“You are not a spaz.”
“Fiiinnnne,” I say, rising to my feet. “But if she breaks up with you, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Dad hooks an arm around my neck and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Noted.”
“Now get to work before they fire you.”
He heads for the door. “Kick that artist block’s ass today.”
I lift my fuzzy cat slippers. “It’s a good thing I put my ass kickers on, huh?”
“Good thing.” He laughs, then pulls the door closed behind him.
I sigh, bringing the wooden end of the paint brush to my lips. I’ve been staring at a blank canvas for the last hour. I’ve mixed and remixed three different shades of green, and none of them are right. Painting was never this hard before I got into art school. I haven’t even had my first class and I already feel out of my league. I’d only applied on a whim because there was no way I’d get in. Then the acceptance letter came, and I thought, nice, but there’s no way I can ever afford to go. Then I’d gotten a few scholarships, and Momma told me not to worry about the rest, and the excuses ran out.
I haven’t finished a painting since I filled out the financial aid…three months ago. What kind of artist will I be if I can’t finish a simple freaking picture of a tree I’ve seen a million times?
I drop the brush, push the canvas to the side, and lay back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. I came to Newton in search of inspiration. I’d lived life in South Carolina in a bubble. I went to school and came home and painted. Momma had been strict, but also, I wasn’t really interested in having the high school experience. I just wanted to paint and be in nature, and while my hyper focus is probably the reason I got into the Art Institute in the first place, I think it’s also why I’m having such an intense creative block.
I turn my head, my gaze shifts underneath my bed. There’s a box sticking out. I reach for it and flip open the lid, smiling down at sketches that I had to have done so long ago. They’re mostly of plants. Stuff I’d seen when I’d go to work with Daddy, but at the bottom of the stack, there are several attempts at me drawing Devin, the boy next door.
I lightly trace the pencil drawing with my fingers and grin. I hadn’t thought about my childhood best friend in years. We’d lost touch along the way, like I’d done with most of Newton once I’d moved. I make my way towards the window. My bedroom is directly across from his. When we were kids, we’d sneak into each other's rooms at night, either when his parents were fighting or mine were. Back then, he was my safe place and I was his. I wonder what he’s like now.
The doorbell rings, interrupting my trip down memory lane. I frown. I’m not expecting anyone, but maybe Dad ordered something? I bound down the stairs and peek out the peephole. “Hello?” I call out. The distorted image of an Asian girl with long jet-black hair comes into view.
“Roni?” a high-pitched voice chirps back. “It’s me, Chloe, let me in.” I unlock the door and swing it open. She rushes inside, a duffle slung over her shoulder. She adjusts the bag and fluffs out her hair. “Thank you. It’s hot as balls out there.”
I stare at her wide-eyed. She’s tall, much taller than my five-two frame, and gorgeous, like insanely so. She’s wearing a bright pink t-shirt that stops just above her navel and it looks like she spent as much time on her makeup as I spent staring at green paint.
“Can I stash this in your room?”
“I-uh—sure?” I stammer, unsure what to do with the ball of energy bouncing up the stairs.
I follow behind her as she makes her way to my room. “Oh my God, it looks exactly like I remember. I haven’t been up here in years.” She babbles. “So do you. I mean, you look the same. Like literally the same. Your skin is flawless. What do you use?”
“Use?”
“Drop the skincare routine, duh.” She tosses the duffle in the corner and lays across my bed, looking up at me expectantly. I arch my brow at her and silently debate tossing her out of the window. Before I come to a decision, she adds, “Don’t tell me you’re one of those, I just use water and witch hazel type of girls.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
She snorts. “Because it’s bullshit.”
I put my hands on my hips. “It works.”
“No, it doesn’t. You’ve just got genetics on your side.”
I purse my lips, but I don’t argue. For one thing, something tells me I’ll never win, and for another, she’s most likely right. Instead, I opt to address the elephant in the room. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh. My. God!” she squeals, scrambling off the bed. “Is this Devin?” She grabs the sketches and flips through them. “You two use to be attached at the hip. He’s gonna die when he sees these…hey, that’s me!” She flashes me the drawing in question. “I don’t have as many in here as he does, but I guess you two were closer back then. Not anymore though, since we’re practically sisters. That’s crazy, right? Our parents? I still can’t believe it sometimes.”
My brain struggles to keep up, so I focus on the last part mostly because that’s all I can remember. “How’d that happen, anyway?”
“My mom works at the diner, and your dad is tragically ill prepared to feed himself. They bonded over meatloaf.”
“Romantic,” I quip.
“Right?” She giggles. “But Mom seems happy, and that’s all that matters.”
I smile and sit next to her on my bed. “You’re exactly the same as I remember.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
I pretend to think about it for a moment before replying. “Great thing.”
Chloe throws her hands up in celebration. “I told Ray we’d be besties.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a beat. “Chloe?”
“Yeah, Roni?”
“Why are you here?”
“Oh!” She turns and digs her phone out of her pocket. “So, you know how we’re supposed to be having dinner tonight?”
“Yes.” I nod.
“Well, someone called out and Mom had to go into work for a few hours, which means, I got stuck on grocery duty, so I figured I’d see if you wanted to come with. Mom says that Ray says that you haven’t left the house since you got here, so I came to break you out.”
My mouth drops open. “I’ve left the house.”
“The backyard doesn’t count.” She stands.
I really, really wish I had a rebuttal, but I haven’t actually even made it to the backyard, only the porch. I go with the truth instead. “Listen, I have a really gnarly case of artist block, so all my focus is on curing that.” I point to the blank canvas.
“Yeah, you’re totally killing it, but maybe you can take a break?” she snarks.
“You’re more sarcastic than you used to be.”
“Thank you.” She beams. “Now, get your shit, and let’s go.”
The tires screech as Chloe whips her Jetta into the Publix parking lot. “We’re here.” She beams proudly before killing the engine.