Lizard? Was that her new nickname? Did it have something to do with the lizard cowboy? I couldn’t help cracking up. The funny photo and the random figurine were just so…Liza.
She never had a problem being exactly who she was, and she never seemed pressed to be anything else. And if she wanted to climb a fence, or decide to go by Lizard for the summer, then that’s what she was going to do, no matter what anybody else had to say about it. I loved that about her.
It was inspiring.
“What’s up, sweetie?” Auntie asked, picking up the picture to give it a once-over. “These are really cute gifts. Is this Liza?”
“Yes.” I nodded, a smile crossing my face from ear to ear, even as tears filled my eyes.
“She’s quite the character,” Auntie said, picking up the figurine.
“Uh-huh,” I pushed out.
“Well, it sure was thoughtful of her to send you these. You should make sure you say thank you properly, okay? Maybe you can send her a thank-you note.”
“Well, um,” I said, clearing my throat and fighting back the tears, “she’s on vacation with her family and I don’t know how long she’ll be at the address on the envelope.”
“Hmm, well, maybe you can send it to her house so it’ll be waiting for her when she gets back,” my dad said.
“That’s a good idea,” I said, my heart warming at the thought. “But maybe I’ll send her an e-mail instead. Even if she isn’t able to check it until she gets back. I’ll do it right now.”
My dad looked at his watch and shook his head no. “We have to leave, baby,” he insisted.
“Daddy, it’ll take only a minute,” I said, running down the stairs and toward Auntie’s laptop. “I promise!”
I found Auntie’s laptop on the small kitchen table; thankfully, it was already on and set to go. I logged in to my e-mail account and typed in Liza’s e-mail addy.
Lizard!
Thanks for the super-cutie gifts! What’s up with that wacky photo? Um, not for nothing, but who dared you to do that? I hope you’re still collecting allowance while you’re out on the road; you’re going to need some hush money to keep me from making copies and posting it on the bulletin board at school—LOL! I really like the cowboy lizard, too. Where’d you get it from? Are you having fun wherever you are? And where exactly are you, anyway?
I just wanted to say thanks—and not just for the gifts. But for helping me walk into my art competition with confidence. I’ll explain more when we see each other again, but let’s just say your cowboy is going to help me rope my prize.
You so rock.
Miss you,
Mina
“All right, sweet potato, it’s time to blow this taco stand,” my dad called out as he made his way down the stairs, my artwork in tow. “Let’s boogie.”
“Let’s,” I said, shutting down the computer.
It was showtime.
“Hmm, the sheet does wonders for her art, doesn’t it?” Paulette said, smiling sweetly as she, Stephanie, and Mariska filed past my painting. It’d just been hung on the wall and, like all the other art in the final show, would remain covered until the judges’ big reveal.
Gabriella set the record straight. “Dude, don’t pay her any attention,” she said, wringing her hands and pacing back and forth. She gave a nervous wave to her mom, who was sitting with my parents and all of the other family members of my fellow campers. The spectator section.
“Who’s got time for all that silliness anyway? Remember the standing ovation you got at The Spot?” she added loud enough for Paulette to hear. That did make Paulette glance over at us curiously.
“You mean we got a standing ovation,” I reminded Gabriella.
“Anyway,” Toby said, glaring at Paulette and her crew as he walked up to Gabriella and me. He popped a mini pizza appetizer in his mouth, and adjusted the sheet over his painting. “What you got under the sheet, Mina?”
“Omigod, my nerves,” Gabriella said, fanning herself. “How can you eat?”
“Come on, now,” Toby said. “Hold it together. This isn’t a big deal—just a friendly exchange of artwork among friends. Plus, the mini pizza and spinach apps are kinda the bomb.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I snapped. “You’ve done this before. With her in the room,” I said, jabbing my finger in Paulette’s direction. “I agree with Gabriella—I think I might faint. What if what I did isn’t original enough? You know Ms. Roberts is always giving me a hard time about that.”
