I tried to hide behind a post, but my mom spotted me. She ran over, towing her lookalike by the hand.
“This is Raven Moonlove,” my mom said, still gripping the lady’s hand. “My daughter, Maddie.”
“You have beautiful eyes,” Raven Moonlove said, touching my cheek. “Oh, she’s an old soul,” she said to my mom.
My mom smiled hugely. “Raven’s learning how to find her animal medicine guide. And she’s a fortune-teller,” she added, eyes wide.
Raven Moonlove laughed. “Future consultant,” she said.
I couldn’t believe it. They’d been talking a grand total of two minutes, and she already knew all this about her?
Raven spread her arms wide and tipped her head back. “I had to come in and soak up the energy in this space. It’s amazing.” Then she proceeded to sway and lunge, and do some sort of modern dance routine, right in the middle of the gallery.
My mom was looking on admiringly. Then, what did she do? She joined in. The two of them started twirling around each other, swept away in the moment. My mom moaned a little as she dipped and twirled, eyes closed. An older couple snapped a photo.
I hid again. This was quite possibly the most surreal moment of my life. Standard torture would have been welcome at that moment.
After they finished their dance, Raven Moonlove and my mom hugged and then laughed. My mom’s snort echoed all the way through the fourth floor.
I had to get away. There was no way I could spend the next two hours with them.
“Mom, I think I’ll go—” I started to say.
“We’re going to go meditate in the Architecture and Design exhibit,” my mom interrupted, arm in arm with her new best friend. “See you in the gift shop at one thirty?”
I nodded, stunned. Mom and Raven swished off in their long skirts.
I plopped down on a bench. I’d finally gotten rid of my mom for a while, but it didn’t feel as satisfying as I’d thought it would. I had hoped that my mom would finally understand my world better. Instead, she’d ditched me for a fortune-teller. I mean, future consultant.
I wandered through galleries of Van Gogh and Monet paintings. This was what I’d been dreaming of for a year, but now I was bitter instead of happy.
Soon enough, it was time to meet up at the gift shop. Raven Moonlove and my mom were now talking about getting matching foot tattoos.
“With swirls down to our toes, to represent the feminine mystical,” Raven Moonlove said. My mom nodded sagely.
We rode the bus to the Guggenheim Museum to meet Anna and Thomas. I couldn’t wait for them to get a load of what my mom had picked up.
On the bus, my mom turned to me as Raven Moonlove was reading another passenger’s energy. “Isn’t she such a neat lady?” she said. “I love having someone that I can connect with.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” I said in a monotone. It was always the same. On every summer adventure before that, except for Anna’s farm, my mom had always found someone else to be best friends with, and then left me in the dust.
After twenty aching minutes, we reached the Guggenheim. There were Anna and Thomas, wearing those “I Heart NY” hats and laughing with each other. I’d never been so happy to see two people in my entire life.
Their mouths snapped shut as soon as they saw us. Thomas gave Raven Moonlove the twice-over, his eyebrows creased together.
“Raven and I are going to go to Zelda’s Gluten-Free Palace,” my mom said. “She’s GF too.”
“Gluten is poison,” Raven said, eyes closed. She talked with her eyes closed a lot. “Absolute poison.”
Off they went, with my mom wishing me luck for my big night. Mom would see me back at Thomas’s later that night.
Thomas and Anna watched them go.
“What was that?!” Thomas said, still staring.
“Well, you got rid of your mom,” Anna said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You’re happy now, right?”
I nodded. I told them about the modern dance routine.
Anna’s lips were quivering in the corners. She couldn’t hold it in. Next she was bending at the waist, wheezing with laughter. Thomas put his hand over his mouth, but he couldn’t hold in the guffaw.
Pretty soon, I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I was too busy doubled over with laughter.
“I can’t believe people like that lady actually exist,” Thomas said, once he was able to stop laughing.
I felt better after that.
In front of us, the white museum building towered in all its circular majesty.
“Ready to rock the Guggenheim?” Thomas said.
