I asked, “Kendra, can you help me?”
She hesitated but then said, “Of course.”
Her touch was just normal skin, no residue of what it could create.
Leslie appeared on the scene, with Claire from my class at her side. “Are you all right, Ayami?” Leslie asked.
I nodded as Kendra helped me to my feet.
“What happened?” Leslie looked from me to Kendra.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just an accident.”
“Well, Aya, why don’t you let Andy help you upstairs?”
Andy looked torn. Helping would involve touching me. He was obviously one of those guys who was used to helping out, especially when anyone needed someone who could lift a car, but he didn’t step forward. I didn’t blame him.
“Oh, I’m fine,” I said, but my steps shook.
“I can help her.” Kendra slipped my arm over her shoulders.
Leslie frowned, now looking from Kendra to Andy to me and back again. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Leslie asked.
I gave what I hoped was a genuine smile. “I’m totally fine.”
Kendra and I shuffled in through the back doors and up both flights of stairs in silence. I sagged against her.
“It’s amazing how pain can leach the life out of you,” I said.
“Why did you do that?” There was a hitch in Kendra’s words. We made it to my door, and when I glanced at her tears streamed down her cheeks. “Why? Why would you do that?” she asked again.
We sat on my bed side by side. Kendra sniffled.
“Remember when we were at the mall,” I said, “and I could have killed you?”
Kendra nodded.
“You could’ve left me,” I said. “You could’ve run for it, but you didn’t. I probably would have put a crater in the side of the building, but you didn’t abandon me when I was out of control, when I wasn’t myself—when my Talent made me think there was no other way. I was just returning the favor.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Returning to art school the following day was like visiting a place I hadn’t been to since childhood. Everything was familiar, but the perspective was off. Art school hadn’t changed, but I had. I wasn’t even recognizable as that person anymore.
I left the mansion early to beat traffic in a car Leslie lent me, so I was alone at school for a while. No other students appeared as I climbed the steps to where my locker was on the third floor. All my stuff was where I left it and taking it out seemed like it should have been normal, but it wasn’t. This mundane world didn’t belong to me anymore. Or maybe I didn’t belong to it.
Eventually other students trickled in.
“Hey, Aya,” they greeted me. “Glad you’re feeling better!”
I smiled and chatted, and no one seemed to notice the difference.
And then Liam found me. Just seeing him made me feel better somehow. He made me feel normal in this alien world.
“It’s good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back.”
“Are you still planning on coming over today?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Good, Ryker asked if you would be. What class do you have this morning?”
“Straight up oil painting. You?” I wanted to reach out to him, but I wrapped my fingers around my necklace instead.
“Three-D mixed media.”
“I really wish I would’ve thought about taking that class.”
“There’s always next time,” Liam said.
“What next time?” I glanced at the clock on my phone. “I have to run.”
“See you!”
The lights were dim as I entered oil painting.
“Before we continue our painting,” Professor Elliot handed us each a paper, “I want to mention the final project each of you should be thinking about for the end of term. This is a major project and should be your very best work. This paper outlines what the project should contain. Some of our students have even used this to apply for scholarships at art colleges in the past.”
Losing myself in a painting project was exactly what I needed.
“Read this over,” Professor Elliot continued, “and think of a proposal. I want to approve each of your projects before you start creating it. I want your proposals by the end of the week. Okay, continue with your paintings.”
Final project. There were a million things I wanted to create. How could I narrow it down? Right now, I wouldn’t think about it. I would only concentrate on the painting in front of me.
I hadn’t been able to use oil paint since I left. Today was the last day our class had to work on a fruit-and-skull still life. My teacher always put a skull in every still-life, something about Shakespeare and what it meant to be. I’d only been able to outline the shapes on my canvas before I’d left. Instead of the detailed painting I’d intended when I started, I decided to put as much paint on the canvas as I could before class ended.
I knew painting. I was even good at it. So much of my life lately had been unsure and unclear, but I understood this world of light, shadow, temperature, and hue. I was at home; more at home than I ever could be in the world of Aolians or the mundane.
This required no distractions, and I wound my hair into a bun on top of my head and pushed one of my paintbrushes through it to hold it in place.
I put only three colors on my pallet: black, white, and red.
I painted using reckless strokes of pure, saturated color. The canvas was the perfect place to throw all the anger and fear I’d had about Dune and being an Aolian. Then I didn’t bother with the palette and squeezed paint from my tubes directly onto the canvas.
Tiny filaments of red slid up from the paint and into my skin. But I didn’t care. I was here with the pure pigment bound to oil. I could live and feel and love without worry.
But even this joy was fleeting. The paint held me captive with its raw power. Previously I could tell it what to do, push it into whatever shape I wanted with a brush. But now what? Did it own me instead?
My vision dissolved as the red hit my blood stream, but this time I didn’t allow the anger to overwhelm me. I pushed against and held the power inside me at bay and forced it into a separate place so I could still paint.
