Falling in Like #11

by Melissa J Morgan

  And that is YOUR idea and your teacher knows that. So she probably thinks you are a genius.

  Hang in! Stay strong!

  Your CLF,

  Jenna

  On Friday, Alyssa woke up two hours earlier than usual. She turned on the light and stared down at her portrait of Tori and Michael. They stood carefully posed beneath the rose arch, Romeo and Juliet getting married.

  A slow smile spread across her face. It was really, really good.

  But something was bothering her. She wasn’t sure what it was. Was she worried about what would happen if she tried to submit another contest entry? Not really. There had been no more protesting at school, and she and Mr. Prescott had had a good week. Things seemed to be back to normal.

  And this picture is really good. But still . . .

  Still what? She didn’t know.

  She carefully placed it into her black leather portfolio and got ready for school. When Beckah and Rose showed up, they saw the portfolio, and Beckah whooped.

  “You did another piece! Let us see it!” she demanded.

  “I want to hurry to school, so I can show it to Mr. Prescott before first period,” she told them.

  The three friends got to school with fifteen minutes to spare, and they headed straight for the art room. Mr. Prescott was at his desk. There was a large stack of drawings and sketches on top of all his other stacks of stuff. Contest entries.

  She drew in her breath as he turned his head and smiled. He saw the portfolio and said, “Back again? Good for you.”

  She hesitated. Then she walked to his desk with her portfolio in her arms. Beckah and Rose tiptoed behind her. Her heart pounded as she pulled out her sketch and handed it to him.

  “Oh.” He studied her work. “Alyssa, what a surprise.” He smiled at her. “You have quite a flair for portraiture.”

  A thrill shot up her spine. Yes!

  “Flowers, maybe not so much,” she ventured.

  He smiled. “Still life may not be your thing. You’re about people.”

  And that was when Alyssa knew what was wrong.

  She said, “When’s the deadline for submissions?”

  “Today at noon,” he replied. “Why? This is perfectly fine. I’ll log it in and—”

  Noon. She had classes straight through until twelve thirty.

  She took another deep breath and shook her head. “No, Mr. Prescott. I don’t want to enter this picture.”

  Beckah and Rose stared at her.

  “Are you nuts?” Beckah cried.

  Alyssa’s eyes welled as she picked up the picture. Maybe it was “perfectly fine,” but . . .

  “It’s not my best,” she said.

  It’s Friday, Valerie thought as she climbed into the Camry. The day Manzuma would select the dances for the recital.

  Valerie hadn’t slept a wink the night before, and when she climbed into the Camry in the morning, her father said, “I think you should know we haven’t decided if you can continue taking dance lessons after your mom comes home. Sharin’s very disappointed with you over what happened with Mr. Bubbles, and I agree with her, Val. What you did should have consequences. But for today . . .”

  He smiled at her. “Break a leg. Both you girls.”

  “Thank you, Daddy,” Val said breathlessly.

  LaToya just glared at Valerie and put her iPod plugs in her ears.

  Posted by: Priya

  Subject: Smoothie Town Grand Opening!

  Hi, Double-Bunk Bloggers,

  Tonight my mom is opening her smoothie bar. She is way stressed out and I have to admit that I am, too. My new lab partner is totally focused on winning the Tri-County Regional Science Fair. Leslie wants us to work on it 24/7. I only wanted to do a project that was good enough to enter, and I don’t want to work on it all the time. But I don’t know how to tell her.

  Plus, there is this cute boy named Riley. He works at his uncle’s hot dog stand in the food court and he goes to my school. He wanted to have lunch with me on Monday, but I had to work on the science fair project with Leslie. He came by my locker two other times but—yep, you guessed it—I had to go work on the project.

  Meanwhile, it looks like Jordan must have come up with a good experiment because he stops by Ms. Romero’s desk a lot and she is always laughing with him. I remember when I used to laugh with him.

  I am so confused about what is happening.

