“I was thrilled to see you’ve signed up for the art competition.” She reaches up to tighten the paisley bandanna around her hair. “Please let me know if you’d like any help choosing what to enter.”
“I will, thanks.” I fiddle with the camera settings.
“Also, Nell…” She glances behind her and steps closer to me, a worried light suddenly appearing in her eyes. “I just wanted to make sure that everything is okay.”
It’s such a weird remark. I’m not sure everything is ever completely “okay” for people.
“Of course.” I lift my head. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, I noticed that you and Dar…er, Mr. Hawke both seemed upset after you left the darkroom the other day.” She touches my arm. “I know he has a close personal relationship with your family, and it’s not my business to overstep, but I also have a responsibility to ensure the well-being of my students. So if anything at home is troubling you or interfering with your schoolwork, I want you to know you can talk to me about it. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
A sticky, burning sensation fills my throat. Though she’s looking at me the way she always does—with that open, caring expression that makes her my favorite teacher—I sense the undercurrent of her concern.
About Darius.
I edge my arm away from her. “Mr. Hawke and I were just disagreeing on what I should show at the competition. That’s all.”
She blinks at the coldness in my voice. “All right. I hope you’ve worked it out, but please know my offer stands.”
I turn back to my camera. As if I’d ever tell her anything about what’s going on at home. As if I’d tell anyone.
I can’t begin to reconcile it. My desire for a safe, comfortable life is now at war with a sudden, desperate longing for everything to explode from the inside out.
CHAPTER 21
Nell
Late Saturday afternoon, Simon, Clover, and I all meet at the park for the photo shoot. It turns out to be more fun than I was expecting. Simon is chatty and amiable, which seems to put Clover at ease, and he doesn’t make a big deal of photographing her or trying to cajole her into smiling or looking a certain way. He takes pictures as she sits on a swing in the playground, stands beside a tree, rests her hip against a picnic table.
My job is to talk to Clover and keep her relaxed while Simon sets up different shots. I open a bottled water for her, and we sit on a bench while Simon scurries around with his light meter and camera bag.
“Everyone’s talking about that party tonight.” Clover takes a swallow of water. “Are you going?”
“Probably.” I scrounge through a plastic bag of snacks. “You?”
“I’m not into parties.” She shrugs. “My mom thinks I should go. She’s super thrilled that you stopped by again. She’s all worried about me making friends because I’m such a loner.”
“I am too.”
“Yeah, but you’re, like…” She waves her hand around to indicate…I have no idea what.
“Like…?” I tear open a bag of trail mix and eat a few peanuts.
“I don’t know. Cool, I guess.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Cool? Me?”
“Yeah.” A flush rises to her cheeks. “You’re a great artist, and you have this kind of go-to-hell attitude. Like you don’t care what anyone thinks of you. I wish I could be like that.”
Her blush deepens. I don’t even know what to say. No one has ever wanted to be like me.
“Oh. Well.” Now my face is getting hot too. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Sorry if that’s stupid.” She reaches for a bag of chips. “Most people want to be popular or whatever, but my favorite comics have always been about outcasts. Not that you’re an outcast. I mean, they’re different. I could relate.”
“Me too. I think all the great heroes started as outcasts. Some of them even stayed that way.”
“Is your OC an outcast?” She bites into a chip and glances at me. “Winsome Swift?”
“Yeah, she is. But then she discovers she has more power than she thought, except she doesn’t know how to use or channel it.”
“Her mentor can help her, right?”
Slowly, I shake my head. In so many great epic stories, the protagonist has a mentor. Harry has Dumbledore, Luke has Obi-Wan, Frodo has Gandalf, Wilbur has Charlotte.
“She doesn’t have a mentor.” I crumple the trail mix bag in my fist. “She has to figure it out all alone. I guess she’s more of a loner than I am.”
I jump off the table and start toward Simon.
“You ready?” He waves at Clover from near the teeter-totter. “The sun’s at a great angle.”
As we work for another hour or so, I think about the idea of a mentor for Winsome Swift, someone who can guide and teach her. I guess Ms. Meadows is as close to a mentor as I have right now, but I’m not sure I’d ever go to her with a serious question or problem. I’m saddened to realize I wouldn’t go to my father either, not anymore.
I would, however, go to Darius. No matter how tense and weird things are getting between us. No matter what happens, I know—I know—he would never judge me and never steer me wrong. He would also move heaven and earth to do what’s right for me, though increasingly I suspect we have different ideas of what that is.
After Simon wraps up the photo session, we all head our separate ways. Since my father and Darius are also going out tonight, I don’t bother making us dinner. I work a bit on Winsome’s story before my father calls up the stairs that he and Darius are leaving.
I step out to tell them to have a good time. They’re standing in the foyer, both handsome and distinguished in tailored suits and ties. I imagine them as high-school friends—one a slight, bookish boy, the other big, unruly, and powerful. Opposites in so many ways, but strangely complementary.
“Have a good time.” I give them a little wave.
“You too.” My father looks at his watch. “Try and be home by one, all right?”
I nod and return to my room, avoiding Darius’s gaze. No question he would treat me differently if I weren’t my father and Katherine’s daughter. But would he treat me more as an equal or would I be just another average teenage girl?
I leave for Todd’s party around nine, not wanting to be there too early or too late. His parents’ house is the largest one on the block—a huge white Tudor sitting on an expanse of manicured lawn and gardens. Spotlights illuminate the facade, and cars are parked all along the driveway and street.
As I approach the steps, I belatedly wish I’d come here with Simon. At least it would be nice not to have to walk in alone. Loud music thumps against the walls, and dozens of people swarm behind the lighted windows.
“Welcome!” The door flies open, and a boy I don’t know gestures inside with a sweeping bow. He’s wearing a top hat and a feather boa. “Grab a drink, join the fun. Food and pizza’s in the kitchen.”
Thanking him, I enter. It’s so crowded that I doubt anyone will even notice I’m here. Kind of like they do in school—which is exactly how I like it.