by Seven Steps
My notebook sat open in front of me, ready for another lesson about shading.
Instead, accolades about Ollie rang around me like an obnoxiously loud church bell.
I leaned my head on my hand, still frustrated. The sudden movement caused my pencil to roll from the side of my notebook onto the floor.
Great.
I peeked at it, then my eyes rose to Ollie. He was sitting much the same way I was. Head propped up by his hand, slouching forward, and…
I froze.
Ollie dressed much the same way every day. Dark clothes, dirty boots, messy hair. He also wore the same wrist cuff every day. A thick brown leather cuff with a braid that ran through it. It always looked like the most expensive thing he owned, clearly out of place with the rest of his outfit.
Only today, the cuff was missing.
And in its place was a circular tattoo. Within the red circle was a rat clawing through the air. Its teeth and claws were red with blood. It had amber eyes and sharp points at the end of its fur.
I’d seen this picture before.
Everyone had seen that picture before.
“See something you like, Princess?”
I slowly looked into his eyes.
My mind traveled back to the night of the Winter Formal. I’d leaned against a wall with a picture of a rat clawing out of the letter R.
It all made sense now.
The graffiti, all the graffiti, was painted by the RATZ, an infamous crew of graffitiers. Not a week went by when the local news didn’t report on another piece of the “art work” they left around the city.
The RATZ were represented by the same symbol on Ollie’s wrist.
That could only mean one of two things.
Either Ollie loved the gang and tattooed their symbol on his body to honor them, or Ollie was part of the RATZ crew.
I’d bet every penny my family had on the latter.
The bell rang, and I shot up and grabbed Ollie’s ever-present black leather jacket. I took a deep sniff and wasn’t surprised at the smell.
Spray paint.
“Whoa, Princess, if you’re going to smell me like that you’ll have to buy me dinner first.”
“You and your friends are the RATZ, aren’t you?”
His eyes went wide, and he snatched his jacket away from my grip.
“I wouldn’t spread a rumor like that if I were you,” he whispered. “It could lead to trouble.”
“No. I won’t spread a rumor. I’ll just show Principal Mann your tattoo. I bet your friends have the same one. I’ll even bet they smell like spray paint too.”
His eyes went dark. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I bet you don’t.” I quickly grabbed my things and headed for the door.
“Wait,” I heard him rushing to pick up his stuff and follow behind me. “Where are you going?”
“To see Principal Mann,” I declared.
“For what? To turn stool on us?”
“I just want to give him a piece of evidence about the recent outbreak of vandalism that he may find useful.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I am.”
“Hey. Would you stop a minute?”
He stepped in front of me, blocking my way forward.
“Okay. Fine. What do you want?” he asked.
His eyes were wide now. I saw the fear in them. That fear confirmed everything I needed to know. He’d vandalized the neighborhood, he’d vandalized the school, and he’d vandalized the gym. Ollie was exactly what I thought he was. A criminal.
But, he was a criminal I needed.
I generally tried to always play fair in life, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Not only was my future on the line, but, at this point, his was too.
We both had something to fight for now. He had to fight for his secrets. I had to fight for my future as a painter.
“I want you to help me with the mural,” I said. “Every day until it’s done.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Can’t you just punch me in the face and get it over with?”
I crossed my arms. “As much as I would love to, the answer is no. Help me with the mural or else I’m telling Mr. Mann everything I know.”
He bit his lower lip and looked down at his boots, considering my offer.
“Tick tock, Ollie,” I said. “I don’t have all day.”
He growled. “Fine. I suppose I can sell out for a week.”
“I’m glad you know the price of your soul. But, there’s more. I want you to teach me how to paint like you.”
He frowned. “What?”
“When you draw or paint, I feel things. I want my art to make people feel things too. I want you to show me how to do that.” It may have been the most honest thing I’d ever said in my life.
“I’m not a teacher,” Ollie said. “Whatever comes out comes out. I can’t control it.”
“All I’m asking is for you to at least try. You said my portrait needed work. What did you mean by that?”
He looked away from me and toward the lockers.
“I don’t know. It… it was… lost.”
I blinked fast. “Lost? What does that mean?”
“It means that you can’t draw what you don't know. You keep trying to draw someone you don't know.”
“Are you saying I don’t know myself?”
“No, your picture says that.”
I swallowed. “Teach me.”
“You want me to teach you about yourself?” he scoffed. “Princess, God himself couldn’t do that.”
“Well, there must be some way you can help.”
“I’m not a miracle worker.”
I scowled. “Fine. If you’ll excuse me, I have to talk to the principal.”
I walked around him, and it took him a second to get his bearings and follow me.
“Fine, fine. I’ll help you with your portraits. Will you stop walking?”
He looked one hundred percent stressed out, and it made me giddy.
“You got it. I’ll help you with your mural and with your portraits. Anything else? Do you want a million dollars or a golden toilet seat?”
