and finally made it shut up. I slumped back on my pillow. It’s Saturday; I don’t have to get up for school and work’s not for another few hours.
“Shit!” I said aloud. It’s Saturday; I do have to get up for my police-mandated community service.
I threw back the covers and my sketchpad fell to the floor. When I got home last night I had opened my brand new, creamy white sketchbook and began collecting ideas for the Community Art Project and for other paintings I might do someday. There had been times when the pencil in my hand could barely keep up with the images flashing through my head. These sketches were becoming a way to express all of my ideas and not just a way to vent my anger. I began to actually consider art school and thought maybe this could begin my portfolio. I still wasn’t sure how I’d ever pay for school, but it couldn’t hurt to think about it. I must have fallen asleep. Now, I was bone tired and late.
I flew around my room, quickly grabbing clothes and throwing them on. I pulled at my hair, trying to adjust the already gel-filled spikes that had flattened over night. I slapped on my makeup and rushed from the room. I skipped breakfast and didn’t have time to stop at Tim’s. I hurried into the building and went straight to the elevator. The same lady was at the lobby desk, and I gave her a sheepish grin as I passed by. I rushed into the room.
I glanced at my phone to check the time. Somehow I had managed to get here just under the wire. I searched for Zach. When our eyes met he smiled and my empty stomach lurched. I quickly took a seat.
Again, there were paper and pencils. And again, we all doodled automatically. The only sounds were scratching pencils and tapping erasers. I started sketching without thinking and it took me a minute to realize I was drawing Zach. I quickly covered it with dark strokes and looked around to see if anyone had noticed.
“Good morning, everyone.” Cathy closed the door behind her. “So, are we ready to start designing our mural?”
No one said a word.
Cathy wasn’t discouraged by the apparent lack of interest. “I want you to think about something.” She looked around the room, making eye contact with each of us. “It’s small, incremental steps that will lead to a large, breathtaking piece of art. There is the discussion, the planning, the sketches, the choice of colours and textures, the lighting, and the perspective. This mural is both a collaboration and a statement of each individual taking part.”
“Sounds like a bunch of crap,” muttered Zach. He sat back in his chair, putting his pencil down. He folded his arms across his chest. I wondered if he really felt that way. I’d seen the way he looked at the paintings on the screen last week.
“It might sound like crap, but it works,” Cathy insisted as she moved around the room. “The first small step was the sketchbook. Did anyone bring one?”
Nobody answered, but my stomach tightened. I had filled pages and pages of my sketchbook, but I was glad I hadn’t brought it with me. I didn’t want to be the keener.
“So no one drew anything to do with the project?” Cathy asked. “I’m surprised. Most artists can’t resist a new idea, even if they want to.” She peered around the table. “It continues to play on their mind until they have to put it to paper.”
I glanced around and everyone remained quiet. Peter squirmed in his seat and looked like he might say something but then he looked down at his shoes. His face was peppered with freckles and he had a mark on his neck that I couldn’t help but stare at. I wondered if it was a birthmark or a bruise. He jiggled his left foot for a few seconds, contemplating. Then he shifted again and reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it, put it down on the table in front of him, and smoothed out the wrinkles. “You said it was about living in Nova Scotia,” he said, “so I drew an idea of where each of us might live.”
There were five images: a castle, a dungeon, a jail cell, a gymnasium, and a trailer. I stared at the pictures. His concept was pretty cookie-cutter, but the detail was amazing. I figured I was meant for the dungeon because of the bats and the vampire he’d included. Rachael would get the castle, and Zach the gym. But I couldn’t decide on the other two. Did Peter think of himself as a criminal or trailer trash? Either way, it wasn’t much of a choice. I scrutinised him, trying to decide.
“What?” asked Peter.
“I don’t think we need five places. We’re having so much fun, let’s all live together in the jail cell.” I flashed him one of my lame smiles.
“Nope. That’s just for me, according to my dad. Just a matter of time.” Peter folded the paper quickly and stuffed back in his pocket, his ears reddening.
My stomach tightened again. I knew what it felt like to have a parent disappointed in you, and it wasn’t great. It also sucked that I got arrested doing something I actually really cared about.
“Speak for yourself,” I said. “I got nabbed, but I’m definitely not a criminal.”
“Sorry to tell you this, but yeah, you are,” said Russell. “We all are and that’s why we’re here.” Russell looked at me and put his hands in the air.