  Anyway, please wish the Shahs luck on the opening of Smoothie Town!

  Your CLF,

  Priya

  Posted by: Alex

  Subject: Re: Smoothie Town Grand Opening!

  Dear Priya,

  I am so sorry you are stressed out. Maybe you can tell Leslie you want to have lunch with Riley today and that you will work on the project this weekend. It sounds like you will be very busy with helping your mom and the project, so maybe you can reward yourself with some “Riley time” at lunch?

  I hope everyone is doing well. I’m doing well in soccer and my diabetes is under control. So no complaints here.

  Your friend,

  Alex

  chapter NINE

  Priya dawdled in the morning, reading Alex’s Camp Lakeview blog posting, so she had barely scooted inside her first period classroom when the bell rang. What Alex had written made perfect sense.

  I’m going to do it, she said. I’m going to tell Leslie I’m having lunch with Riley today. I have worked really hard on that project for a whole week and I deserve some time off.

  She was both excited and nervous about her decision, and she caught herself silently practicing what she would say all morning. By the time the lunch bell rang, she felt like she had actually had her conversation with Leslie.

  So when Leslie came up to her at the doorway to the cafeteria and said, “I’ve got our table,” Priya’s response was very well rehearsed.

  “Um, I’m sorry, Leslie,” she said, suddenly very nervous. What was I going to say? Oh, yeah!

  “I don’t want to work on the project at lunch today. I need a break.”

  Leslie’s eyes grew huge. Her mouth dropped open. She gave her head a little shake as if she just knew she hadn’t heard Priya correctly.

  “What?”

  Priya cleared her throat. “I’m buying my lunch, too,” she said. Which was kind of necessary, as she had used up all the bread and peanut butter in the house.

  Leslie just stared her. Priya got even more nervous. Then Leslie said, “I have done ninety percent of all the work on this project, and you can’t even help this little bit?”

  “Leslie, all I do is work on this project,” Priya said. “I’m not even doing all my homework. And my mom needs me. My brother broke his leg and he can’t help her.”

  “Well, you can’t help her at lunch,” Leslie argued. “Are you going to do your homework instead of helping me?”

  Priya took a breath. “No,” she said. “I’m—I’m going to eat my lunch with Riley.”

  “Oh, really?” Leslie asked. “Does she know that?”

  She pointed to the lunch line. Priya turned, looked, and felt her heart crack right down the middle.

  The laughing red-headed girl from Riley’s lunch table was standing in front of him in line. They were practically touching, and he was gazing down at her with a warm, happy smile. They were in a bubble of togetherness, and everyone else in line was leaving them alone.

  “Oh, no,” Priya murmured, stricken. Had she imagined that he was liking her? No. He had asked her to have lunch with him. More than once.

  And she had said no each time.

  Had he given up on her?

  Taking a deep breath, she turned back to Leslie. “Well,” she said, “I guess I can work on the project after all.”

  Leslie raised her chin. “No, you can’t,” she informed her. “You’re weighing me down, Shah. I don’t want you to be my partner anymore.”

  She whirled around and stomped away.

  “Leslie, wait!” Priya called. She started to follow he
r, then stopped. She didn’t know what to do next. Was Leslie actually kicking her off her project? Could she do that?

  Why not? I did it. I kicked Jordan off.

  Then the double doors to the kitchen opened, and Jordan breezed out in his silly hairnet and apron. This time, he was carrying an entire tray of metal dishes.

  In front of Jordan, Riley and the girl were moving through the food line, laughing and talking. Then she reached up and touched his cheek.

  Priya’s whole body felt like crying. Her eyes welled. Everything was going wrong, all at once.

  To her horror, she did begin to cry.

  Even worse, Jordan saw it.

  Covering her face, Priya bolted out of the cafeteria.

  Valerie got through the day on sheer adrenaline.

  The dismissal bell finally rang. Valerie hustled to her locker and arranged everything in her backpack, making sure her nice, dry, clean dance clothes were in it.

