THE PICASSO PROJECT

by Carol Anne Shaw

  "Yeah. Really."

  "It's yours," she says. "Happy Birthday."

  Eddie smiles at the artwork and tucks it under his arm. He already knows he'll be giving the painting a place of honour on the wall of wherever he and Maya end up.

  Mr. Mackie walks back to his desk and pulls out a large manila envelope. He waves it over his head in the air. "Jasmine? It's here."

  Jasmine clasps her hands together in front of her face and raises her eyebrows. "I knew it! I knew it!"

  Maya squeals beside her.

  Eddie, confused, looks at Mr. Mackie. "What's here?"

  Mr. Mackie passes the envelope to Eddie. "Here you go, Mr. DuMont. It's addressed to you."

  The envelope is fairly heavy, and Eddie stares at the front of it. His name, "Edward Harrison DuMont" is on the front, c/o Mr. Robert. P. Mackie/ Visual Arts/ Bridgeman Lake High School, Bridgeman Lake, BC.

  He looks at the return address in the upper left-hand corner.

  WEST COAST ACADEMY OF ART & DESIGN

  442 Taggart Avenue

  Vancouver, BC

  Admissions Department

  WTF?

  He stares at Jasmine, and then at Maya, but they just stare back like a couple of dumbstruck idiots.

  "Just open it, Eddie," Mr. Mackie says.

  The first thing that he sees after he's torn the envelope open is his missing sketchbook. It's sealed up inside a plastic sleeve. But there's a folded letter as well, and Eddie puts the sketchbook down on a nearby desk and carefully unfolds the paper.

  He reads it through, and his vision blurs, so he waits a moment, then reads it again.

  "Well?" Maya and Jasmine say in unison. "What does it say?"

  But Eddie is speechless. Struck dumb. Frozen. He hands the letter to Mr. Mackie, who puts on his glasses and looks at the letter.

  A wide smile spreads across his face, and he looks at Eddie over the top of his glasses. "May I?"

  Eddie nods and passes him the paper. He's not sure he can even speak.

  Mr. Mackie clears his throat and holds the letter out at arm's length.

  Dear Mr. DuMont,

  As secretary of the Scholarship Committee at Coastal Academy of Art & Design, I am pleased to inform you that you have been awarded the Margaret Barton Scholarship for Artistic Studies beginning in September 2016.

  The Scholarship Committee scrutinized over 3500 applications for this coveted scholarship and feel your submission was most worthy of receiving this award.

  The award includes a full tuition waiver for the 2019/2020 Foundations year program, with books and subsidiary fees assistance. You may proceed to the Registrar for the scholarship award enforcement upon receipt of this letter.

  We trust that you will prove yourself a worthy recipient of this award through an exemplary performance during your studies here.

  Again, congratulations on your successful application of the scholarship.

  Respectfully yours,

  Julia H. Aston

  Scholarship Committee Secretary

  When Mr. Mackie has stopped reading, he hands the letter back to Eddie. "Congratulations, Edward. I am so very pleased for you."

  "OH MY GOD!" Maya jumps up and down and then throws herself at her brother in a bear hug. "You're going to art school! You're actually going to art school!"

  Jasmine, flushed, doesn't say a word.

  "It was me and Jasmine, Eddie," Maya says excitedly. "Well, it was Jasmine's idea, to...you know...submit your sketchbook to the Coastal Academy and apply for the scholarship. We wrote a letter on your behalf, and explained stuff, and, well, Mr. Mackie wrote this amazing kick-ass letter of recommendation, too, and—"

  "Wait. What?" Eddie's pulse thuds in his ears. "You stole my sketchbook? You stole my sketchbook and you went and told them about our life?" Eddie takes a step back and steadies himself against the desk. "You went and told them about...everything?"

  The smile disappears from Jasmine's face. "But, you're brilliant, Eddie. Your work is amazing. We knew you'd get the scholarship. We just knew—"

  "I can't believe this!?" Eddie says, his jaw clenched. "This is such an invasion, Jasmine. Did you tell them how Maya and I lived in a piece of shit car for most of the year? How our mom stopped her heart with a boatload of blow? How my dad used to beat the crap out of—"

  Mr. Mackie rests his hand on Eddie's shoulder. "Hey, hey, Eddie. Calm down, now."

