by Ann Craven
When he came up for air, music reached his ears as the quartet increased their volume. Wylder mimed a tiny violin as a smile split her face.
Kenny threw his head back to get the hair out of his face and glanced up at the stars overhead. A laugh burst free of him.
His moment ended when someone cleared their throat. Mrs. Donovan, the little old lady who taught English, scowled at them. “Mr. Montgomery, get out of the water right now.”
“Uh, I don’t think you want me to do that.”
“I said now.” She crossed her arms.
He shrugged and stood, revealing his state of undress.
Mrs. Donovan issued a curse they’d never heard come from her mouth as Kenny tried to shield himself from the teacher’s eyes.
Wylder held up Killian’s robe, and he climbed down to take it, not breathing until he’d wrapped it securely around his body.
“Ms. Anderson.” Mrs. Donovan sent her a scathing look. “I assume you had something to do with this? You made a promise when we let you into this school. No more trouble.”
“It wasn’t her idea.” Kenny didn’t know what he was doing, but he’d get in less trouble than Wylder. That was sure. “I orchestrated everything.”
“You’re telling me you wanted to sit up there…”
“Naked? Yeah. I did.” He ran a hand through his sopping hair.
“Mr. Montgomery, you’re a lucky kid. The school made a deal with the town. No reporters were allowed into the festival while our academy kids were working it. But your father will still get a call. I expect better behavior out of you.” Her eyes fell on Wylder again. “And maybe reexamine the company you keep.” With that, she turned and walked away.
Killian whistled. “How’s it feel to know Mrs. D. ogled you, bro?”
“She did not ogle me.”
Wylder punched his shoulder. Hard.
“Ow.” He rubbed where she’d hit. “What was that for?”
“You rich kids. If she’d blamed me, I’d have at least a week’s worth of dining hall cleanup duty or something. All you get is a call to daddy.”
She was right. As long as it didn’t end up in the press, his father didn’t care what he did. He’d have to think about him at all for that.
Pressing his phone into his hand, Wylder leaned in. “You’re not what you seem, Kenny. It took ovaries to do what you did.”
“Ovaries?”
She nodded like it was the most serious thing in the world. “If people can use the term balls to describe strength, I can use ovaries.” She turned away. “See ya later, Ken-Ken. I’m headed to the White House this weekend. I’ll be sure to tell Asher you said hi.” She shot him a wink as she walked away.
He almost laughed at the nickname, realizing just how similar she was to her superstar brother, but his stomach dropped with the mention of Asher.
The festival thinned out until it was only the people manning the booths. It didn’t take long for Kenny and Killian to shut theirs down. The company they’d rented it from would pick it up Monday.
By the time Kenny got back to the dorms and took a scorching hot shower, he was ready to crash. He laid on his bed and unlocked his phone. Someone had changed his screensaver to a picture of him sitting on the board with no clothes. It didn’t show anything sensitive, but he was obviously naked.
He shook his head. Wylder. Opening his photo album, he saw she took quite a few photos.
A text popped up.
Nicky: Wylder told me you had quite the night.
Kenny: Of course, she did.
Nicky: Thanks for hanging out with her. I think that’s the first time she’s admitted to having fun since transferring to the academy.
Kenny: For you, Nick, I’ll put up with her.
Nicky would read between the lines. He always had. Kenny had a good time too. He wasn’t one to do anyone favors by spending time with them, and he didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.
Flipping through his texts, he came to Asher’s boxing glove. After all this time, the emoji just seemed ridiculous now. What had Asher meant to accomplish?
He wasn’t getting off that easy.
If anyone knew how to fluster Ash, it was Kenny.
He pulled up one of the photos from the night. He sat on the board covering himself. Asher wouldn’t be able to see anything, but if Kenny still knew him at all, he knew it was enough to get under his skin.
He hit send with a smile on his face.
Game on, Asher Brooks.
Two can play the confusing text game.
12
Asher
“What the… What am I even looking at right now?” Asher gaped at Kenny’s text message. Is he…butt naked in a dunk tank? In November?
“You look like you’ve seen something scandalous.” Harper’s grin widened as she sat up from her spot on the floor in her room. “Let me see.”
“Nope.” Asher shoved his phone in his back pocket. He was not about to discuss why Kenny Montgomery was sending him naked pictures. He was so not ready for that conversation even with his best friend. “It’s nothing.” He reached for his messenger bag. “I’ve got to get home. I have three new pieces to finish before the show, and I’m freaking out. We’ll finish studying later.”
“You’ve got a few days left before you have to deliver your work to the gallery. You’ll do fine. Do not Asher out on me.”
“Did you just use my name as a verb?” Asher’s mouth slid into a half-grin.
“You know as well as I do that you’re going to drive yourself insane until this thing is over. And I will probably have to talk you off a ledge at least three times between now and Friday night.”