“Uh-huh, not now. Looks like it’s about to go down,” Gabriella said. She grabbed me and pulled me into a hug. “Good luck, Mina. You so rock!”
“Thanks, Gabriella,” I said, hugging back. “You do, too!”
Ms. Roberts’s voice broke up our mutual lovefest.
“Welcome, everyone, to our annual SoHo Children’s Art Program,” she boomed into the microphone at the front of the room. “Today, we are here to celebrate art and our children’s contribution to it. They’ve been working hard all summer to create their own masterpieces to show off here at our final art show, and we’re quite excited to show off their work. At this time, we are going to ask our students to remove their art coverings and remain standing by their paintings so that they can answer any questions the judges and our parents may have. And before the evening is over, we will know which of our talented artists will win the honor of having his or her work appear on our upcoming fall catalog.”
My heart tapped to her every word. Gabriella took my hand, Toby took the other, and we wished one another luck. I snuck a look at Paulette, who was standing only two paintings down from mine, her nose stuck so high up in the air that if it were raining, she’d drown. But when I looked at her eyes, she was staring into the spectator section. My eyes followed to where hers were focused. A woman sitting next to a man, who looked exactly like a male version of Paulette, waved at her. Paulette didn’t bother waving; she seemed more focused on the man, who was talking on his phone, distracted from everything going on around him. Paulette winced and turned away from the cold scene; when she did, her eyes locked into mine. She looked…sad.
And in that very moment, I felt sad, too. Maybe Gabriella had been right. Maybe Paulette felt she had to be cruel in camp, because of the rejection she felt at home.
“Okay, young artists, show us your work!” Ms. Roberts said. The crowd’s applause snapped both me and Paulette out of our daze.
There were lots of “oohs” and “ahhs” flowing all through the room as mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, grandmothers and cousins and aunties and neighbors circulated through the camp art room-turned-gallery, taking in all the work. My parents congratulated me, then disappeared to look at the other work, coming back just in time to witness the judging.
“So, Mina,” Ms. Roberts said, walking up with a group of camp counselors who helped us with our art lessons during our in-class sessions. “Tell me about this piece.”
“Well, it’s, um…” I stuttered.
“Take your time,” my dad whispered as he rubbed my back. “You can do it.”
I looked at him nervously, and then focused back on my artwork. I flashed back to the framed picture of me and my best friends at Auntie’s house, and the cowboy lizard Liza sent me and how strong and confident it had made me feel just an hour or so ago. I thought about the sunglasses and T-shirt Samantha had sent me, how it had reminded me of the beach and the place I loved best. Then I looked at my artwork.
On the canvas was me and Samantha and Liza in our bathing suits, lying on our favorite towels. Samantha wore a sun hat, Liza was sipping on a soda in a fancy glass with an umbrella peeking over the rim, and I was right there in between them, my face toward the sun.
My shoulders automatically loosened, and my heart stopped pounding against my chest. I looked Ms. Roberts right in her eyes and started gabbing like she was my best friend.
“Well, I call this one ‘Tar Beach,’” I began. “If you know anything about me, you know that my best friends, Samant
ha and Liza, and I love the beach and up until this summer, I thought you needed sand, and, like, the ocean to call a beach a beach, but Gabriella and my auntie and all of her friends taught me that you don’t need sand or water to be on a beach. Just the sun. That’s me and my friends Samantha and Liza up on my auntie’s tar beach, looking up into the sun,” I gushed, my words practically running into one another.
“Whoa, do you have any breath left?” my little sister asked as she sipped a bubbly cup of soda. My mother cut her eyes and put her pointer finger to her lips.
“I see that you used all different kinds of objects and paper to add to your painting,” Ms. Roberts said. She and the counselors did a collective lean into my picture.
“Yes, I did,” I said. My stomach did a somersault waiting for Ms. Roberts to tell me I didn’t push enough with my collage. But she didn’t say it. She just pulled back and said, “Thank you.” And then she and the counselors moved on to Gabriella’s project—a lady dancing in a bright, colorful skirt and wide-brimmed hat in the middle of a flower-filled field—without another word.
