A Work of Art (8 page)

“That's good.” Her eyes never left the television. “I was going to do that, too.”

“Get a job? Really?”

She lowered the volume on the television but didn't turn it off. “Now that your dad's gone, we'll have to pull together.”

Like we were a team. Like Dad was never coming back. “It's not like he's dead,” I said.

“He's dead to me.”

The way she said it, her voice flat, almost sad, as though Dad had really died. Grief bit at me. “You're being stupid,” I snapped. “He'll be out of there soon and then you'll see how stupid you're being.”

“Funny.” She reached for the afghan on the back of the couch and pulled it onto her lap. “I was thinking the same about you.”

Her words dug in like barbs. I wanted to rip them out and throw them at her.

“I didn't get a job to help
you
,” I said. “You're the one who called the police. You're the reason he's in jail.”

“Here you go again.” Her eyelids fluttered. “Always taking his side.”

“I got the job because I hired a lawyer,” I said. “And the lawyer's expensive.”

I waited for a reaction, but she seemed engrossed in
Dr. Phil.

“So I won't be going to Paris in the fall,” I said.

That got a reaction. A muscle in her cheek twitched. “What about your scholarship?”

“I asked for a deferral.”

“What does that mean?”

“If they say yes, then my scholarship will still be good for next year.”

“And what if they say no?”

“I don't know, Mom. They won't say no. The website said they offer deferrals for up to two years.”

She curled her hands into the afghan and lifted it to her chest. “I suppose you want me to congratulate you? Because you threw away your future?”

“I didn't throw it away. I'll still go, just not in the fall. And I'm helping my dad. That's what family does.”

“That's a sweet sentiment, Tera. But you're helping the wrong person.”

Anger made my chest hurt. It was her vindictiveness that had caused this whole thing. “You wanted me to give the money to you, didn't you? You thought you'd get rid of Dad, and you'd still be okay because I'd give up my trip to France to help out with the bills.”

“That's not true.”

“Well, it's my money,” I said. “It's my de—”

“It's your decision, I know. And you're almost an adult. So there's nothing I can do to stop you.” Finally, she turned her head to look at me. “Is that what you were going to say?”

It was, but I kept my mouth shut.

She sighed and went back to watching television. “Just go away, Tera.”

The loathing in her words snuck into my chest and settled there, taking up space. She didn't want to be around me. I wasn't worth her time. I sat, wanting her to look at me. Yell at me. Anything.

Not even an eye flicker, but that was okay. She wasn't arguing with me. I didn't have to listen to her yelling. Maybe she didn't realize I'd won, but I had.

My victory felt fragile, though, so I got up from the couch as quiet as a ghost and edged my way out of her sight.

Tera's mom and dad waited at the kitchen table, her mom's face like a rock, her dad tilting his chair on two legs. Something was wrong. She'd done something wrong.

“Sit down,” her dad said. A lit cigarette rested in the ashtray, the ash so long it looked like a finger.

She shrank into the empty chair between them. Her mom pulled something off her lap and smacked it on the table. Tera's sketchpad of good paper, the one her dad had given to her for her birthday. She'd printed her name on the cover in black marker:
Tera Waters, age 9.
So far it only had one drawing because she'd thrown all the others away. She should have thrown this one away, too, but she'd saved it to show her dad. She thought it was good, maybe the best she'd ever done. But that didn't matter. She should have thrown it away.

Her mom flipped open the sketchpad, and there it was, the one drawing. A naked girl. Haley. Draped over the couch like Rose from the
Titanic
movie. Just like Rose when Jack sketched her in the nude.

Haley lay on her side, her head propped on her arm. Her other hand touched her forehead, just like Rose. And Haley wore a necklace, but Haley's was a little heart, a lot smaller than Rose's blue diamond. Haley's breasts were smaller, too, not a woman's breasts at all, no matter what Haley said.