I nodded and then checked my watch. The big Canvas art show was only four hours away.
Chapter Eleven
I looked at myself in the mirror again. Dangly asymmetrical earrings, check. Perfect art-show dress, check. Subtle eyes and strong red lips, check. Smooth hair, check.
I emerged from behind the closet door, where I’d been prepping. Anna was already wearing her new dress, with her long red hair piled up on top of her head in a sloppy bun. She looked amazing.
I walked the three steps to the table like I was walking the catwalk. “Do I look ready to meet my destiny?” I said.
“Classy lady!” Thomas whistled. He was so cute and old-fashioned that he used dorky sayings like “classy lady.” Anna clapped.
In a weird way, I wished my mom was there. I wanted her to have a proud moment for me. But she was probably healing the chakras of the Central Park ducks with Raven Moonlove.
The clock on Thomas’s stove read 6:10. Only twenty minutes until the driver was to arrive.
In an hour, people from the New York art world would be looking at my portrait. I imagined them fawning over me and my work. I bet they’d want to book me for an exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Goose bumps shivered down my arm.
“Anna, are you okay?” Thomas’s voice snapped me out of it.
Anna had her hand to her mouth. She shook her head. Sweat had broken out on her forehead. She stood up and ran out the door.
“Uh-oh,” said Thomas, watching her go.
When she didn’t come back in five minutes, Thomas and I went to check on her.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Thomas said. Retching sounds echoed down the hall from the bathroom.
Anna had her head over the dirty, gross toilet. She must have been really sick to be okay with that.
“Hey, sis,” Thomas said, rubbing her back. He was so sweet, even in a crisis.
“I bet it was that pizza we had in Times Square,” Anna croaked, lifting her head up for a second.
“Those will get you every time,” Thomas said, still rubbing her back. “Maddie, could you go get her a glass of water?”
I rushed back to the kitchen and poured Anna some water in a chipped coffee mug.
Speed walking back to the bathroom, I started to feel a bit ill myself. I knew Anna couldn’t help being sick, but what was I going to do about the big show?
“Does this mean you can’t come?” I said, passing the mug of water. I checked the time on my phone. 6:23.
“Not unless you want me to barf all over the art,” Anna said. “I’m sorry, Maddie. I was really looking forward to—” She retched again.
I couldn’t imagine myself going alone. “Thomas, can you come with me?” I asked, feeling desperate.
Thomas looked at me like I had three heads all of a sudden. “Uh, no,” he said. “I need to stay here with Anna.”
With great reluctance, I left. The car, with the words Canvas Magazine tastefully printed in the back passenger window, was waiting for me when I went downstairs. As I slid onto the buttery leather seat, I wanted to feel giddy and excited. But it was hard without my best friend there.
When I arrived at the Bolt Gallery, the room was already abuzz. Carl Robertson, the editor of Canvas Magazine, greeted me at the door. He was exactly as I imagined: short brown hair, stylish glasses and a gray suit.
“It’s one of our VIP
S!” he said, putting his arm around me and ushering me in. He fussed about me coming alone, and then said that I’d make new friends there. A girl took my coat, and then Carl dropped a glass of sparkling water into my hand with an air kiss before running off to greet someone else. I felt so special.
Even though Anna wasn’t there, I had to drink in the moment. The Bolt Gallery was a huge loft space. The prizewinning portraits lined one wall. A DJ was spinning some mellow beats in the corner. A long banner stretched across one wall: Canvas Magazine presents the “Face of Youth” Art Contest Winners.
I’d studied Louise Bergville’s photo on her website so that I’d be sure to spot her right away. I looked around for the gray bobbed hair and big black glasses. Nothing. Maybe she wasn’t there yet.
A server came by with a plate of crackers with various fancy spreads on them. I took one with cream cheese, and proceeded to drop a blob right down the front of my dress. Crap. At that very moment, another girl about my age and an older woman rushed up to me.