  "It wasn't like that!" Maya says, her eyes filling with tears. "It wasn't like that at all. We told them you were too proud to submit the application; that you were too busy just trying to graduate and stuff. And how you have always looked out for me through all that crap. We just wanted to help you, that's all."

  "Well, I don't need anyone's help. Thanks," Eddie says, laying the paper down. He strides toward the door, stops, and turns to Jasmine. "You!" he hisses. "You had no right, Jazz. No right at all." Then he walks out of the art room, and when the girls make a motion to follow him, Mr. Mackie puts up his hand to stop them.

  "Give him a little time, girls," he says after Eddie has left. "Just let him absorb everything. It's a lot to take in."

  "He's furious," Jasmine says. "I was wrong. It was a stupid, dangerous idea. I should never have done this. I should have known better, Mr. Mackie."

  "That boy has a lot of pride," Mr. Mackie says. "He'll come around. You'll see. Just cut him some slack for a bit."

  "Do you really think so, Mr. Mack?"

  "Yeah," Mr. Mackie says. "I do." He scratches his head and takes off his glasses. There are dark circles under his eyes. All the teachers look so tired at the end of the school year, and Mackie is no exception. "Did you tell him you were accepted, too, Jasmine?"

  "No. I wanted to wait and see if he got in first."

  "I see."

  Jasmine grabs Maya's hand and tries to reassure her. "I'm sure Mr. Mackie is right, Maya. It'll be okay, He's probably just gone for a walk or something."

  "But what if he stays mad?" Maya says, chewing her fingernail. "What if he really won't go?"

  "Let's just go and see Cora, okay? Let's go and say goodbye. Then we'll go find Eddie."

  Jasmine puts the letter back in the manila envelope and tucks it along with Eddie's sketchbook into her bag.

  "Thank you so much for everything, Mr. Mackie," she says. "No matter what happens with Eddie...well, you've been awesome. The best teacher ever."

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Maya clutches her backpack tightly against her chest and walks quickly down the hall beside Jasmine. "Do you think he'll ever talk to us again?"

  "He's pretty pissed, I think," Jasmine says quietly, "but I think Mr. Mackie is right. Your brother has a lot of pride."

  "He does. And he also has a temper. But he's got to know that he's super talented and that this is really a great opportunity and stuff. If he—"

  Jasmine stops walking, and grabs hold of Maya's arm. "Look." She points straight ahead.

  "Where?"

  "Over there by the cafeteria."

  Eddie is leaning against the wall by the door, his arms folded across his chest, staring at both of the girls.

  They walk toward him cautiously, unsure of what to expect, but when there are no more than ten feet from him, there is the tiniest hint of a smile and he uncrosses his arms.

  "Hi?" Jasmine says.

  "Hi, yourself."

  "I thought you were, I don't know, going for a walk or something."

  "I thought so, too."

  "But, you're right here."

  "I am."

  The three of them stand rigidly in the hallway, staring at each other, not saying anything.

  Eventually, Eddie breaks the ice. He drops his backpack and walks the few feet to the girls, taking them both in his arms.

  He doesn't let go. Not for a long, long time.

  When he finally does, he looks at Jasmine and his sister. His eyes are shining, but the anger has gone. "Look. I just need to say one thing."

  "No, you don'
t," Jasmine stammers. "It's okay, you don't have to say anything."

  "Shut up," Eddie says. "I do."

  "Okay," Jasmine says.

  "Thank you. I need to say thank-you."

  ***

  Maya, Eddie, and Jasmine are sitting at the end of the government dock, sharing take-out burgers and fries, their feet dangling in the water.

  "This is freaking surreal," Eddie keeps saying. "I'm going to art school. We're—you and I, Jazz—we're going to art school. ART! SCHOOL!"

  "I know, right?" Jasmine rips open a packet of ketchup and makes a neat little lake in the middle of the fries.

  "Wait. That's not how you do it," Eddie says, snatching the packet from her hand.

  "What?"

  "The ketchup. That's not how you do it. You're supposed to make a winding river over all of them. Like this."

  "Ew. Says who?"

  "It's French Fries 101, Hammond. Everyone knows it."