Her dad tilted forward. His chair thumped to the floor. Her mom leaned forward, too. They all stared at the drawing in painful silence. Tera was afraid to breathe.

Then her mom spoke: “Who did this? Tell me the truth.”

She almost said Haley did it, but they all knew Haley couldn't draw. Tera chanced a look at her dad. His eyes were on the drawing. She couldn't tell if he thought it was good or not. “I did it,” she said.

A quick breath from her mom, her voice low. “Did he tell you to do it?”

“No.”

“Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not lying.”

“I tried to tell you, Connie.” Her dad was using his high-and-mighty voice.

But Mom was sick of him, sick of Tera, too. She ripped out the drawing and shoved it in Tera's face. “Why would you draw this? Why would you do this to your best friend?”

Tera blinked and ducked, like the sketch was a weapon and not a flimsy piece of paper. “It was her idea,” Tera said. It felt like tattling, but she didn't want her mom thinking bad things about her.

Her dad's eyebrows went up. “You showed this to Haley?”

“She posed for it,” Tera said. “We were just . . . I wanted to practice and she said she'd pose for me. We watched
Titanic
when she spent the night and she wanted to be Rose. She wanted me to turn her into Rose.”

“So not a big deal,” her dad said. “Just like I told you.” He put a fresh cigarette between his lips, paused before lighting it to wink at Tera. Like they were a team. A team against Mom.

“Give me that.” Her mom swiped the lighter out of his hand. She held the sketch by one corner and lit a flame. The flame licked at the sketch. The sketch burned. First Haley's hair, then her eyes, her pretty mouth. The necklace with its little heart. And then the rest of her. Her whole body veiled in fire and then gone. The burning smelled good. A lot better than her dad's cigarettes.

Her mom walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, held the burning paper under the water. The fire went out with a sizzle of smoke. She tossed the soggy wad of paper in the trash. “Go to your room,” she told Tera. “Get rid of all the filthy pictures I know you've done. Because if I find another one, I'll burn up everything you have. All your paper, your pencils, your paint. Just to keep you from doing this. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Tera whispered. Her mom looked crazy, her face tight, her pinched eyes shining black.

“Don't make me do it!” Her mom glared at the lighter in her hand before hurling it into the trash.

Then she stomped out, left Tera alone with her dad. Two against one.

Her dad rocked back in his chair. Another wink at Tera. To him, this was funny. To him, her mom was someone to make fun of. But Tera wanted to cry.

He stuck his cigarette between his lips and pointed at the trashcan. “Grab that for me, will you?”

He meant his lighter. Tera hovered over the trash, saw the lighter had sunk into the soggy ashes of her drawing. She picked the lighter out, handed it to him, her fingers stained sooty black. She wanted to wash her hands, wanted to be alone. She turned to leave, but her dad caught her arm.

“Hey.” A whisper. “Did Haley really pose for that?”

“It was her idea.”

“That sounds like her. But listen.” He pulled on her arm until she stood in front of him, face to face. “Don't let her do that anymore. She has a big mouth, right? You don't want her blabbing to everyone.”

“Okay.”

“You were doing it to practice. I get that. It's not like you're a pervert. But you knew it might upset certain people, didn't you? Is that why you didn't show me?”

“I was going to,” she said. “I threw the others away. This was the best one.”

“You did more?” He sucked on his cigarette. “You should have shown me before you threw them away. I could have told you what was good about them, what you need to work on. I could have helped you with the lighting, too.” Smoke puffed from his mouth as he talked. “Where was the light coming from when you drew her?”

Tera thought for a moment. “There was a lamp,” she said. “Beside the couch.”

He nodded. “The shadows were all off. It looked like you were outside under the sun. Very two-dimensional.”

So it wasn't good after all. Sometimes it felt like she'd never get good.

“To master the art of drawing nudes you have to capture the play of light and shadow.” He drew a picture in the air with his cigarette as he talked.