  “Hey, Val.” It was Shaneece. “Today’s your big day, right?”

  Valerie wrinkled her nose. “Yes. I’m feeling a little nervous.”

  “You’re gonna kick it, girl!” Shaneece insisted. She held up her hand. “High five, woman!”

  Valerie laughed and high-fived her friend’s open palm. The words of encouragement were exactly what she needed.

  “Okay, I’m kicking it,” she told Shaneece.

  She moved into the bustle of the crowd and brisked around the same corner LaToya had taken. Lots of kids were headed toward the pick-up area, and as she walked along with them, she mentally went through her dance steps. It was too late to change her idea and come up with something different. Her only hope was that she would do her best, and that her best would be good enough.

  She got to the flagpole and scanned the parade of cars as she looked around for LaToya. And after a few minutes of standing around waiting, Valerie realized that Mrs. Wilcox’s white Odyssey was nowhere to be seen.

  She checked her watch. They should have been here by now. Her stomach started to clench. She licked her lips.

  “Hey, you’re LaToya’s stepsister. Are you looking for her?” asked a tall boy in a dark blue pea coat. When Valerie nodded eagerly he said, “She left about ten minutes ago. In that white van that always picks her up.”

  Valerie stared at him. She felt faint. “What?”

  “Yeah. She came running out of the school, waving her arms at them. She jumped right in and they took off in a big hurry.”

  He smiled at Valerie and trotted off.

  Valerie was swaying in shock. LaToya had ditched her so that she would miss their dance class.

  I am not missing that audition, she thought.

  Mr. Prescott was nibbling on a protein bar in his left hand while he graded papers—art history quizzes, Alyssa guessed—with his right hand.

  “You wanted to see me?” she asked, hovering in the doorway.

  “Alyssa, hi, yes,” he said, gesturing for her to come on in. “Thanks for stopping by. I felt that we had more to talk about this morning, but we didn’t get a chance.” He put down his pencil and protein bar and folded his hands on his desk. “I’m curious why you didn’t want to enter Romeo and Juliet in the contest.”

  “I told you,” she said, as she drew near his desk. When he stayed silent, as if waiting for her to continue, she hesitated, and then she began.

  “I realized that I want to draw people.”

  “Portraiture,” he said.

  She shook her head. “People in motion. People who are dancing, or laughing, or arguing. People who are living. When you said I wasn’t into ‘still life,’ you were talking about Roses at Dawn. But then I realized that Romeo and Juliet is just as much of a still life as those flowers. That’s not interesting to me.”

  “Wow.” Mr. Prescott’s eyes widened. Then his mouth stretched into the widest smile she had ever seen on his face. It nearly split his face in two.

  “Wow,” he said again, more softly. “I have just watched an artist discover her style. Alyssa, this is wonderful.”

  “It . . . is?” she asked in a small voice. But she could feel herself catching some of his excitement.

  He nodded. “You know that in class we’ve talked about people who enjoy doing art.”

  “The Sunday dabblers,” she said.

  He smiled. “Yes. The Sunday dabblers. They paint a seascape because they like the ocean. Or sketch a vase of flowers because they don’t know what else to draw and they know that lots of artists sketch flowers. They’re seeing with their eyes. That’s enough for them. And that’s just fine. Art works on many different levels.”

  “Yes,” Alyssa said, following him.

  “But you’ve discovered how to see with your creative spirit. You were seized with inspiration when you created Ode to a Woman. Then, when I rejected it, you tried to dabble by painting the flowers. But you couldn’t just paint to paint something.”

  “That’s true,” she said. That was it exactly. She had painted the flowers because she didn’t know what else to paint.

  “So you tried again,” he said. “You got closer to your true vision this time, because you returned to people as your subject. And you chose subjects near to your heart. I’m assuming the couple are people you know.”

  She nodded.