  "We don't do it like that in England. And we don't call them French fries. We call them chips."

  "Well, this is Canada. So, fries or chips, my way wins."

  "Who's right?" Jasmine says to Maya, who is staring thoughtfully at the water. "Maya?"

  "It's ketchup," Maya says. "Who cares!"

  "She's right," Jasmine says. "So, you eat your chips your way, and I'll eat mine, my way, okay?"

  "I'm going swimming!" Maya says suddenly. She stands up and brushes salt and vinegar off her fingers.

  "You can't," Eddie says. "You just ate. You'll get cramps and drown."

  "That's totally a myth, Eddie. And I'm not six."

  "Well, don't go out too far."

  "I just need to get in the water! IT'S SO HOT!" Maya adjusts her bikini top and cannonballs her body into the water, drenching Jasmine and Eddie in the process.

  "Cripes!" Jasmine shrieks. "How can such a small person make such a huge splash!"

  Maya laughs and swims out to the little floating dock that has just appeared this week—compliments of one of the local lakeside homeowners. She hauls herself up and lies down on her back in the early evening sun.

  Finally, Eddie thinks. Some privacy. He picks up a strand of Jasmine's hair and tucks it behind her ear. "That was a pretty amazing thing you did, Jasmine, the submission and all. No one has ever done anything like that for me before. Not even close."

  "Well," Jasmine says. "It was long overdue then."

  "Art school," Eddie says again, flopping down on the dock. "Eddie Harrison DuMont is going to fucking art school."

  Jasmine leans across him and traces a finger across his belly. When she reaches the waistband of his shorts, she undoes the top button

  "Hey, hey!" Eddie says, grabbing her hand. "Don't start something you can't finish, lady."

  Jasmine retrieves her hand. "Chicken shit."

  He kisses the tips of her fingers. "You are a bad influence on me."

  "You don't really believe that."

  He squeezes her hand. "Nope," he says. "Not for a second."

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  JOURNAL ENTRY (June)

  "Love is the greatest refreshment in life." - Pablo Picasso

  The dictionary has two definitions for the word, "refreshment."

  The first one, obviously, has to do with food.

  The second one is as follows:

  REFRESHMENT: the process of becoming rested and regaining strength or energy.

  ***

  I like that second definition. I mean, I kind of "get" it! Because Jasmine...well, Jasmine is like a tonic; like a seriously loaded energy drink. I feel her on the inside, and, you know, not just in that way, but I don't know, it's so much more than that. I guess you could say that it’s kind of spiritual. Sounds flaky, right? Yeah. I know. It does. But I'm not gonna lie; I feel like a better person when I'm with her. She makes me want to be a better dude. Seriously. I feel energized, like I could do anything. Be anyone. When we're together, all the bad shit behind me feels like...exactly that. Behind me. I've never felt this way before. Not even close.

  I know, such a cliché, right? Isn't that line part of every cheesy song ever written? But I guess there's a reason for that. Love—the real thing—can refresh you.

  Thank you, Jazz Hammond.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  The view from the kitchen window is the best one. It faces the harbour, and if you stand just to the left of it, you can see some of the float homes that are moored there.

  The rest of the apartment—a basement suite—is dark. There is a tear in the linoleum that snakes across the kitchen floor and a mouldy spot under the carpet in the hallway.

  "We'll have to do something about this," Jasmine says, smoothing her hand along the velvet-flocked wallpaper in the hallway. She sneers at the pattern: tiny bunches of violets tied up with yellow ribbons.

  "Pffffft," Eddie says. "It's only wallpaper." But if Jasmine wants to change it, it's fine by him.

  He stands in the living room, looking at their recent acquisitions: an oversized brown couch, a red vinyl ottoman, a couple of wooden straight-backed chairs, and a half-decent TV, compliments of Frank.

  "Not exactly chic, is it," Jasmine says, tucking her arm through Eddie's.

  But to Eddie, it's the freaking Taj Mahal—a basement apartment, a ten-minute walk from the art college, and the rent is only $650 a month.

  "I wonder what your parents are going to say about this place?" Maya says. "Aren't they coming to visit next week? So, you think they'll freak out?"