“I can do better,” she said.

“And how do you get better at something?”

“You practice.”

“Hard to do, though, right?” He tapped ash from his cigarette. “Especially when you have a cuckoo bird for a mother?”

Tera smiled. She liked it when he called her mom a cuckoo bird. It made her seem less scary, more like a cartoon character.

“So I have an idea. I want you to keep drawing nudes.” He laid his cigarette in the ashtray and put his hands on her shoulders. “But you have to be careful. We both have to be careful.”

Another secret, just like the book. Another secret to gnaw at her. One time she painted that secret. A black wad in a girl's stomach. A black wad with tiny teeth. She painted it and threw it away.

“Tera,” he said. “Tell me why we have to be careful.”

“So the cuckoo bird doesn't find out.”

“That's right.” He smiled as he lit another cigarette. “So she doesn't find out and burn the house down.”

Monday after second period, I stopped at my locker to grab my Trig book. Ian was at the locker beside mine, shoving a mess of papers into his backpack. I wondered what it would feel like to be so blissfully unorganized. I'd probably be a lot more relaxed.

“Hey,” Ian said.

“Hey.” I pretended to be so engrossed in working my combination that I couldn't look at him. I knew he felt sorry for me. The post on the school forum had been taken down, but he probably still felt like he had to be extra nice to me.

“You doing okay?” he asked me.

“Yeah.” I pulled on my lock. It didn't open.

“You need some help?”

“No, I got it.” I kept my head down and spun the dial again.

“Okay, I'll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you.”

It took me two more tries to open my lock. I squatted down to rummage through the books at the bottom, not really looking for anything, just wanting to be invisible for a few seconds. Five more hours till the last bell, when I wouldn't have to talk to people who knew about my dad. Seven more hours till Papa Geppetto's, where no one knew anything about what had happened.

And where I'd see Joey.

A hand grabbed my elbow. I turned around, ready to spout off one of my stock responses:
It was a mistake. It's getting cleared up. Yes, I'm holding up okay.

But when I saw who it was, my words dried up and sank like stones to the bottom of my stomach. Ellen Cornwell stood blinking at me with wide, blue-shadowed eyes. Justine Kidd hovered behind her. Both of them were Haley's friends. Justine wasn't as bad as Ellen, but Ellen was a total bitch. This was the girl who used to laugh at me for wearing the same jeans twice in one week, who called me “Paints” the first time I wore makeup to school.

“We
have
to talk,” Ellen said, her face so close I could smell her Doritos breath. “Come to the bathroom.”

“I can't.” I slammed my locker shut. “I'll be late.”

“It'll only take a minute.” She tugged on my arm. “Come on.”

I tried to pull away from her, but she held on. I could have tried harder, but she was the type to call after me, embarrass me even more than I already was. Sometimes it was better to get things over with. I let her herd me to the restroom.

Justine led the way and opened the door for us. Once inside, my eyes swept the open stalls. We were alone. I caught Justine looking at me in the mirror, but she glanced away when our eyes met. Then I caught my own reflection. Hunched shoulders, big eyes. A scared sheep. I straightened my spine, lifted my chin. The more fear I showed, the more Ellen would want to torment me. She was that type.

Ellen backed her butt against the sink. “I heard what happened,” she told me. Who hadn't? “I wanted to make sure you're okay.”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't have to be brave. We're all girls here.”

I laughed. “Does that make a difference?”

She looked confused for a second. Then she glared. This girl was dangerous, maybe more dangerous than Haley. “It should,” she said. “Unless you're not comfortable around people in general. You seem like that type. The avoidance type.”

I gritted my teeth. Haley must have put Ellen up to this. “I'm going,” I said. “I don't want to be late.”

“My dad's a therapist,” Ellen called after me. “That's all I really wanted to say.”

I stopped in my tracks, turned to face her. “Why would you think I need a therapist? My dad didn't do anything wrong.”