But that was all I could do—paint and keep the red at bay.
I’d always had a love-hate relationship with still lifes. I understood why we painted them; we could learn so much from the light and form. On the other hand, they always seemed so boring, but not this time. I painted my anger into the shapes, instead of letting it take over.
The first two hours of the class disappeared without my notice.
“Go ahead and bring up your paintings,” Professor Elliot said. “Look all of them over. Then we’ll take a break and have our critique when we get back.”
It seemed like a good idea to paint with my emotions instead of my mind when I started, but as I took my painting up to the front I wasn’t so sure.
The painting—my passionate, angry mass of shapes and shadow—was as out of place next to the others as a dragon in a petting zoo. Maybe in another time I would have been ashamed, but at that moment I was proud of its raw power.
That was until Professor Elliot paced back and forth in front of the paintings a few times and then planted himself in front of mine. He cocked his head to one side as he studied my monochromatic red canvas for a full minute.
Okay, raw power was all fine and dandy, but he’d never stood in front of a painting that long.
Without moving from his spot, the professor said, “Go take a break, class. Be back here in fifteen minutes. Aya, can I speak to you for a minute?”
24
You can see that I am plunging full speed ahead into painting, I am plunging into colour.
—Vincent van Gogh
I took my time making my way to the front of the classroom so all the other students could leave. I didn’t want to have them hear whatever
Professor Elliot was going to say about my painting.
“You were sick last week?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“So how much time did you have to work on this?”
“Two class periods.” I wanted to say something like, I know it sucks, but I only had two days to work on it, but my mother always told me not to make excuses for my work. She drilled it into me. They wouldn’t take away my scholarship because of one bad painting, would they? No, it wasn’t bad—it was passionate and unrestrained. In a long moment of silence, a thousand scenarios danced inside my head, all culminating with Professor Elliot throwing me unceremoniously out the front door in my shame.
“I’m not sure what has happened,” he took a deep breath, “but this is the best high school student work I have seen in years. In all your previous work there was something holding you back. This,” he gestured to my painting, “is finally venturing into that terrifying world of the unknown.”
“Thank you.” My voice squeaked.
“I know you just heard about it today, but have you thought about what you are going to do for your final project?”
“I did have an idea while I was painting.”
“And?”
“Well, I wondered about using Van Gogh’s self-portraits as a basis for painting people I know.”
He scratched his chin. “It’s risky. It could be amazing. But if you don’t do it well, it could be catastrophic. This is one of the most beloved artists of all time we are talking about.”
“I know.”
He motioned to my painting. “If it is anything like this, you should be able to pull it off. Have you thought about coming to school here for your senior year?”
My cheeks burned. “No, I haven’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m here on a scholarship,” I said. “I can’t afford to come here for the school year.” If I would’ve had more time to think about that question, I would’ve thought up a different excuse. But the truth came out of my mouth.
“I see. Some of the other professors and I have been talking. It’s rare but not unheard of for the school to provide a scholarship for a student who displays remarkable Talent. Professor Davina has been particularly impressed by your work. I hesitate to tell you this because it’s possible it won’t happen. I do mention it because it will depend on your final project.”
“A scholarship? I didn’t know there were any,” I said. I’d researched this school a lot, and the last time someone had received a scholarship for something other than the summer program was eight years prior. I just assumed they didn’t give them out anymore.
“It won’t be easy to get. I wasn’t sure I should bring it up, until I saw this painting today.”
Other students started to trickle back in.
“Anyway, think about it.” He continued pacing back and forth in front of the paintings.
I stumbled out into the hall and headed to my locker because I couldn’t think what else to do.
Liam appeared, and when he saw me a smile lit his entire face. “What’s up? We’re on break.”
“We are too. Professor Elliot said there is a chance that I could get a scholarship to come back to school in the fall.”
“Really? Do they give out scholarships for the school year?”
“Not usually.”
“That would be awesome. Then you could stay here in New York!”
“Yeah, but he basically said I would have to come up with the best final project that has been seen in years.”
“You can do it.” There was no trace of doubt in Liam’s voice.
“I wish I had your confidence.”
“Believe me, everyone knows how amazing you are.” It seemed like he was going to shove his hands into his pockets again but then changed his mind. He reached up and wrapped one of the locks of hair that had escaped my paintbrush around his finger.
I almost couldn’t breathe, and I definitely couldn’t think of anything to say to that. The red I’d been able to keep at bay while painting pushed me towards him, but that I resisted. I longed for the time before when Liam and I could have been together. But what could we be now?
“Liam—” I said.
At the same time, he said, “I should get back downstairs.” He gently tucked the lock of hair behind my ear. I could almost feel the whisper of his skin against mine. “I’ll meet you after school?” he asked.
“I’ll be right out front.”