“Omigosh, I need something to drink,” I said, grabbing my sister’s cup out of her hands.
“Hey!” she protested.
“Quiet, you two,” my mom said. “You’re being way too loud for us to be in public.”
“The drinks are over there on the table, Mina,” my sister huffed.
“Good, go get another one,” I said, gulping down her soda. “Make that two.”
“Relax, you did great,” Auntie Jill said, squeezing my arm. “It really is a great picture.”
“I don’t know—she’s never been a real fan,” I said, biting my lip as I watched Ms. Roberts move methodically from one piece of artwork to the next. When she got to Paulette’s, she looked way more giddy than she’d been during the entire judging. “See? Ms. Roberts is practically drooling over Paulette’s painting. What is that, anyway?” I asked.
Everyone took a collective step back to get a better look at Paulette’s picture. It was a picture of the inside of a humongous orange flower with a bee drinking nectar from its insides.
“I like it,” my sister said.
I hated to admit it, but I did, too.
Paulette flipped her hair and gave her necklace a little tug. The woman who waved at her earlier patted her shoulder. But the man who looked just like her—her dad—was still on his phone, not really paying attention to what was going on. Paulette actually looked nervous. Her dad absentmindedly reached out and offered his hand to Ms. Roberts as she was about to move on, though he still continued to talk in his cell phone. Paulette looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.
Wow, maybe she was human after all.
While Ms. Roberts and the counselors finished looking at the pictures, talking to the campers, and shaking the parents’ hands, Gabriella and I took a walk around to check out the competition. Of course, we ended up right in front of Paulette’s flower, along with pretty much everybody else in our class. “I love the bumblebee,” Stephanie said.
“Yeah, especially the part where it’s actually drinking from the flower. It looks so realistic,” Mariska added.
“Yeah, definitely the kind of picture Ms. Roberts likes,” Stephanie said.
My shoulders dropped. They were all right. There was no way I was going to win against Paulette.
“Your picture’s really nice,” I told her sincerely.
Paulette looked in my direction; I saw Mariska and Stephanie smirking out of the corner of my eye. Paulette, taking her cue from them, squared her shoulders and said, “Of course it is.”
I narrowed my eyes. Wow—did she really just verbally slap me down after I handed her a compliment on a platter? I looked at Gabriella and then at Stephanie and Mariska.
“Okay,” I said, hesitating at first, and then going with my gut. “You know, Paulette, the proper thing to do when someone pays you a compliment is to say, ‘thank you.’ That’s Etiquette 101.”
“Ooh, oh no, she didn’t,” Stephanie said, folding her arms and looking at Paulette, waiting for her to spew some wisecracking words.
This time, though, Paulette hesitated. And the more she shrank back, the stronger I felt.
“Paulette, you’ve been mean to me from the moment I walked through the door, even though I never gave you a reason to be anything but a friend. I don’t feel bad about it, though, because I didn’t do anything wrong. I just feel sorry for you. If the only way you can feel good about yourself or your situation is to put someone else down, then do it. But do me a favor and leave me out of it.”
Paulette looked dumbstruck.
“Hello,” said the lady who’d been waving at Paulette, as she walked up with a cup of lemonade. She handed it to Paulette. “Who’s your friend?” she asked.
Paulette didn’t say anything, and refused the drink.
“Well,” said the woman, a tall, well-dressed blond with sad hazel eyes. “I’m Paulette’s mom.”
“Actually, she’s my stepmom,” Paulette corrected forcefully.
Paulette’s father, who’d been totally out of the loop and seemingly not listening to the conversation while he jabbered on the phone, certainly heard his daughter.
“Paulette!” he yelled, cupping his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone. “Your tone. Correct it,” he said.
“Sorry, Daddy,” Paulette practically wimpered.
We all got really quiet, unsure of what to say next. Truthfully, I felt sorry for Paulette. Clearly, she had home issues that she really didn’t need everyone in camp to witness.
