Portrait of Us Read online

  “As often as I can. At least a couple of times a month.” He chuckled. “My uncle’s girlfriend owns this gallery, so she lets me visit whenever I want. For free.”

  Interesting. “It’s good to have connections,” I teased. “Do you ever come here with anyone?” My face burst into flames when I realized how that could sound. “Um, I mean, like friends or family or whatever.” Wow, way to be weird, Corinne.

  He angled just a fraction toward me and peered down into my eyes. His pupils were wide and dark, and the irises were just a slim blue line around them. I saw him swallow. “You’re the first person I’ve come here with.” His voice was low but intense.

  I drew in a steadying breath, my heart thundering in my chest. I’d sworn I wasn’t going to give any further thought to this stupid, simple crush I had on him, but the way he was looking at me right now . . . I couldn’t resist the pull.

  I stepped just a hair closer; heat poured from his body. A small flutter at the base of his throat showed his heart rate matched mine.

  “So glad to see you again, Matthew,” a tall slender woman interrupted us. Her brown hair was pulled into a messy bun on her head and she wore a flowing dark blue dress.

  I jerked in surprise but tried to recover my cool. Her scrutiny hit me in full force as she took me in with her eyes. Must be his uncle’s girlfriend. I thrust out my hand. “Hi, I’m Corinne.”

  “Brianna, this is my art project partner,” Matthew said smoothly, so much so that I wondered if I’d imagined that moment between us.

  Her smile widened, and she shook my hand. “Glad to meet you. We heard about your project. Good luck in the competition!”

  “Thanks,” I said, keeping my attention off Matthew and firmly on her. “We’re trying to get inspiration and decide what we’re going to do our project on. We can’t seem to agree.”

  “It can be hard,” she said with a knowing nod. “But once you find your inspiration, I’m sure it will flow.” She gave Matthew a wide, warm smile. “He’s a smart one. You’re lucky to be paired with him. He’ll work hard, and he’s truly gifted. Rare to see such profound talent in a guy his age.”

  Matthew’s face turned a bright shade of crimson. “I’m no more talented than anyone else in our class.” He cleared his throat and turned to me. “Teni has a piece on display if you want to see it.”

  The more time I spent around Matthew, the more I started to realize Brianna was right. There was something special about him—his perspective on the world, his intensity. It made me realize how very safe I played it. Because there was something safe about classical art. When you looked at a piece, you essentially knew what you were going to get. No big surprises—the image was clearly rendered on canvas with little to debate. Yeah, there might be symbolic layers in there, but the meaning of the paintings weren’t greatly altered depending on who was looking at it.

  I nodded and followed him to see Teni’s bold-colored painting of two African girls. They wore simple dresses and had wide smiles on their faces, white teeth gleaming in golden sunshine. Somehow Teni had managed to blend the classic and the modern in her approach—I could see the girls clearly, knew what the subject matter was, but the unusual, varied lines that formed their figures gave the piece freshness. Matthew and I could definitely learn something from her.

  I’d anticipated coming here and being bored, validated in my snobbery about contemporary art. But Matthew had challenged me to look beyond my initial disdain and give the pieces a chance. And in all honesty, as we stood side by side, staring at Teni’s art, I was glad he had.

  “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” I whined to Ava as I tugged thin strips of her hair into small braids. “I’m going to be all alone, with no one to talk to about all of my angst.”

  She was currently sitting on the floor between my dangling lower legs while I sat on my bed. Ava stretched out her limbs, flexing her freshly painted bold blue toenails. “I’m sure you can find something to keep you distracted. Something starting with the letter M.”

  I tugged her hair a little harder than I needed to, and she gave a short howl. “Oh, I’m so sorry about that,” I said sweetly.

  “You’re mean.” She pressed fingers to her scalp and groaned like I’d ripped the hair out by the roots. “I’m going to be bald now. And then no Scottish boys will find me attractive. Thanks so much for ruining my plans.”

