by Seven Steps
I bit my lip and handed back the mirror.
Maybe I could pull off this look? Maybe I didn’t need to be dressed up all the time?
The first period bell rang, and I waved goodbye to my friends before heading off to art. I hoped Mrs. Meredith was doing another egg shading lesson. I needed to flesh out my designs for the Battle of the Bands costumes.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling through Pinterest for band costumes, when I bumped into someone. I looked up and locked eyes with my victim.
It was Ollie.
“Hey.”
His eyes glued to mine in an odd expression, then they raked over my face. My body. Even my shoes.
“Look much?” I asked.
I tried to force some irritation into my voice, but it felt like my mind and body were on two different wave lengths this morning. My mind wanted to smack Ollie for looking at me so boldly, while my body broke out in goose bumps from his examination.
“Whoa. What happened to you?” he asked once his eyes returned to my face.
I frowned.
“I woke up late.”
A small smile worked onto his lips. “You should wake up late more often.”
I sucked in a breath, not knowing whether to be flattered or offended. I decided on the offended stance.
“I didn’t have time to put on makeup or heels or anything.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“Way to be rude, Ollie.”
“Princess, if you think that’s rude, you haven’t been paying attention.”
Brief, powerful memories flashed up in my mind. Ollie helping me down from the sign pole. Ollie encouraging me to let go and join my friends on stage last night. Gooey warmth pooled in my belly, shocking me to my core.
What was I thinking? What was I feeling? I couldn’t have those thoughts about Ollie. He was not the boy I should have been having those thoughts about. Andrew was.
I hmphed and walked into the room, strangling my thoughts into submission.
Just think of Andrew, my knight in shining armor.
Do not fall for the knave!
I slid into my seat, happy to see we were still working on shading techniques. I quickly finished up an egg, then spent the rest of the class working on costume ideas.
I was just adding the finishing touches onto Cole’s pants when the bell rang. Before I could stand, a sheet of paper was slid over my notebook.
My eyes washed over it.
It was a picture of a girl hunched over a desk, a messy bun in her hair, and a look of pure concentration on her face.
There was no denying who it was. Her eyes said it all.
This girl was me.
Ollie has sketched… me.
Only it wasn’t how I imagined I looked.
I’d read somewhere that humans never know how the really look to someone else. Sure, we have mirrors and selfies but neither of them can capture what you look like through another person’s eyes.
Staring at this picture, I saw myself through Ollie’s eyes and it shocked me.
The girl—me—was gorgeous. Smooth skin, full lips scrunched to one side in a cute expression, purposefully messy hair, big eyes. My boobs were a little bigger than real life, but the rest of me looked amazing.
Was this how Ollie saw me? If so, what did that mean?
A pit opened wide in my stomach.
I bit my suddenly dry lips and glanced around the room, but Ollie had already vanished.
I took one last look at the drawing and pressed it between the pages of my art book.
Think of Andrew, I reminded myself. Just think of Andrew.
My reckoning with Andrew came at lunchtime. I’d only seen glimpses of him during the day, which was odd since I’d been seeing so much more of him lately.
But he finally caught me in the lunch line while I reached for my salad.
“Hey, you,” he said.
Butterflies burst to life in my stomach. Was ‘hey you’ good or bad.
“Hey. I’m sorry about last night. We just got caught up on stage.”
He looked tired but not upset.
“It’s cool. You looked great up there, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“It was a side of you I wasn’t expecting.”
I swallowed, feeling like the ground was moving beneath my feet.
“Is that a bad thing?”
He reached for a ham sandwich, hiding his face. “It was cool. I liked it.”
I let out a relieved breath.
“Oh. Good. I thought you’d be mad.”
“Mad? Why? Because you left me, went on stage with your friends and made me take a cab home?” he scoffed. “Why would I be mad about that?”
His expression still didn’t look angry or anything. It was neutral. Almost, friendly. But his words told an entirely different story. They were biting.
I opened and closed my mouth, unsure of what to say.
“Look, my parents are having this dinner on Wednesday night. My mom wants to meet you. Do you think you’re up for it?”
The way he said ‘do you think you’re up for it’ made me feel weird. Like there was a second meaning to it. Something I couldn’t decipher.
“Uh. Yes. Sure.”
“Good. It’s at seven o’clock sharp. I’ll pick you up from your apartment around five-thirty.”
“Five-thirty? Isn’t that early?”
“We have to go out to Long Island.”
“Oh.” Andrew’s family owned a home on the far end of Long Island. With rush hour traffic it would take forever to get out there. What would we do in a car for that long?
My stomach dropped, then rose, then dropped again. Somehow, I didn’t think we’d be making out. Not that I hadn’t thought about making out with Andrew. I thought about it a lot. Not recently, though. Plus, the vibe I’d been getting from him today wasn’t a let’s make out vibe. It was an I’m disappointed vibe. And I hated that Andrew was disappointed because of me.
“So, what do you say?” he asked. “You up for it?”
