He avoids my gaze. “No, of course not,” he says, but he’s not at all convincing.
I’m in more trouble than I realized and it’s Krell’s fault. He’s such a prick.
“Even if I could afford a panel, I can’t carry a copy of Krell’s painting in and out of CALINVA.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think of that.” Adam motions to the street. “We should go,” he says, and picks up our plates and dumps them in a trash can.
I know that sneaking into Krell’s studio to paint would be ridiculously stupid and insane, but I’m actually disappointed I can’t do it.
We walk down the broken sidewalk to my car. As we pass a row of tiny bungalows, I ask, “Do you rent one of these?”
“Not exactly. My roommate and I share a dumpy RV parked in a driveway.” He shrugs. “Could be worse, right?”
For a moment I wonder if it shows—the nights I parked my car in the line of RVs along Silverlake Drive in the spot a retired teacher saved for me. “Yeah, could be worse.”
When we reach my car, Adam relaxes against the fender. “We could lock the painting in Secure Storage,” he says.
I realize he means my copy of Duncan, and my first impulse is yes, but… “What’s Secure Storage?”
“It’s part of shipping and receiving. We could stick the painting in an unused locker.”
I unlock my car and swing open the door. What Adam’s suggesting would work, but…“I don’t know. I need to think about it.”
Adam pushes himself off the fender and comes up beside me. I hold my breath as he leans over and kisses my cheek. “I’d hate to see Krell beat you, Sabine.”
As I drive away, the kiss smolders on my skin, and I reach up to touch it, expecting it to feel like ash.
Late at night, Adam texts me a shot of a wood panel. Apparently, Krell rejected it because of an almost invisible crack, but Artsy won’t take it back, so it’s been sitting in a storage room for months.
ITS YOURS, he says.
I glance at the painting of Mom on my bureau. Adam finding the panel I need, this is a sign, right?
Adam and I go back and forth, making plans. I’ll start painting after work tomorrow.
I tell myself I wouldn’t have to do this if Krell would do his job and teach me instead of eviscerating me. And with Adam’s help, I’m going to show Krell he’s wrong.
When I arrive at CALINVA, it feels different, as if someone changed all the lightbulbs to brighter ones. Taysha intercepts me after class. “Where did you disappear to yesterday?”
“No place special.”
“Liar.” She laughs.
I know my face betrays me, but she doesn’t push it.
My phone buzzes and I slide it out, sure it’s Adam, but it’s Mona. “Mona wants me to stop by the admin office.”
Instead of walking away, Taysha insists on tagging along. “I want to see what goodies the Zoich sent you this time.”
The office is on the first floor right off the lobby. It’s basically a glass box with a clear view of the lobby and the exhibition gallery by the entrance.
There’s an awkward, bony-framed kid sitting on the lime-green couch with his portfolio by his feet, and I know by the anxious, hopeful look in his eyes that he’s a high school senior here for an interview. He’s me. Last year. Desperate to come to the school of my dreams.
Run, I want to tell him. Apply to UC San Diego or Cal State Fullerton.
Mona sits at her sleek white desk outside the president’s office, where the blinds are shut. Mona always looks polished, from her straightened hair to her perfectly glazed bronze nails and immaculate white silk blouse.
“Hi, Mona. You wanted to see me?”
She cocks her head, her eyebrows raised as she holds up a pink “While You Were Out” slip. “This woman called, looking for you. She wanted to know if you were a student here.”
I read Iona Taylor in Mona’s big round handwriting and my stomach lurches. Why did I think Iona wouldn’t find me? Taysha and Mona are exchanging looks, but I try to act nonchalant. “Did she say what she wanted?”
“No, she did not, and I informed her that I am not permitted to give out that kind of information. It violates the rules concerning student privacy.”
It’s obvious Mona has guessed this is the Iona Taylor, and it’s absolutely killing her that she can’t come right out and ask. “Thanks, I appreciate you looking out for me,” I say, and take the message from her.
Taysha doesn’t have anywhere near Mona’s restraint, because the second we exit the office, she plucks the pink paper out of my hand. “Iona Taylor? I knew you grew up in Beverly Hills, but—”
I don’t let her finish. “I might have grown up in Beverly Hills, but I didn’t ‘grow up’ in Beverly Hills.”
“Care to explain?”
“It’s not the same when your mom’s the help.”
Taysha blinks like she’s recalibrating what she thinks about me. I should have come clean weeks ago.
“You’re telling me your mom works for a Platinum Mom!”
I squirm, seeing people turn around to look at us. “Worked. Just for a little while.”
“What do you think she wants?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Crap. Taysha’s never going to drop this.
“Iona Taylor’s a piece of work. Did you see the episode where she tore into her assistant, Lacy, over losing her designer dress?”
“Nope. Missed that one,” I toss back.
“She stormed around that big-ass kitchen of hers, yelling—” Taysha slams her hands down on an invisible counter and contorts her face into the one I’d see scream at Mom. “‘VAL-EN-TIN-O, VAL-EN-TIN-O. Can you not hear me? Where’s my VAL-EN-TIN-O?’”
My heart squeezes so hard I can barely breathe. “Yeah, sounds like Iona,” I manage to force out.
Poor Lacy. I glance at the restroom because I need to end this, but Taysha will just follow me in, so I dive for my phone. “Oh, gotta take this. See you later?”
I walk away, mumbling nonsense like “yeah” and “okay” while I walk down the ramp as if someone’s waiting for me outside. Then I duck around the side of the building behind what I think of as the flying chopstick sculpture.
The aluminum rods hover a foot off the ground. Strung on steel cables, they vibrate when a car goes by or a breeze hits.
I park my butt on the cement base. My stomach’s churning, because what did I expect would happen when Iona figured out I had her dress?
I kept thinking I’d return it. Toss the box with it over the gate and drive off. But weeks went by and I didn’t get around to it. And then when a cop warned me that I had twenty-four hours before my registration lapsed and I could lose my car to an impound lot, I did what I had to.
I took care of myself because no one else was going to.
I pull out my sketch pad and stare at the steel stairs spiraling up the outside of the building. My head begins to clear as I capture how the wide steps narrow and shrink the farther away they are.
Iona Taylor called CALINVA personally to track me down? That can’t be right. Iona wouldn’t waste her time trying to find me if she couldn’t reach me on my old cell.