  My mom popped her head in the door and eyed me and Ava. Her eyebrow shot up when she saw Ava’s head half-covered in rows of braids, but she wisely decided not to comment on it. Ava and I sometimes did weird things on our weekly sleepover nights, like experimenting with hairstyles or avant-garde fashion. A tradition we’d started back in middle school. “You girls need anything before your father and I go to bed?”

  “No, Mrs. Walters,” Ava said with a smile. “So long as your daughter stops ripping out all of my hair in revenge.”

  “Corinne, be nice,” Mom chastised, then winked. “Okay, keep it down, ladies. Good night. Don’t stay up too late, honey. You have to work tomorrow, remember?”

  We echoed our good nights to her, and she closed the door.

  I rolled my eyes and turned the music in the background down a fraction. It was only eleven, but my parents were already going to bed. Typical—I couldn’t remember the last time they’d stayed up even until midnight. “What are your folks doing tonight? Are you guys all packed?” I made quick work of finishing her braids.

  “Mostly. Just a few odds and ends left. It’s going to be a lot of fun. I’ll take a million pics and send them to you. My mom has international calling and unlimited data, so I can check in with you online.” She tilted her head to look at me, giving me a pitying smile. “I’m sorry I was teasing you about Matthew. I know you’re uncomfortable with the whole thing. But it sounds like going to the museum might have been good for you.”

  I slipped down to the floor beside her and rested my back against the bed. “It was. I mean, I’m stubborn and set in my ways. I know that. But I do want to make this work with him.” I needed to win. And to be honest, there was a small part of me that was excited by the challenge of trying something different.

  Pushing my craft, as Teni always said.

  Well, if anything was going to nudge me out of my comfort zone, it would be working with Matthew.

  “What was your favorite piece?” she asked me.

  I scrunched up my face and thought about the whole gallery. After seeing Teni’s piece, we’d lingered for another good hour, strolling around and taking it all in. Brianna had even brought us some tea to sip while we perused.

  “Probably the wooden sculpture of the woman holding a child.” I told her all about it. The carving was small, only a few inches around, and resting on a tall pedestal. But the moment I’d seen it, I’d wanted to touch it and see if the exterior was as smoothly polished as it appeared. The figures hadn’t been immediately evident, but soon the gentle, flowing lines of the mother’s back and the baby cradled in her arms had popped out at me. They were both faceless, but their bodies conveyed emotion anyway. Love. Nurturing.

  Powerful.

  “I’m proud of you,” Ava said.

  I blinked. “How so?”

  “For keeping an open mind. It’s easy to get caught in a rut and not take a risk on something else, especially when it comes to art.” She snorted. “My mom refuses to decorate our house in anything but old-fashioned country décor. It kills my soul.”

  I laughed. It was true—her kitchen alone looked like it came straight off a farm. Red checkers, chicken statues, pig salt shakers . . . she went a little overboard. “Maybe in Scotland she’ll find a style she likes better. Like plaid.”

  “I hope so. At least it would be different.” Ava laughed and grabbed her soda, sipping. “How’s your brother, by the way? Are he and Maxine still being weird?”

  I’d told Ava about the pool kiss and then their strange makeup afterward. “Actually, they don’t seem to be hanging out together as much.
Charlie had invited her over for dinner tonight but she told him she had plans already. Poor guy seemed shocked that she wouldn’t drop everything to hang out with him.” I chuckled. “He pouted the whole meal in silence, then ran up to his room and stayed there.”

  Ava gave a sympathetic moan. “So he hasn’t fully accepted that she likes him, huh? Even though she kissed him?”

  “At this rate, Maxine would have to throw a brick at Charlie’s head for him to wake up.”

  “I hope it doesn’t come down to that,” she teased. “I mean, your brother has a hard head and all, but . . .” She paused and grabbed a magazine off my bedside table. “Hey, let’s do a quiz.”

  I finished braiding her hair as we spent the next half hour taking quizzes to find out our ideal careers, what kind of boyfriend was perfect for us, where would be our ideal vacation.