He looked so tired. I guess he wasn’t a night person. Neither was I, until I met the RATZ.
“Yes. I will be there.”
He smiled a little. The smallest smile he’d ever given me.
“Great. I’ll let my parents know.”
We finished grabbing our lunches and started to walk toward our tables. Things between us felt different. Tense. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know how to fix this.
I wish I knew how to fix this.
Andrew walked to his table, and I walked to mine, feeling like something had shifted between us.
And that it was all my fault.
28
I found the RATZ’s van just where it had been before. In front of the alley down the street from the Starbucks. The engine still bellowed black and the van was still a death trap. But it was the best thing I’d seen all day.
After the rush from yesterday’s stage performance, and a grueling dance lesson from Ariel earlier, I was eager to see what this night had in store for me.
I climbed in, and we pulled off, heading in the direction of Brooklyn.
“So, how often do you guys go out to tag?” I asked.
Jean smiled at me. “Whenever there’s an open wall.”
“When it’s not freezing,” Able said.
“When the mood strikes,” Jeff said.
“Is that what we’re doing tonight?” I asked. My heartbeat was beginning to pick up. “Tagging a building?”
“Is that what you want to do?” Ollie asked, peeking at me from the rearview mirror.
“I want to learn,” I replied.
“That’s right. Your summer internship. You know, Jean is into that Holly chick too.”
“You’re into Devinta?” Jean asked. Her face brightened a little.
I nodded, feeling the familiar rush of excitement I always felt when I talked about Devinta. “She’s my favorite artist.”
Jean’s fa
ce took on a rosy glow. Her normally hard eyes softened to almost friendly levels. “Mine too.”
“Favorite piece?” I asked.
“Heavenly. Yours?”
“Heavenly.”
She smiled wide. “I don’t know anyone else who’s into her.”
“Me neither.”
In that moment, something shifted between us. Our relationship went from shaky ground, to sure and solid, just like that. That’s the thing about art. It brings people together in ways they’d never expect. I never thought I’d befriend someone like Jean Wick. I’ll bet a million dollars she never thought she’d befriend someone like me either.
She leaned back in her seat and regarded me. “You’re all right, Jasmine. I hate to admit it, but you’re all right.”
She playfully pulled my hat down over my eyes. I giggled and pushed my hat back up.
“Does this mean you’re going to lay off me now?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I never said that, Princess.”
Able laughed from behind us. “Don’t worry. Jean never lays off anyone. Well, except Jeff.”
Oliver and Able laughed out loud.
Jean and Jeff did not.
We sped down the New York City streets for a while before pulling into an empty driveway in front of an abandoned building.
“Home sweet home,” Ollie said, climbing out of the car.
Able opened the sliding van door and climbed out next, followed by me, Jean, and finally Jeff.
It looked like two abandoned warehouses had been glued together. The left side of the warehouse was all crumbling red brick with boarded up windows and a gray, pointed roof. The right side was red clapboard with fewer windows and a long tube that ran from the top of the building down into a crumbling structure in the water, like a waterslide of doom. It was all built upon a stone foundation dripping with rust. The entire building leaned to the side, as if it were a day from falling into the water.
“You live here?” I asked. The wind from the water stung my skin. I pulled my coat tighter around me. I could smell the ice forming in the below freezing temperatures.
“At night,” Ollie replied.
I followed them through a door that hung mostly off its hinges, and through a cavernous, dark room. The windows were all broken, and the wind howled through them like a lost spirit. It smelled moldy, like an old basement in winter.
We crossed the room and jogged up a rail-less staircase to the second floor, then down what looked to have once been a hallway. Finally, Ollie pushed open a door and we walked inside.
One by one, lights clicked on in the ceiling. Dozens of Christmas tree lights ran above me, strung together with wires that all fed into a big box on the right side of the room. I assumed the box was some sort of generator, because next to it was a computer station, complete with three computers, a printer, and wires that ran from the computer, to a big, square table in the center of the room. The top of the table glowed, and I noticed a shine to it. Like it was made of glass.
This room was huge, with high ceilings, and six large windows along the far wall. Someone had covered the windows with some clear plastic, making this room noticeably warmer than the rest of the dilapidated building.
To my left were a series of booths, each separated from the other by a square of wood and blankets. Soft light came from within them.
“This is amazing!” I said, walking to examine the table. To my surprise, the top of the table was a giant computer screen. Displayed on it were giant circles, and within the circles were pictures. Ballerinas dancing, multi-faced men, screaming warriors, women made of water. There was one picture of a river that looked so real I wanted to reach out and touch it.
Then the screen changed, morphing into four more images. A few moments later, four different images appeared. How many images were there? And how was it possible that they could all be so beautiful? Every piece of it was something new and different and eye-catching. My heart lurched. I couldn’t stop staring at it.
“What is all this?” I asked, hovering my hand above it. I wasn’t sure if I could ruin it, but I didn’t want to touch it and find out.
“Something we’ve been working on,” Ollie said, coming to stand next to me.