“Did I tell you they’re taking some of my sculpture work too?” Asher was excited for his first real show. After talking to the gallery owners, he was confident they were only interested in his art and not his connections or celebrity status. And once he’d finally agreed to do it, he threw himself into it, finding just the distraction he needed to get his mind off his spectacular failures in the art of texting. And now, the naked man had arrived on his phone to throw him completely for a loop. Again. How do you even respond to unexpected sexy naked man pics? What was the protocol for that?
“Yes.” She beamed a proud smile at him. “I’m so excited you’re finally doing this.”
Asher let out a deep breath. “Me too. Thanks for browbeating me into it.”
“Go be brilliant, and after your show we’ll talk about whatever that was that had you blushing like a nun in a brothel.”
Asher rolled his eyes and draped an arm around his bestie. “You’re annoying, you know that, right?”
“But you love me.” She gave him a playful shove.
“Yes, fortunately for you, I do.” He peeked through the violent purple curtains at her bedroom window to make sure Super Danny was still waiting to take him home. “Later.” Asher waved over his shoulder as he made his way down the white marble stairs of the nearly vacant mansion. Harper’s parents were so rarely home she practically lived alone.
“Let’s go, Valor,” Danny said the moment Asher opened the front door. His eyes swept the lawn like would-be assassins routinely lay in wait for the president’s son around every corner.
“I need to stop by the gallery before we head home.” Asher slipped into the backseat of the town car. He wanted to see how the install was coming with the pieces he’d already delivered. The event would showcase a variety of young artists in the Washington area and Asher wanted to get a look at his fellow artist’s work.
“You know we don’t do unscheduled visits.” Danny waved to the driver to take them home. “I don’t know why you even ask.”
“I’ve been there a dozen times lately. Do we really have to schedule every freaking moment of my life? This is important.”
“And you have a scheduled visit there in two days. You can check on the install then when we’ve had time to do protocol.”
“You know how I feel about that word, Dan
.”
“Just because you have stricken the word from my vocabulary doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. We abide by procedure, no matter what. It’s for your safety.”
“Look at you, someone get you a thesaurus for your birthday?” Asher said dryly.
“You know—” Dan flashed an evil smirk. “—if your mom hadn’t saved my life in the war in Afghanistan, I wouldn’t even be here right now. And you, my little friend, would be stuck with some asshole former marine with a stick up his rear and no sense of humor. He—or she—probably wouldn’t even play video games with you. So, be grateful your mother has friends in the Navy Seals because we’re the cool ones.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Super Dan.” Asher buckled his seat belt, reluctantly accepting he wouldn’t get to visit the gallery today. “Maybe one day it’ll even come true.”
“Stop fidgeting with your clothes, Ash. You look beautiful.” Caroline pulled her sleek black sports car up to the valet booth in front of the Long View Gallery parking lot, deftly ignoring the motorcade escorting them. Their parents would arrive in a half hour to give Asher time to settle in before POTUS made an entrance.
Just for one night, Asher wanted to be himself. The kid with the art, just like the other artists showing at this event. Arriving with his sister helped him feel more like one of those kids.
“No well-timed comeback? You feeling all right, kiddo?”
“Just nerves, I guess.”
“You’ve got this, Ash. You have more talent than you give yourself credit for. Believe me, I, of all people, know just how huge the shadow of the White House is and how stifling it is to live under it. But this is your moment in the sunshine. Enjoy it.” She stepped out of the car looking like a fashion plate as she tossed the keys to the valet. Asher rushed to catch up with her.
A line of paparazzi stood flanking the entrance of the gallery. He’d known it was too much to hope they wouldn’t catch wind of his event. He smiled and waved for the cameras and pretended he couldn’t hear their questions.
Inside, the gallery had transformed from simple concrete floors and crumbling red brick walls to a richly appointed venue with leather couches and acrylic furniture scattered everywhere. Cater waiters moved about the room with hors d'oeuvres and champagne, and funky jazz music played in the background.
“Did you know about that?” Caroline asked, pointing to the banner placed in the doorway.
The Longview Gallery presents the budding artists of the Washington LGTBQ community. Tonight’s event will feature debut artist, Asher Brooks, son of the President of the United States, Nora Brooks.
“Nope.” Asher shoved his hands in his pockets as a wave of disappointment hit him. “No one told me I would be the poster child for the LGTBQ community tonight.” That was why the gallery wanted him. Not for his art. It shouldn’t surprise him. Ever since he came out, Asher’s name became synonymous with “out and proud.” Which he was, but he just wished people would see him for more than just his sexuality or who his parents were.
And judging by the familiar faces among the crowd, his parents had everything to do with the guest list. The eager audience looked like a who’s who of Washington’s inner circle, and Asher was their main attraction.
No one would arrive at this event for the art. It was exactly why he’d never wanted to do these shows before. The gallery owner had promised him this wouldn’t happen, but he was a fool to think it wouldn’t get out that the First Son was having his first art show.
“Don’t freak out.” Harper crossed the room with her hands held out, like she knew he was about to fall apart. “I’ve already made some heads roll. They got the message loud and clear.”
“Did they care?” Caroline asked with a smirk.
“Not even a little bit.” Harper sighed. “If they knew Ash at all or respected the sanctity of art, they wouldn’t sell out like this.”