  "Dad will think it's brilliant," Jasmine says. "He'll say that places like this build character, and then he'll tell me for the umpteenth time about the shit hole he lived in with six other guys back when he was in uni." A spider scurries across the hallway, narrowly missing her toe. It makes her laugh. "Although I'm quite relieved that was a spider and not a cockroach."

  "Well," Maya says with a sigh. "I think this place is awesome. I've never had my own room before. And mine has a window and baseboard heating and everything!"

  Jasmine fist-bumps Maya and the two of them begin unloading the bags of groceries sitting on the second-hand kitchen table: bread, eggs, milk, cheese, boxes of Kraft dinner, carrots, apples, flour and margarine, baking supplies, pork chops, tuna fish, and three jars of peanut butter. What a haul, Eddie thinks.

  "Well," Jasmine says when it's all put away. "We've got two weeks until school starts. We should explore the city."

  "Definitely," Maya agrees.

  "Well, you guys right ahead," Eddie says, "but I have to start work in an hour."

  "Wait. What?" Jasmine shoves Eddie's shoulder. "You got the job? You dark horse! You only had the interview yesterday!" Her grin takes up most of her face.

  "Yep, you're looking at The Veggie Patch's newest produce clerk," Eddie says, puffing out his chest a little.

  "Seriously?" Maya says. "You got a real job? Actually?"

  "Actually," Eddie says. "With a real pay check and everything."

  ***

  "Don't forget to unload those boxes of onions off the truck," Mike says, pointing to the open back doors of the warehouse. "Then stack them next to the squash over there."

  Eddie spies the boxes in the back of a big panel van parked at the exit and nods.

  "And do something with that hair, Goldilocks," Mike says.

  Eddie laughs. Of course. He'd forgotten about his hair. He fixes it into a ponytail and puts on a black cap with an ear of corn embroidered on the front—compliments of the management.

  "Oh, real pretty," Mike says, rolling his eyes. "I'll never understand all you young guys, all wanting to look like you're queer." He walks toward the main floor of the store and calls out over his shoulder. "And your break is fifteen minutes. Not twenty. Not seventeen. Fifteen. You got that?"

  Eddie ties his apron at the back and then salutes Mike. "Yep. I got that."

  A guy around Eddie's age appears from behind some flour sacks. "Don't worry about Mike," he says. "He's an asshole, but you get used to him."
/>
  But Eddie has already forgotten about Mike. He's already forgotten about the way his shoulders ache from moving palettes from the forklift out to the storage area behind the store. He's already forgotten about how cold his feet are from standing for so long on the cement floor. And he's already forgotten about that cranky woman, too—the one who gave him hell because the store's romaine lettuce wasn't organic.

  To Eddie, all this stuff is just part of being "a working guy." He knows it will get old fast—he's not an idiot, but for now, he loves it; he's one of the crew, and soon he'll be bitching about schedules and working overtime just like everybody else.

  He's receiving a delivery of Granny Smith apples in the parking lot when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns to see Georgia Baines behind him, a shopping basket in her hand.

  "Hi, Eddie. I thought it was you. I heard you moved over here to the mainland."

  "Georgia! Hey. You're living in Vancouver, too?"

  "I'm going to Sheldon College in September. I found a place over near Taylor Creek with three other girls."

  Georgia looks different. Better. Her eyes are bright and she's carrying herself differently. "That's great, Georgia. You look good. Happy."

  "Thanks, Eddie. So, do you."

  "So, how was your summer?"

  "Great." Georgia laughs. "Perfect, in fact. I decided to lay off guys for a while. I'm actually planning a trip up north next year. Kind of a go-find-yourself, wilderness adventure type thing." She holds up an arm and flexes, showing off a well-developed bicep. "Been working out."

  "Impressive," Eddie says.

  "Thanks, oh, and congratulations. I hear you got a scholarship to Coastal. That's really awesome, Eddie. You totally deserve that."

  "No one was more surprised than I was, but I'm pretty stoked to start. Jasmine is going as well, and Maya is going to go to Tipwell—that high school just around the corner from the college."

  "How's she doing, anyway?" Georgia asks, her smile fading.

  "She's doing great. She got herself a bicycle and she's been exploring the city a lot. She's out riding all the time these days."