“Tempting, but no. Actually, there is one last thing. I want to know what Jeff was talking about the other day.”
Jeff’s words had been running around my head since he’d said them. At first, I thought he was talking about sex, but when Ollie said “she’s not coming with us” I knew something else was up.
I wanted to know what that something else was.
“What?”
“He was inviting me somewhere. I want to know where it was.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”
“But I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Look. At two-thirty, I will be at the wall, ready to sketch the mural. You will help me with the mural, then you will show me what Jeff was talking about. If not, deal’s off.”
Ollie closed his eyes, as if my words caused him physical pain.
“Are you sure about this, Princess?”
I nodded.
“I have never been so sure about anything in my life.”
19
It was two-thirty-three.
I stood at the blank wall, pencil in hand, waiting for Ollie to appear.
I’ll give him one more minute, I thought. Then I’m telling what I know.
A part of me was disappointed. Ollie’s art was good. Really good. I wanted to know how to paint like that. How to pull things from deep in my soul that would make people think. At the very least, I wanted to learn how to paint a decent portrait.
Ollie would’ve helped me do that.
That is, if he’d bothered to show up.
I let out a breath. Ten more seconds. I’d give him ten more seconds.
I tapped my feet, keeping time with the ticking clock by the door.
Five more seconds.
Four.
Three.
Two.
Come on, Oliver.
“Are we going to paint this mural or what?”
Ollie threw his bookbag against the wall and headed to the right end of the wall. “I got places to be in an hour.”
I hid my sigh of relief behind a wall of casualness.
“More walls to graffiti?” I asked.
He shushed me, then looked up and down the hallway to ensure we were alone.
“Will you keep your voice down,” he hissed. “If anyone finds out about that, deal’s off.”
I nodded. “Fair enough.”
He sat on his knees in front of the wall and started outlining.
“Don’t you want to see the sketchbook?” I asked.
“I saw the sketchbook. We’re painting chick flowers.”
“But what about the portrait?”
He squinted at me and shook his head. “You’re not ready for that yet. Chick flowers first, then portraits.”
I stood there, dumbfounded and unsure of what do to next.
“Uh, are you sure?”
“Flowers, grass, trees, and rocks that look like a rip-off of Van Gogh’s Irises. Throw in a few birds and caterpillars and bing bam boom, it’s done. Now let’s get to work.”
He looked at me with fire in his eyes.
If looks could kill, I’d be dead.
I nodded. “Okay.”
He blinked, as if he’d expected me to argue and I’d disappointed him. “Good. You do your half of the wall and I’ll do mine.”
His eyes returned to the wall, and he started outlining grass in long, smooth strokes.
My gut sank. I don’t know what I was expecting by blackmailing Ollie into helping me. Casual conversation? Friendship? Life coaching?
Certainly not silence.
I walked to my side of the wall and started to sketch. In the quiet, my pencil slid along the walls, creating bold outlines and beautifully complex flowers. I lot myself as my fingers poured fourth my own interpretation of nature.
Before I knew it, a timer was going off.
That was weird. I didn’t set a timer.
“See you tomorrow, Princess.”
Ollie grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
Where was he going so soon? Had it been an hour already?
“Wait!” I called after him. “Ollie!” Leaving my supplies by the door, I jogged behind him, panting to keep up.
“We had a deal,” I said.
“I’m fulfilling my end of the deal.”
“Not all of it. You’re supposed to help me with my portraits and show me what Jeff was talking about.”
His pace hadn’t slowed, and I found myself walking down the New York City sidewalks sans coat or bookbag. My breath fogged in front of me and my skin goose bumped with the cold of the January afternoon.
“I can’t do that here.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not ready. You’re too green.”
“Are you saying I’m inexperienced? I’ll have you know I’ve been painting for years.”
“Not that kind of experience. Look, I told you that you didn’t want to do this.”
“And I told you that I did.”
He finally stopped and faced me. “Jeff was an idiot for even mentioning that to you. What he was talking about… it was a place you don’t belong.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you wouldn’t fit in. It’s for true artists.”
“Are you saying I’m not a true artist?”
“I’m saying you paint flowers.”
“Van Gogh painted flowers.”
“So, you’re Van Gogh now?”
My temper soared.
“Either you take me tonight or I tell everything I know tomorrow.”
“Why do you want to do this so badly?”
“Because it’s all I have,” I blurted out. “At first, I thought it’d connect me to… someone. But, after a while, I realized they were gone, and there was no getting them back. So, now I do it because… I don’t know… it helps me breathe. I need to breathe.”
He sighed. “I’m warning you, Princess. It’s not what you think. You may find yourself on the wrong side of a hospital stretcher and I don’t want to have that on my consciousness.”
“What do you care? You don’t even like me. All you do is make fun of me and my paintings.”
“Being honest about people's talent is not making fun of them.”
His words took the air out of me, and I leaned back on my heels.
“You think I have talent?” I asked. Suddenly, it was the most important question in the world.