“Whatever. It’s what I expected all along.” Asher shrugged. “They’re just doing their jobs, trying to sell art.”
“Have you ever thought about using a pen name?” A familiar voice said behind him.
“Nicky?” Asher turned, surprised to see his friend. “And Wylder too!” His mood lifted immediately. “I didn’t know you guys were coming.”
“Are you kidding? We wouldn’t miss your first show. Becks sends his love, of course. He’s still on tour and couldn’t make it.” Nicky’s hug was just what he needed. His circle of friends was growing and that was all that mattered. The people who knew him best would appreciate his work. Beyond that, Asher no longer cared.
“I’m chalking this all up to experience.” Asher gestured at the LGBTQ signs and all the politicians around the room. “What’s that about a pen name?” He laughed. “Do artists use those?”
“I don’t know, but maybe you should,” Wylder said. “I’ve thought about changing my name, and my brother’s just a country star. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you, Ash.”
It wasn’t a half-bad idea. If he ever really wanted to make a go of it with his art, he couldn’t do it as Asher Brooks.
“Guys, you have to see the full exhibit. It’s amazing, and, Asher, your art looks phenomenal.” Harper gestured for them to follow her. “Just ignore the diplomats and the politicians. They’re here for the food and free booze.”
The work on display was some of the best Asher had ever seen from young, untrained artists. There was no doubt his work was in good company, but most of his excitement for his first real show had dimmed when he arrived to discover the gallery had exploited his name and refrained from telling him what the show was about. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for the LGBTQ community, but with things like this, he often wondered why it had to be an LGBTQ art show rather just an art show for talented young artists? Why did their sexuality need to be showcased front and center? Whose business was it?
Asher stood alone, admiring an abstract piece of a female form emerging from an ugly lump of clay. It was gritty and raw. Nothing like the beautiful sculpted forms he usually saw at shows like this. This was not a graceful feminine creature standing regally on her pedestal. This woman was angry, clawing her way out of the clay, determined to shake off the thing holding her back. This artist had a voice and she had something to say.
“Is that a good or bad frown?” someone nearby said.
Asher turned to see his secret service steering people away from him and his friends. Harper and Nicky stood across the room examining a rather odd sculpture of a gnome, and Wylder was snapping selfies in front of a painting that matched her dress.
A young woman stood beside Danny looking a little intimidated. “You know, I’m not actually a violent person. It’s just my art that’s angry.” She cast nervous eyes up at the special agent.
“You’re the artist?” Asher asked, begging Danny with his eyes not to cause a scene.
With a sigh, Danny let her approach Asher. “I don’t like it when you go out,” he muttered irritably.
“Don’t listen to him, he’s just cranky.” Asher turned back to the piece. “This is going to haunt me.”
“Ouch.”
“No, sorry! I meant that in the best possible way. She is beautiful, strong, and fierce. But so honest and raw, I can feel her frustration. My mom would love this.”
“I would die if your mom saw this.”
“She’ll be here soon. I’ll make sure she sees it. She doesn’t always get art, but she gets the struggle women go through just to be heard.”
“I’m going to die.” The girl’s smile widened. “None of us had any idea you’d be here, showing with us. It’s an honor to have my work alongside yours.”
“Thank you, but the pleasure is all mine, er…what’s your name?”
“Caitlin.” She reached to shake his hand with stars in her eyes. “Your work is inspiring.”
“Oh, I’m just here because I know people. You guys are the real talent.” He steered them away from the growing crowd, checking out the other pieces as the
y walked.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Asher. You may have gotten top billing tonight because of who you are, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it. I’m here because I have nearly a half a million Instagram followers, and I sure as hell used my sphere of influence to score my place in this show, but I know my work speaks for itself.”
“Thanks for that, Caitlin.” Asher smiled. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
“The LGBTQ community has to stick together.” Caitlin stopped to admire his silk-screen triptychs. Each individual piece worked well on its own, but together, each set of three told a story.
“You don’t feel like they’re just exploiting that too?” Asher scratched the back of his neck, regretting the question as soon as it was out of his mouth. He’d been burned too many times in situations like this when he thought he was just talking to a like-minded teen only to find his words repeated on the news or social media networks. It wasn’t worth trusting a stranger.
“Of course, they are.” She shrugged. “We’re hot right now, so they’re just hopping on the bandwagon.”
“Feels kind of weird that we get this amazing opportunity when a million other straight kids would die for it. Seems like it should be about the art.”
“It is about the art, Asher. Our art as a community. No matter what we do, everything we create holds a piece of us. And each one of us here tonight has poured our blood, sweat, and tears into our work to tell our stories—stories that are all too familiar to the LGBTQ community.” She turned to the triptych that had hung in his bedroom just a few days ago.
“Individually, these pieces look like three different young men. But as a whole, I can see they’re the same person at different stages of his life. It’s about this person learning to define himself on his own terms and coming out stronger because of it.”
“I hadn’t thought it was that obvious.” Asher’s cheeks flushed hot under the unforgiving gallery lights.