  Ava laughed—the last quiz told her she should go somewhere with rich history, like England or Scotland. “I feel like I’m going to peak too young at this rate.”

  “At least you’re going to experience it. Who knows when I’ll ever make it to Italy.” I sighed. “Can you imagine, being immersed in all of that artwork, hundreds of years old? The architecture, the food, the language.”

  What would be Matthew’s ideal vacation spot? The thought popped into my mind unbidden. I swallowed and pushed it right back out of my head.

  Ava gave me a wide grin. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you.”

  I furrowed my brow. “What?” How did she know?

  Her smile widened, and she laughed. “You got this soft look in your eyes, followed by this blush and then an angry scowl. Seemed the most logical explanation.” She patted my arm and reached behind her head to grab one of the pillows off the bed, tucking it across her lap. “You’ll be much happier if you stop fighting the way you feel and just accept it. There’s nothing wrong with having a crush on Matthew.”

  “Easy for you to say.” For as much of a crush as I had, there was also a healthy dollop of fear. Even if Matthew did like me in return, who was to say we’d work out? I’d seen plenty of couples start out strong but end with a horrible fight. Ava’s last boyfriend, for example.

  Because those differences that had drawn them to each other had eventually ripped them apart.

  I didn’t want that.

  A pillow smacked me in the face. “No more moping,” Ava said with a laugh as she jumped up.

  I grabbed a pillow, grateful for the distraction. This was time to spend with my best friend, not to think about him. “Oh, the war is on now, girl.”

  Chapter Ten

  I have seen notable progress in our skills as a whole over the last couple of weeks,” Teni announced to our class on Monday morning. Her anklet jingled as she made her way up the aisle to the front of the room. Her long brown dress swished around her slender legs. “For every challenge I have given you, you have risen to the occasion and surprised me.”

  I could almost feel the proud smiles in our group. Our recent projects were hanging on display behind Teni in two rows. I had to admit, she was right. I could see a difference in my skills already, and there was a month left of classes. By the end of it, who knew where I’d be?

  As Teni went on praising our talents, my gaze slid over to Matthew. He and I had talked on the phone last night for a good hour, trying to narrow down what our art project would be. Part of what had taken so long was that Matthew kept interjecting odd, random questions out of nowhere in the middle of the conversation, like, “What makes you angry?” “Ocean or lake?” and “What’s your favorite type of metal?” He’d claimed there was a method to his madness.

  Apparently he’d been right. After listening to my answers, Matthew had proclaimed that we should make Lakeview Cemetery our subject matter. One of the oldest cemeteries in the area, it would provide the rich history I loved with interesting architectural elements that appealed to him.

  The perfect compromise for us. I had to give it to him; the guy had read me much quicker and easier than I’d read him. I’d only gone there once before on a school trip, but I remembered being awed by the mausoleums, the rolling hills of memorials. The area was serene, quiet. I’d always wanted to go back. It would be fun trying to capture that essence in a painting.

  Now to figure out how we would combine our art styles.

  Matthew’s head turned toward me and he gave me a grin, blue eyes twinkling. Then he winked, of all things. My heart fluttered in response at being busted staring at him. Face burning, I jerked my gaze away and focused back on Teni, who was still talking.

  “—going to initially seem easier than your last project, but don’t underestimate the challenge,” she said.

  Crud, I was missing everything because of thinking about Matthew. I turned my full attention to her.

  “Many famous artists have done extended studies in one color. Learning everything they can about it. Some have worked for years this way. So, the first thing I want you to do is decide which color you’re going to work in. Then look around the room, look at magazines and books, whatever you need to get inspiration flowing so you can pick your subject matter.”

  The group spread around the room, milling in front of Teni’s various displays of objects and such that are scattered on tables along the walls. I stayed on the outskirts, peeking over shoulders.

  “I dare you to do your project in all white,” a soft whisper spoke from behind me.

  I spun around and gave Matthew a mock glare. “Okay. Then you do yours in all black. Let’s see what Teni thinks of our artwork then.”