“Are you Maddie?” the girl said, as I tried to subtly wipe the blob off my front.
“I’m Jessie Sayers,” she said, flipping her hair. “Like, the first prize winner? Can we do a selfie?”
Before I knew it, Jessie had wrapped her arm around my shoulder and pointed her phone in our faces. Flash. Great. My cream cheese blob was probably going to end up on her Facebook page. Jessie ran off, likely to find her next victim.
Seeing my portrait gave me electric shivers down my back. I hadn’t seen it since I’d left it, propped up against Anna’s bedroom door. I wished Anna could be there to see the portrait of her cow, Frida Cowlo. I marveled at the detail I’d put in, from her eyebrows to the flowers on her head.
The chatter in the room began to die down. Carl Robertson was at the microphone, greeting everyone and introducing the winners. When he said my name, I put my hand up and everyone turned to look at me and clapped.
I could feel the red rise from under-neath my dress collar all the way up to my hairline. I hoped no one noticed.
So this is what it feels like to be a celebrity, I thought.
“We’re sorry that one of our guests of honor, Louise Bergville, couldn’t make it tonight.” Then Carl started chatting on about something else.
No Louise Bergville. My heart thunked into my stomach. I hadn’t even thought of the possibility of her not being there.
Carl finished his speech and the crowd started buzzing again. I snuck around the corner behind the wall of portraits, trying to gather myself together. It was the second time that day that I’d hidden in an art gallery.
Two women about my mom’s age, maybe older, were looking at the winning portraits. One was very thin with bright red hair, wearing an all-black jumpsuit. The other one was curvier, with long brown hair and a polka-dot dress. I recognized them as Trish and Toni from The Stick and the Stone, a visual art–review blog that I loved.
My heart fluttered. They weren’t Louise Bergville, but these ladies were pretty darn cool. When they paused on my painting, I sucked in a breath.
Toni’s mouth twisted. She squinted.
“Oh, these hopeful, naïve young artists,” she said. “Drawing pictures of…farm animals?”
“Uninspired,” Trish said with a sigh.
Toni made a flicking motion with her hand. “Derivative.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but my heart thunked even lower. Trish and Toni moved on to the next portrait. I didn’t hear what they said about it, but Toni made the same flicking motion.
Everything that had happened to me that day seemed to crash together at once. My crazy mom. No Anna. No Louise Bergville. My art was ugly. Tears sprang to my eyes.
“Do you always hide behind walls at art openings?”
I whipped my head around. A boy was standing next to me. I hadn’t even noticed him.
I looked down. I didn’t want this guy, whoever he was, to see my tears. I quickly wiped them.
“Timber,” he said, extending his hand. I only glanced at him, but he looked about my age.
“Maddie,” I said, shaking his hand and looking down again. I kind of wanted him to go away.
“Um,” he said. “Are you okay?”
What did he care? “Yeah,” I said. “I just want to be back here for a minute.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Maddie! Call me! A text from my mom. She’d probably had a psychic breakthrough about her aura and had to tell me. I put my phone back in my pocket.
Timber was still standing there. I glanced up. He was looking around the room. He tsked. “The Stick and the Stone people are here. My mom can’t stand them. She says they wouldn’t know a good work of art if it bit them on the bum.”
I looked up. “They called my portrait ‘derivative’ and ‘uninspired.’” I could barely get the words out.
“Yours is the cow, right?” he said.
I nodded, feeling unsure about it by that point. Did he hate it too?
My phone buzzed again. I pulled it out. My mom was phoning me. I put it back in my pocket, still buzzing.
“Do you need to answer that?” Timber said. I shook my head.
“So, are you one of the contest winners too?” I said. He was cute. More than cute. More like out-of-my-league hot. He was a little taller than me, with longish sandy blond hair and blue eyes.
“No,” he said. “My mom was supposed to be here, but then she had to go open a gallery in Tokyo. I came in her place.” He said it like it was normal to jet off to Japan at a moment’s notice.
My mouth fell open as my brain quickly assembled all the pieces.
