I already have my answer, my home.
“You got this,” she says.
I hear Thomas coming down the hallway, still rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Everyone ready to go?”
Hannah glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Well?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
North Wake at night is sort of odd. All the lights are off except the ones in the main building where the show is. And the parking lot is packed with cars, so I guess any chance of this being a small show just flew out the window.
“Are your friends going to make it tonight?” Hannah locks the car behind us.
“I think so.” I check my phone, but there are no new texts. We talked about it at lunch today though, and everyone seemed excited.
“Ben!” someone yells from across the lot, and suddenly two people are running toward me. Well, Meleika is running, Sophie’s stumbling. She can’t do much in her heels.
“You guys made it.” I let Meleika wrap me in a hug.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Meleika asks.
“You weren’t answering your texts.” I don’t mean for it to sound like some kind of accusation.
“Oh, I was driving,” she says.
“And I have absolutely no service.” Sophie taps on her phone angrily.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Do you know where Nathan is?”
“I think he was going to try and get here early,” Sophie says.
Meleika’s phone gives a little ding. “Yeah, he’s inside already.”
“Well, since Ben isn’t going to introduce us, I will.” Hannah offers her hand to Sophie. “I’m Hannah, Ben’s sister.”
“Sorry,” I say. “This is Sophie, and Meleika.”
“Hey, girls.” Thomas gives them both a wave.
“Hi, Mr. Waller.” Meleika digs around in her purse for a second. “Ready to kick this art show’s ass?” she asks.
“Totally,” I say, following them into the school.
There isn’t much you can do with a school lobby, but with the partitions and everyone’s work hanging up, it looks like a real gallery. And people are already walking around. I’m guessing it’s mostly parents, but I recognize a few faces. I even see Stephanie. Thankfully Todd seems absent.
“Where is your stuff?” Sophie asks.
“Around here.” We walk by rows and rows of different student’s paintings. They all seem to be standing to the side, ready to talk to people at a moment’s notice. When we round the corner to my spot, right at the very end of the row, I finally see Nathan.
And he’s staring at my work. More specifically, he’s staring at the portrait of him.
“And you must be Nathan!” Hannah says, holding out her hand. “Ben and my husband have talked about you quite a bit.”
“All good things, I hope.” Nathan takes her hand. A perfect gentleman, as always. “I only hope I can live up to their glowing recommendation.”
“Oh wow, Ben.” Meleika stares, her mouth wide open. “You painted this?”
Now all five of them are staring. Well, Thomas not so much, since he’s already seen these.
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to blush.
“Someone’s already asked me if I painted it,” Nathan murmurs. “Told them there’s no way I had this much talent.”
“This is so cool.” Sophie glances from one painting to another. “Oh my God, that’s Nathan!” She leans in real close.
“Hey.” Nathan pulls her back. “Don’t breathe on my gorgeous portrait, you’ll lower the value.”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “Oh God, Ben, this was a mistake. His ego’s already too big.”
“We’ll talk about it when your portrait hangs in an art gallery.”
She flips him off, but they’re both smiling.
Art shows are sort of surreal, even if it is just a student show. At least this one is. I can’t speak for the other ones.
People keep phasing in and out, a few stopping to talk to me or look at the paintings. According to Nathan, Hannah and Thomas are taking a lap around the gallery. Mrs. Liu finds us a few minutes later.
“Oh, Ben, isn’t this amazing?” She hugs me again. “The turnout is better than I hoped!”
“Yeah.” The spot I picked isn’t too busy, but people filter by, some stopping, asking me questions about how I did the paintings. But most will just smile, nod, and move on. After another ten minutes, Meleika and Sophie head off to find the food table, and Mrs. Liu gets caught up talking to someone else.
So now it’s just me and Nathan.
“Still can’t believe you did that,” he says, turning around to look at his portrait again. “I like how you can see the details of the paint, like the paint isn’t lying flat? If that makes sense.”
“It’s just the brushstrokes, nothing fancy.”
“I still like it. It makes me feel warm.”
“That’d be the yellow,” I say.
“Why did you pick yellow?” he asks.
I’m answering before I can stop myself. “Because it’s bright and hopeful.” I wait a beat. “Like you.”
Nathan glances at me out of the corners of his eyes and gives me that sly grin.
I feel my face go hot. “Sorry, I mean … It’s nothing special,” I argue, hoping he’ll forget what I said. “Look.” I let my finger hover over the painted version of his face. “The lines here aren’t really right.”
“Oh, please.”
“And I should’ve added a darker tone here to make it seem more like a shadow.”
“Ben.” He sighs.
“What?”
“Tell me one thing you like about this painting.”
“What do you mean?”
“You always point out the flaws in your work, but what’s one thing you like about this painting? Or that one?” He points to the one of the cardinal, which seems like it’s from such a lifetime ago.
I think for a moment. “I like that I could make it up, the space around it, I mean.” Sure, I got the bird accurate, but the rest of the void was my playground. A blend of blues and purples with the small red bird providing the contrast.
“And the Pollock thing?”
“Drip painting,” I correct.
“The drip painting,” he says with a grin on his face. “What’s one thing you like about it?”
“I like how the purples still come through, even under all the blue.”
“And this one.” Nathan points back to his portrait.
“I like that it’s about you,” I say quietly, and he doesn’t seem to hear me at first, or I think he doesn’t.
Then he says, “That’s a pretty good feature.” He lets out a long sigh. “You always point out the problems with the paintings or the drawings. But what about the things you got right?”
“What about them?”
“Don’t they mean something?”
His words make my stomach drop. I don’t know, maybe he’s right. But I don’t think he realizes how difficult it can be to forget all the mistakes when I know they’re my fault. When I know I should’ve caught them. “It’s hard to be proud of something you messed up, even if everything around it is perfect.”