I stared back at him. His eyes were as brown as the curly hair that almost reached his shoulders. Today’s T-shirt had a picture of Stewie from Family Guy on it. It was clean but worn. I even noticed a hole in the seam by the collar. If I saw him somewhere on the street I would never think he was a lawbreaker—I’d also never know he was a talented artist. I glanced at Peter, Zach, and Rachael. I always imagine artists as sophisticated and self-assured, walking tall, and proud of who they are. A bit eccentric maybe, but confident. That didn’t sound like any of us. But none of looked like criminals, either.
Well, except me, according to Mom.
I changed my mind and decided to fess up about my sketchbook. After all, if I had to paint I might as
well have a say in it. Ever since that history class on Monday I kept going back to the idea of families through time.
“Well, I did get a book, but I didn’t bring it.” I paused and looked down at the pencil in my hands. “I was thinking we could do a collage of the different type of houses through history.” I looked up to see what they thought.
Blank stares all around.
Come on people. I’m trying here. “You know: wigwams, a habitation, log cabins, barracks....” No one said a word. I stared at Zach and raised my eyebrows, wishing he’d at least make a comment.
“That could work,” said Zach, as if he read my mind. “Maybe we could include a house made from stone like the ones in the North End.” The Hydrostone houses had been built after the Halifax Explosion. Zach smiled at me.
I felt my face flush and I looked down at the table. Whoa, where did that reaction come from? I ignored the feeling of jelly in my stomach and breathed a sigh of relief when the others seemed to loosen up.
“Well, I think we should include a ship, since we have the Navy here,” said Rachael. She tossed her golden locks around her shoulder and smoothed the front of her silky shirt.
“Maybe a university,” suggested Russell, brushing curls from his eyes. “You know, to represent student housing?”
Cathy nodded. “This is wonderful. Let’s sit down and get to work. We’ll sketch out the ideas before we actually go to the site.” She motioned for us to get going, and handed us fresh paper. Everyone went to work except Zach.
“Aren’t you going to help?” Rachael asked Zach. She got up and moved over to sit beside him. After tossing her head so her hair swung around her left shoulder, she smiled and winked. I felt a hot stab of jealousy. Another reaction I didn’t expect.
“Looks like you guys need all the help you can get.” Zach stood up and moved toward the window. “This project sucks.” He seemed unnerved by Rachael’s flirting. I inwardly sighed in relief.
“Then help us out, man.” Russell looked up and pushed his curly hair out of his eyes. “It’s not like any of us want to be here.” He offered Zach a pencil. “Might as well make the best of it.”
Zach refused the pencil, so Russell tossed it back on the table and shrugged.
“At least we get to paint in the daylight for a change,” said Peter. He gave Russell a high-five. Zach stayed at the window.
I agreed with Peter. Painting at night had its drawbacks—colours appeared dulled and sort of blended together, and little details disappeared in the darkness. But I kept quiet, because I didn’t want to take sides against Zach. I liked my concept and watching everyone sketch was turning out to be okay. They each had some talent…maybe I could even learn something. It didn’t mean I had to make friends. Especially with Rachael. Her flirting was really bugging me. I didn’t know if anything would happen between Zach and me, but I sure didn’t want her to be the reason it didn’t.
The saying “keep your friends close and your enemies closer” flashed through my mind. I didn’t have friends, but I might have an enemy. I moved to the seat beside Rachael.
I studied the sketch she was working on. She had a realistic style and it was good. The frigate looked almost ready to set sail. You could practically see the water move around the hull, and see the tiny rivets in the metal sheeting. There was even a helicopter launch pad.
“How long have you been drawing?” I couldn’t imagine having the talent to draw like that. Her pictures looked like photographs.
“Forever,” she sighed. “But I really like doing landscapes. Two years ago, on my fourteenth birthday, I got this art kit for painting scenery—I was hooked.”
“Your work’s great,” I said honestly. Even if she was an airhead, she was a talented one.
She gave me a small smile. “Thanks. It’s about the only thing I can seem to do right.” Rachael stopped talking and continued to draw.
I didn’t ask what she meant. I wasn’t here to make friends.
Russell and Peter were working side by side. Russell used tubes and arrows in his work and included a lot of lettering. Peter’s style was all in the shading. I heard him telling Russell that he only ever used black and white. It was pretty cool what he could do without any colour. The two kept talking, but I stopped listening. Zach had sat back down, but he stayed on his own, doodling silently.