He looked deep into my eyes.
“I do. It needs work, but… I do.”
His eyes were so dark. They sucked me in, making me feel like I was free falling.
“You really shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said.
I blinked. At first, my cheeks heated with embarrassment. Then, my embarrassment turned to frustration. “I wasn’t looking at anything,” I said.
“Well, I was, so please. Keep your eyes in their sockets, okay?”
He was? What was that supposed to mean?
He turned and started walking again.
Why did he always walk away from me?
“We had a deal, Santiago.”
“Ten o’clock at the Starbucks down the street,” he said. “Don’t be late.”
I watched him head down the street, then turn into the subway.
“Ten o’clock,” I whispered.
My heart raced.
At ten o’clock tonight, something exciting was going to happen. I knew it. I could feel it.
And I was so ready for some excitement in my life.
20
I peeked my head out of the front door, then studied the elevator, making sure it wasn’t on its way up.
I hadn’t seen or heard from my parents since their earlier argument. I wasn’t sure if they were out or just holed up in their rooms, but I didn’t want to run into them my first time sneaking out.
When the coast was clear, I locked the door behind me and jogged to the stairway. I pushed the door open. I rarely used this staircase, but now that I was here, I remembered how pretty it was. Crown molding lined the steel gray walls. Black and gold ornate railings stood on the side of clean gray steps. A glass chandelier hung over every landing, and soft lights glowed in the walls. It smelled like fresh paint and lemon cleanser.
I loved that smell.
I took the stairs two by two, keeping an ear out for the sound of footsteps. My heart was racing. My lungs were tight. If I got caught, I would be in deep trouble. I had to stay out of sight, or else.
I reached the bottom floor and peeked through the glass.
Mr. Seba sat behind the front desk, reading a newspaper. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked upward to check out the cameras in front of him. Had he watched me come down the stairs? Did he know I was standing in the doorway right now? Why was he here anyway? His shift was in the morning from seven to ten, and in the evening from five to ten. From ten at night to five in the morning a policeman sat on guard in a squad car outside. The building was heavily protected due to all the high-profile tenants, but my main concern was Mr. Seba.
What if he told my parents I’d snuck out?
I checked my phone. Five minutes after ten.
Why hadn’t Mr. Seba gone home yet?
I stooped down and bit my inner cheek, hoping against hope Ollie wouldn’t give up and leave me behind. I needed him to show me how to improve my painting. I needed him to wait for me.
I pushed down the bad feeling that rose in my chest and peeked out of the window again. Mr. Seba was folding his newspaper and brushing off his pants. Finally.
If I hurried, I’d be able to reach Ollie before it was too late.
Mr. Seba raised his hand in a wave to someone, and I sidestepped to get a better look out of the window.
Crap. It was my father.
I ducked down, growlin
g deep in my throat. Had he seen me?
Crap. Why did he have to come home now?
Gathering my courage and swallowing down my terror, I peeked through the door. He was walking toward the stairway. His head was bent to his phone, but all it would take would be one glance up and I was done for.
Terror gripped me as he walked with sure steps closer and closer to my hiding spot.
I pressed my back against the wall. A moment later, the door flung open. I grabbed the handle before it hit me in the gut. My father’s tall figure walked past me, still staring at his phone. I stopped breathing. All he had to do was look behind him and he’d see me behind the door.
The door slowly glided shut, while I stood, still pressed to the wall, my body trembling. My breath frozen in my lungs.
Then, Daddy stopped walking halfway up the steps.
That was it. I was busted for sure.
My heart hammered in my chest as I imagined my imminent punishment.
What would it be? Permanent grounding? Taking away my car? The electric chair?
Daddy shook his head, typed something in the phone with his thumbs, and proceeded to jog up the stairs and out of sight.
I let out a breath.
That was close. Too close. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. Ten fifteen. I was now fifteen minutes late. I could only hope Ollie had waited for me.
I opened the door and sprinted out into the empty lobby. Then, I ran down the stairs and into our underground parking garage. I found my car exactly where I left it, jumped in, gunned the engine, and pulled out into the night.
21
This was the place. The Starbucks, near the school.
The same place Ollie had first saved my life.
I stood between the coffee shop and the alley, blowing into my hands and stomping the cold away from my feet. The shop was closed now, and the alley was empty.
I could hear the rats scurrying in the dumpsters, scratching at the metal walls and crinkling the bags.
I shivered.
I absolutely hated rats.
The alley looked typical. Brick lined and dark with a few sprays of graffiti, though I didn’t see the RATS’ famous symbol anywhere.
It smelled like a pungent mixture of garbage and cold air.
I rubbed my hands down my arm to ward off the chill. It was probably twenty-five degrees out, and I felt woefully underdressed. Winter boots, jeans, a sweater, and a coat were no match for the constant breeze that whipped my hair into my face. Coldness sank into my gloves. Soaked through my scarf. Through my jeans. Into my bones.