“Um, Paulette,” I finally said in hopes of easing the tension. “I just wanted to tell you that your picture is really amazing, and I think both of us are pretty good artists. Different, but definitely talented. Good luck with the contest.”
And with that, I walked off. This time with a smile on my face.
Just then, Toby, who’d spent the last ten minutes making lame attempts to listen in on the counselor deliberations while he swallowed practically a whole tray of those mini pizza thingies, came back over to give us news about what he heard. “I got nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing!”
“Oh my goodness, Toby, will you go sit down somewhere?” Gabriella said. “You’re making my nerves bad.”
“Okay, everyone,” Ms. Roberts said into the mike, startling us all. “I need some quiet, everyone. We are ready to announce the winner.”
The whole room grew dramatically quiet. Gabriella grabbed my hand. I glanced at Paulette; she glanced back and gave me a half smile.
“And the winner of this year’s SoHo Children’s Art Program is,” Ms. Roberts said, pausing for effect. Paulette leaned in closer. We all did. “Mina Chestnut!”
Now, I wasn’t quite sure what she said, because I really wasn’t hearing anything; I just saw Gabriella jumping up and down like a lunatic, and my little sister smiling, and my mom and dad and auntie over in the section where the chairs were, raising their arms in the air and yelling. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion. The first voice I really heard was Paulette’s. “Mina,” she said, “you have to go up front now. Congratulations. You totally deserve it.”
I felt her hand on the small of my back; it was pushing me forward. I turned and looked at Paulette; she seemed genuine. And for this, I was grateful. I knew I’d never be best friends with Paulette, but it was nice that we were going to leave on a pretty good note.
“Mina, come on up,” Ms. Roberts said. I gave one last look to Paulette, hugged Gabriella, and made my way toward Ms. Roberts. My mouth was open so wide a fly could have easily dive-bombed into it and made a home in my throat. The room continued applauding.
“Mina’s fantastic collage was chosen for its spirit and its originality. It is clear that she took a chance in her art—something we’d been encouraging her to do the entire summer. Her mixed-media collage, titled ‘Tar Beach,’ shows that she stretched beyond her boundaries, and not only incorporated the lessons she learned
here in the classroom, but the lessons she learned while being a visitor to our great city. We present to you, Mina Chestnut and her fabulous piece, ‘Tar Beach’!”
One of the counselors, George, brought it to the front of the room and held it up next to me.
“As a reward for her hard work, Mina’s ‘Tar Beach’ will be featured on the fall catalog of the SoHo Children’s Art Program, a magazine that goes out to literally thousands of people, showing them all of the wonderful programming we have here for children of all backgrounds who are lovers of art. Congratulations again, Mina!”
“Thank you,” was all I could think to say as I looked out over the crowd and saw the faces of the people I love. “Thank you!”
I looked down at my lucky Converses and searched for Samantha and Liza’s signatures. I wished they were there to see it—my best friends.
But it was going to be one great story to tell them when we finally did see one another again.
And that wouldn’t be too long from now.
Not too long at all.
I flipped to a clean sheet of paper, pulled out a pencil, then sat back and waited for the show. Just a couple more turns and then my dad would pull the car onto the Brooklyn Bridge and there she’d be—the Statue of Liberty. This time, though, I had my oil pastels—every color in the rainbow. And the moment I saw her, I was going to paint her in loud, bold colors. Maybe some purple. And a rainbow of buildings behind her. And star sparkles shooting from her eternal flame. Yeah, that would work.
Something bold.
Something new.
Something like the new me.
It was amazing how much I’d learned over the past weeks: how to make new friends, even as I held on to the memory of my old ones; how to speak up for myself, even when I was afraid; how to appreciate who I am, even when who I am didn’t fall in line with what others around me were. I even learned to like tofu. Well, kinda.
I looked out the window again, and there she was: Lady Liberty.
“You think maybe I could have a piece of paper, Mina?” my sister asked. “And a hot-pink crayon? I think I want to draw the statue, too.”
Miss You, Mina Page 10