“Y-y-y-y—” I couldn’t say it. I was totally dumbstruck. “Your mom is Louise Bergville.”
A tall woman wearing a headset bustled up to us. “Madison Turner?” she said. “Urgent phone call for you. This way.”
I turned to Timber. “Don’t go anywhere,” I said.
The woman rushed me off to a small back room.
“Maddie!” my mom screamed over the phone. “I’m lost! Why weren’t you picking up your phone?”
“I’m at my big show, Mom,” I said. “How did you get this number?” But she couldn’t hear me. She was sobbing too loudly.
“Raven ditched me to follow her animal spirit,” she cried. “That was somewhere back in Chinatown. Now I don’t even know where I am.”
I tried to remain calm. “Go look at the nearest street signs. Then Google Map it and find your way back to Thomas’s place.”
“I can’t,” she wailed. “I don’t know how to do that. I need your help.”
Serves her right, I thought, for ruining my trip. I thought of leaving her there.
“Please.” She paused. “I think someone’s following me.” She screamed.
Maybe she was faking it, but the guilt had clutched my chest. I didn’t want to go, but I knew I had to.
Chapter Twelve
As it turned out, my mom wasn’t lost at all. When we finally found her, huddled in a coffee shop, she was only a few blocks from Thomas’s apartment.
I’d recruited Thomas to come help me find her. Anna had gone to bed, still sick.
“Maddie,” my mom said, mascara streaking down her cheeks. “I was so scared.”
I didn’t want to hear it. Any of it.
I turned around and stalked out of the coffee shop, with Thomas and then my mom close behind.
“Maddie,” my mom was still whining behind me. “Raven abandoned me.”
“Do you think I care?” I said, turning on her. “You have ruined my entire night. I’d just met Louise Bergville’s son when you pulled me away!”
After my mom had called, I’d rushed out of the party. I didn’t have any way to contact Timber. Now I felt even worse. And that much more furious.
My mom sniffed. “I thought you’d be worried about me.”
I glanced at Thomas. He looked uncomfortable, like he had a big itch that he couldn’t scratch.
“Uh,” he said, “I’ll mee
t you back at home.” I didn’t blame him.
“Mom, you didn’t just ruin my night,” I said. “You’ve ruined my entire trip.”
We were walking and fighting. My mom kept trying to stop me, but I kept walking.
“Oh, hon,” she said. “I thought you’d love having your old mom show up. That’s all.” She started crying again.
There she went, laying on the guilt again.
“This was my trip,” I said, poking my finger into my chest. “My first time getting to do what I want to do. And you still managed to make it all about you!”
“Well, that wasn’t my intention, Maddie,” my mom said. “I hope you can understand that.”
“I hope you can understand me,” I said.
We had reached the front steps of Thomas’s building. My mom raised her arms over her head in a yoga sun salutation.
“I need to be one with myself for a few minutes,” she said, closing her eyes.
I was happy to leave her outside. As the door banged behind me, I could hear her chanting.
Anna was sitting up on the futon when I walked in, wrapped in a blanket. Thomas was sitting on the futon next to her.
“How are you feeling?” I said.
“Better,” she said. “How was the show?”
I told her. Everything. Thomas had already filled her in on the hunt for my lost mother.
“Jeez,” Anna said. “I can’t believe she pulled you away from your big show like that. And you got to meet what’s-her-name’s son?”
I nodded. I didn’t want to tell Anna how cute he was in front of Thomas.
“But I’ll probably never speak to him again.” I flopped on the futon next to Anna. I felt the rage building again. I went on another full-on, my-mom-has-ruined-my-life rant.
“She hasn’t let me do anything I wanted to do,” I said, leaning on my elbow on the futon.
Thomas got up and ran to the window. “She’s still down there,” he said. “She’s waving her arms in the air and chanting. A small crowd is gathering.”
“STOP!” Anna said. She pounded her fist on the futon. I sat up.
The Big Apple Effect Page 5