I kept looking at him, hoping to catch his eye. I cleared my throat. Nothing. I was interested in him, that I knew for sure. What I didn’t know was if he would be interested in me. I thought of Tony and my heart sank. But then I reasoned that, with Zach’s cocky attitude, he probably wouldn’t care what others said. He might even date me just to spite his friends. I smiled at the thought. Finally, I faked a cough and he looked my way. He nodded. I felt my cheeks heat up and was grateful for my makeup. I quickly looked down and tried to focus on the sketching.
Before I knew it, Cathy was announcing it was time to pack up for the day.
“Hey,” I said to Zach on my way out. I was hoping to talk to him but a single word was all I could manage.
“Hey.” But just then, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and then back at me. “I gotta go. Come a few minutes early next week and we can talk.” He grimaced at the caller ID and left.
Yes. I floated from the room.
Monday was busy. I aced a science test and worked at the store after school. Then I stayed up late to finish a history assignment and passed it in on Tuesday. I was glad when school was over for the day and I hurried home.
The house was empty. Usually Mom was home by now, but not today. I took the mail from the box and flipped quickly through the pile: bills, flyers…and one small white envelope the size of a card with handwriting I didn’t recognize. I dropped the pile on the kitchen table and decided to get supper ready. Mom was a terrible cook. She used to leave the meals up to James. I tried to help out but Mom was hard to please, and I often just didn’t have time.
Mom barged in just as I was closing the oven door. “What are you up to?”
“I’m making oven-fried chicken.” I stood proud and grabbed the wet dishcloth from the sink and began wiping up the spilled flour and spices from the countertop.
“Oh. Sorry. I should have called. I’m going out with some of the girls from work.” She fidgeted with a thread on her sleeve. “Thanks, anyway.” My stomach dropped and I just stood there staring at her. She shrugged. “They’re picking me up here, so, do you mind cleaning this up?” She motioned toward the mess on the counter.
I didn’t speak, but the voice in my head was screaming. What the hell?! I just cooked a meal you don’t intend to eat. And all you can think about is the mess. Supper used to be a time when we would sit and talk about our day. James would cook and Mom and I would do the dishes, the whole time talking about nothing and everything.
“And if you could, please…” Mom hesitated, but the familiar look and the circular motion of her finger around her own face spoke volumes before she even said the words “…wash your face?”
“That’s okay, Mom. I’ll just stay in my room,” I said acidly. “Can’t have your daughter making a bad impression.”
She looked relieved. “Thanks, dear.”
“Whatever. There’s mail for you.” I pointed at the pile on the kitchen table.
Mom picked up the little white envelope on top and stared at it. Her face dropped and the excitement of her pending night out vanished. “Where did you get this?”
“In the mail.” I just said that. I stopped cleaning and leaned against the counter, watching Mom.
She quickly turned the envelope over and examined it. “You didn’t open it did you?” She was shaking.
“Of course not. Jeeze, Mom, calm down. Who’s it from?”
“None of your damn business, that’s who.” She stormed from the room, taking the card with her.
Woah. I shook my h
ead and went back to wiping the counter. What kind of mail could set Mom off like that?
As promised, I was in my room with all evidence of cooking cleaned up when the ladies arrived an hour later. I was hurt that Mom didn’t want to introduce me. I peered out of my room to see her friends. Mom hadn’t had anyone over to the house for a long time and I was curious. Maybe she was finally getting over James. A girl could hope, couldn’t she? Three women including Mom were in the living room chatting.
One lady stood and studied the picture of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip. She looked around the room like she was searching for something. “Julia, wasn’t there a beautiful painting of a sunset here?”
I strained to hear Mom’s answer. She hated to talk about James, and I wondered what she would say.
“Yeah. I got rid of it. I was tired of the painting.” She smiled as she looked up at the picture. “I love the royals. Don’t you?”
“I can take ’em or leave ’em,” said the lady eyeing the print.
“I’d rather have a painting,” the third lady said.
“Well. Not me,” said Mom tersely. “James is gone and so are his paintings.”
“What did Victoria say about it?”
“She’s too young to understand.” Mom placed her hands on her hips and raised her chin. She seemed so certain, it was all I could do to stay quiet. I wasn’t too young to have an opinion; she just never asked for it or considered how I felt. By the time I had gotten home the day James left, the damage was done. I wanted to tell her so, but I stayed back.
“Victoria thinks she wants to paint, but I’m not having it,” Mom continued. “When James was painting he got so caught up in it…I used to feel so ignored and alone.” She paused. “There’s no way I’m going to be abandoned by my daughter too.”
Goth Girl Page 5