  “She’d probably think we were innovative.”

  “Or troublemakers.”

  “What color are you going to choose?”

  I pursed my lips as I thought. “I dunno. Maybe red. You?”

  He grinned. “Green.”

  Direct opposites on the color wheel. Of course. I shook my head, though a small wry grin creased my face.

  “This is getting to be a dangerous pattern with us,” he continued. “Picking opposites and such.”

  I moved an inch or two toward him. “I’m starting to suspect you’re doing it on purpose,” I said in a low, almost purring tone. Wow, was I really flirting with Matthew?

  He leaned a fraction closer, and I stared, transfixed, at his magnetic eyes. They seemed to see everything in me, stripped past my words to see my core. The smile fell from his face and he said, in all seriousness, “Maybe I am, Corinne.” Then he straightened, gave me an almost indiscernible wink, and walked away.

  I sighed and watched him move to browse a table on the other side of the room, then shook it off and turned my attention back to class.

  The next half hour went fast. I’d decided to use red as my color. What would be a great subject matter? What did red symbolize? I flipped through photo books and magazines, looking for an image that would capture the spirit of red.

  I stopped at a page in National Geographic. There was a sunset over a lake in Africa, water rippling with vibrant reds and pinks. Illuminated by the setting sun was a lone giraffe, skin rosy as it stood beside a tall, scraggly tree. The animal’s head was thrust proudly into the air, reaching for low-lying leaves, and a small baby giraffe stood right behind it.

  Yes. This was it. I ripped the picture out—Teni was fine with us taking our inspiration back to our stations—and practically flew to my table. I was already planning out my piece. First step, draw the image.

  I got so caught up in sketching out my initial rough draft that I almost didn’t hear Teni dismiss the class. With a sigh, I got myself out of the art zone and put away my pencils and supplies.

  Teni waved at me and Matthew. We made our way to the front of the room.

  “So.” She clapped her hands and beamed at us. “You have chosen your subject, yes? Tell me about it.”

  I explained to her our idea—that we’d choose one mausoleum in Lakeview Cemetery and split it in half on the canvas, each of us doing a different perspective of the same subject.
“That way, we can each showcase our unique talents,” I finished, looking to him for confirmation.

  Teni remained silent for a moment, stroking her chin. “Hmm. That sounds . . . disjointed.”

  My stomach swirled. She didn’t look too enthused about our idea. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “I’m not sure that’s very cohesive,” she slowly started. “The judges will be looking to see how well you two work together. Splitting a canvas clean in two may not necessarily show teamwork. But it may come down to execution.”

  Matthew remained silent. Was he as frustrated as I was right now? So hard to read.

  I cleared my throat. “We’ll make sure it’s a cohesive piece,” I promised. Somehow, we’d prove Teni wrong. She wasn’t sure we could pull it off, but I knew we could.

  We had to—there was no other option.

  I hated it.

  With a heavy sigh, I slammed my pencil down on my bedroom desk in disgust. Okay, hated was a bit too strong. More like I really didn’t like how the competition piece was coming along. Technically it was clean—my lines were strong, and the perspective was accurate.

  But the piece seemed flat. Lifeless. Dull.

  Matthew and I had decided to each take half of the mausoleum. I had the top left corner, and he had the bottom right corner, with our lines meeting in the middle. We’d printed off two copies of the image to scale so we could ensure our images would be able to be cut and pasted together. All very planned out.

  But it felt . . . wrong.

  Was Matthew struggling with his part of the piece? Or was it just me? And what was wrong with me—why wasn’t I able to get into this the way I normally could?

  I put away my art supplies and plopped down on my bed, running my fingers along the soft bedspread. The walls seemed to close in on me. The room was too warm, too smothering. I needed fresh air. Air and perspective.

  I grabbed my house keys and cell phone and crammed them into my shorts pockets. I closed my bedroom door behind me and hollered toward the kitchen, “Mom, I’m going for a walk.”