“Working on for what?”
“For the greatest tag in history!” Jeff declared, standing on my other side. Jean and Able came to stand by the table too. “This piece is going to change the world!”
Ollie shot him a look, like he’d crossed some sort of line.
A line that Jeff apparently didn’t mind crossing.
“Imagine walking into the Spring Formal, and instead of some lame school building you find the entire school wrapped in this. Shifting images that both touch the heart and jump-start the mind.”
“It’s called a digital art, but we thought that was lame so we’re calling it VT,” Able said. “A virtual tag. We place lights and cameras around the entire building. They’ll turn on at the same time, creating a sort of virtual skin. We can wrap the school in any image we want.”
“And here’s the best part,” Jean said. She waved her hand over the table and the entire thing started to move and shift, like a puzzle being arranged. When it had reformed, it looked like a completely new painting that incorporated the images from the previous screen. “Each piece is part of a bigger piece. And those pieces are part of a bigger piece. And the final piece will incorporate every picture. Plus, it does all this cool stuff like wave and change color, and a million other cool things Able set up. Once everyone sees this, they’ll have to know.”
“Know what?” It all sounded so fantastic I couldn’t imagine it.
“That art isn’t definable. It’s a feeling. A state of being. Not just what they want it to be.” Jean’s eyes burned into mine. “You’re not the only one who entered that art contest, you know. We all entered it. Able, Jeff, me, Ollie. You know what Mr. Mann told us? He said that graffiti art isn’t real art. That it’s just something vandals say to legitimize themselves. Then, when we tried to fight for our right to be in the art show, he squashed us.”
I sucked in a breath.
So that was why Ollie was so mad about the contest. It discriminated against his friends, and now he was tied for first place. They must’ve thought he betrayed them. I felt awful.
“So, we are going to show them we’re true artists. And, when they see this piece, they won’t be able to deny it.”
I looked down at the piece again. It was beautiful, even in its unfinished state. Evocative. I remembered what Mrs. Meredith said about my work. That it didn’t make her feel anything. But this piece made me feel everything. That was what I wanted. In that moment, I knew I had to be a part of it.
“Can I help?” I asked.
Jean looked at Jeff, then chuckled. “You?”
I raised my chin, hoping she didn’t see how small that comment made me feel. “Yes, me.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. This is all about pain. Suffering. Craving.” She jerked her chin in my direction. “Can you handle that, Princess?”
I tried to remember if I’d felt any of those things. Had I ever wanted something so bad that I craved it? Had I ever suffered or felt pain?
If I did, I couldn’t remember it. Whatever I asked for, my parents got it for me, or gave me the money to get it myself. I’d never suffered or felt pain about anything. My life was smooth sailing. Was that why my art was so emotionless? Because I hadn’t experienced any emotion but… contentment.
I swallowed. I felt so foolish. Like I’d failed. If art was about pain, would I never become a true artist? The thought of it made tears pool behind my eyes, each filled with embarrassment and shame. I refused to let them fall.
“I’ll just go practice in my sketchbook,” I croaked.
Then, I backed away from the table and fled to one of the booths on the left side of the room. I pulled down the blanket door and allowed myself a moment to wallow in self-pity. I was a failure as an artist. I fa
iled because my life was too safe and secure.
But there had to be a way around that. A lot of artists were wealthy and lived very comfortable lives and their painting never suffered. Why should my paintings suffer? It wasn’t my fault that my parents were rich. But what if this was the piece I’d been missing? If I didn’t crave anything, or suffer anything, was I doomed to be mediocre forever? Simply copying old art and trying not to drown in my own misery?
I bit my lower lip. A single tear fell, and I wiped it away.
How could I get past this?
I sat, crossing my legs in front of me and leaning against the back of the booth.
Someone knocked on the wooden part of the wall, then pulled open the blanket. Ollie’s face poked through the opening between the blanket and the wall.
“Knock, knock,” he said. “Is it safe to come in?”
I shrugged. “It’s your hideout.”
He squeezed his lips together and stepped inside. The booth was small, only built for one. He slid down the wall and sat with his arms wrapped around his knees.
“I’m sorry about Jean,” he said. “Sometimes her mouth runs away from her.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine. She was probably right anyway. I’m never going to impress Devinta Holly with my art. I suck.”
“No. No, that’s not true.”
“You said so yourself. I need work.”
“So, let’s work on it.” He scooted closer. “Why don’t we work on your portraits?”
I sniffled. “You’re actually going to help me now?”
“You painted heaven. You’re part of the RATZ. My compatriot. I’m duty bound.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Really?”
“Look. When I make a promise, I keep it. So, show me your sketchbook. We’ll see if we can blow Devinta’s socks off.”
I pulled my sketchbook from my purse, feeling my mood lift a little.
“Why don’t you start by drawing your best friend. Who’s your best friend?”
“I have six. Ariel, Bella, Sophia, Purity, Cole, and Eric.”
“Well, aren’t you popular? Okay, just draw one of them.”