Ryker wasn’t home when we got to Liam’s house that afternoon. I hadn’t absorbed that much red in class, but it still made me worry. It was getting harder and harder to stay away from him.
“I have something to show you.” Liam motioned to follow him to his room. A smile played on his lips, like he couldn’t contain his excitement. His room was just as it had been before. Liam pulled a little white bag out of his desk. “I finished your bracelet.”
He drew it out and snapped it onto my wrist. The symbols were untouched, and the rest of the metal now fit comfortably with a new clasp.
“Liam, it’s perfect. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” He stopped, looking embarrassed. “There’s something else. The bracelet was sterling silver, and it seemed a waste to throw away the excess I took off, so . . . I made you this.” A glint of silver flashed in his hand, and he dropped it into my palm.
It was a flat disk about an inch and a half wide. The scene of a mountain with trees surrounding the base shone on one side. I turned it over. On the back was a tiny paintbrush and palette, simple and beautiful.
“I kept thinking about the first day I met you and you stopped to sketch that tree.”
I didn’t move, just staring at the tiny piece of Liam’s art in my hand.
“Do . . . you like it?” he asked.
“Like it?” I rushed forward and threw my arms around him. “I love it. It’s so beautiful. Thank you so much.”
His arms settled around me, warm and safe. “You’re welcome.”
But the red flitted across my skin. I drew back and unclasped my necklace. “It will fit perfectly with Starry Night.” I slipped it on to the chain. “Can you put it on me?”
I gathered up my hair and turned my back to him. A light shiver glanced along my skin with the chain. A curl escaped and Liam wrapped it around his finger. But he stepped back.
“We should probably get started,” Liam said.
I exhaled sharply. “Yeah, we should.”
We took off our shoes and began by warming up on the punching bag.
“So you’ve really never studied martial arts?” Liam asked. “You seem like you know the basics already.”
“My mom and I used to do a kickboxing workout class at the gym back home. I also did ballet and gymnastics when I was young. I never realized how much crossover there was until now.”
“They’re all about learning how to use the body.” Liam retrieved two long pieces of bamboo. “Using these will help strengthen your muscles and teach muscle memory so we can move on to the heavier bo staff.”
I flexed my arm muscles and kissed each of my rather lame looking biceps through my long sleeved T-shirt. Liam laughed. It was nice to be with him. He was calm and patient, I couldn’t help regret asking him not to touch me even though it was the right thing to do.
“When are you going to bust out another back handspring?” Liam asked as I spun my staff in a wide circle around me.
I took two steps toward him. “What makes you think I would do that?”
“I don’t know, maybe something about that mischievous grin that creeps across your face every once in a while. I know you’re up to something when you look like that.”
I tried to look insulted. “I would never do anything mischievous.” But then I reached out and snatched the staff out of his hand and did a quick handspring to the side.
“Oh, you want to play that game, do you?” Liam hunched down into a crouch like a tiger stalking h
is prey.
“Who looks mischievous now?” I loved seeing him like this, so playful. I retreated into one of the corners of the dojo, laughing the whole way.
“You know, you should never take someone’s weapon unless you know how to use it,” Liam said.
“Doesn’t matter if I know how to use the weapons as long as I have them all.” I was backed into the corner now. I tried to skip past Liam but he always managed to block my path. He almost caught me when I did a low somersault past him, and I ended up in the middle of the dojo again.
“You won’t get away that easily.” Liam sprinted toward me. Between my laughing and trying to keep the red at bay, he was way too fast for me. He swept my feet out from under me and caught me with his arm before I hit the ground. I’m not sure how it happened, but suddenly I lay on the ground with Liam leaning over me with only the two thin poles between us. No inch of his skin touched mine, but the warmth of his body pressed past my clothes.
“What were you saying about having all the weapons?” Liam asked.
I couldn’t say anything for a long moment. I wanted to kiss him. It would be real for me, but would it be real for him?
“Liam!” Ryker shouted from the hallway and Liam jumped. “Are you here? Oh, hello . . .”
Uh, awkward.
Liam rolled to his feet. “Hey.”
I jumped up before he could offer me his hand.
“Oh, you don’t have to move for me,” Ryker said with a smirk. “Hey, Aya, I can see practice is going as well as can be expected.”
“Yeah, we were just . . .” but Liam didn’t know what to say.
“I can see what you are doing. Really, carry on.”
I was annoyed and relieved she interrupted us. I really needed to stop getting myself into these messes. I retrieved my phone from my bag. “It’s pretty late. I should be going.”
“Are you sure you want to go all the way to Connecticut tonight?” Liam asked. “It’s far when you have to turn around and come back tomorrow morning.”
“I have a little project I’m working on there. Scarborough Mansion has an awesome library that I’ve been using.” I’d been searching every spare minute for clues about Prism, the book I assumed Van Gogh had left.
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