  “But the posed couple was not ‘your’ people as they truly are.” He made air quotes. “Your people move. Breathe. Live.” He smiled again at her.

  “Yes,” she said. “I knew that was why it was wrong.”

  “This entire creative struggle has matured you as an artist, Alyssa. You knew that it wasn’t enough for you to paint something just to win the Works contest.”

  “Right,” she replied steadily. “I want to do my art to learn about who I am. And then to share who I am . . . through my art.”

  He beamed at her. “You will. I have no doubt of that.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Prescott,” she said. She was all choked up.

  “I’ve been thinking about Ode. It’s still wrong for the contest,” he said quickly. “But I think it’s worth sharing.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “So do other people. Principal Caya saw it on the Net. There are a couple of galleries in town that might like to see it. One is owned by a group of artists who are always looking for exciting new work. The other specializes in art by women. I’ll write down the names for you.”

  Alyssa chest was tight. She was dazed. She nodded and tried to say “Thank you,” but she couldn’t speak. Instead she ducked her head, turned around, and walked out the door.

  Valerie was freaking out. She called her dad on her cell phone and told him what had happened—that LaToya had gotten the car pool to ditch her and now she would miss her chance to try out for the recital!

  “Please come and get me,” she begged.

  “I can’t, sweetie,” he told her. “I’m in the middle of my big presentation. I can’t leave.”

  “What am I going to do?” she wailed.

  “Can you call the school and explain? Maybe your teacher can make other arrangements for you to audition.”

  “Yes!” she cried. “I’ll call right away!”

  She punched in the number, but the phone rang and rang. With Antoine gone, it seemed that no one was answering the phone! She kept waiting for the message system to kick in, but nothing happened.

  Now she was even more freaked out! She was just about to call her father back when her cell phone rang, playing an Alicia Keys download.

  “Daddy?” she said.

  “Hi.” It was Sharin. “Your dad said you missed the van.”

  “It left without me!” she protested. “I went right outside.” She started to lose it. “Sharin, I’m sorry I lied to you about the dog, but I am not lying to you now. LaToya made them leave without me, because today is the day we find out who gets to dance at the recital tomorrow!”

  “That’s a harsh accusation,” Sharin observed.

  She’ll never believe me, Val
erie thought sadly. She’ll just think I’m talking trash about her precious daughter.

  “I know it’s harsh, but it’s true. I called the school to tell them, but the phone just rings and rings. I—I don’t know what to do.” She started to cry. She didn’t want to cry on the phone with her stepmother, but she couldn’t help it.

  There was a long pause. Valerie could hear her heart thundering. Then Sharin said, “I’m in the middle of a very important meeting.”

  So is everyone else, Valerie thought, despairing.

  “I’d suggest a cab, but the service in our town is so unreliable,” Sharin continued.

  Valerie heard her sigh. Then Sharin said, “Okay, listen. I’m coming for you, Valerie. Hang on. I’ll be there.”

  Valerie was stunned. Her stepmother—the person who was threatening to take away her dance lessons—was leaving work for her?

  “Thank you,” Valerie said in a rush. “Thank you so much!”

  “I’ll be there soon. Just wait for me.”

  “I’ll wait,” Valerie said.

  It was Friday afternoon, and Tori had gotten permission to spend the night at Kallista’s. She was soooo relieved. Her parents had never said no, but she was feeling superstitious. It all seemed just a little too good to be true.

  She packed a sparkly top and a pair of what she and Kallista called “kitten shoes”—little backless heels—and about thirty different makeup samples her mom had given her. She’d kissed her parents good night and then she and Kallista went home with Kallista’s older cousin, Mischa. After working on their look for an hour or so in Kallista’s bathroom with the special makeup mirror, Mischa drove them through the tree-lined boulevards of Beverly Hills with the top down. So much for their hair!

  “Alyssa sent me the coolest pic,” Tori told them. “It’s me and Michael dressed up like Romeo and Juliet.”