THE PICASSO PROJECT

by Carol Anne Shaw

  "No! I mean. Sure. I'll have it. Thanks."

  The kid goes back to the concession and begins filling up sugar dispensers on a tray.

  Eddie takes the sandwich out of the bag and makes a real effort not to stuff the entire thing into his face in one go. Ruffled slices of corned beef, dill pickles, tomatoes, grainy Dijon mustard, lettuce, generous slices of Swiss cheese, mayonnaise; all in a hoagie-style bun that has toasted bits of onion on the top of it.

  He takes a bite. Chews. Bites. Chews. He could eat this sandwich forever. He can't remember when he last ate anything so damn good.

  He knows he'll have to save Maya half of it, but if she doesn't come out of the bathroom soon, Eddie thinks, the sandwich is going to be history. You snooze, you lose.

  And despite his good intentions, he can't help it. He eats every last bite, then runs a finger around the waxed paper it was wrapped in, to catch the last of the mustard.

  He nods to the kid in the concession and throws the garbage in the trashcan near the racks of shoes. A moment later Maya appears from the Ladies washroom.

  "What took you so long?" Eddie asks. He hopes there isn't any mustard on his face.

  "Geez, Eddie," Maya says. "Chill out. It takes as long as it takes."

  The Channel Surfers are hooting it up when Eddie and Maya walk past them to the door. They're having a good old time, sucking back the beer and ordering tray after tray of cheese-laden nachos. Some guy bowls a strike as Eddie and Maya pass, and after he's jumped up in the air a couple times, Eddie gives him the thumbs up. The man pummels his chest with his fists and lets out a Tarzan yell. Eddie smiles. Those dudes are stoked.

  It's amazing how having a full stomach can change a person's entire attitude. When Eddie and Maya get outside, the grey sky looks less threatening, and the unseasonal heat doesn't feel as oppressive.

  He hands the mostly untouched bag of popcorn to Maya. It's the least he can do, after the whole sandwich thing. "Here," he says. "I'm not feeling the popcorn, today."

  They walk along Harper Street with no real destination in mind. Eddie thinks about their bags of meagre belongings, hidden at the back of the athletic hut. Guess they'll be spending another night there tonight. They can't go back to The Arms. But they can't stay in the hut much longer. It's only a question of time before the Hotel DuMont story reaches the administrative staff at school. When that happens, it could get weird.

  He stops and stares at the store window in front of him. It's an outdoors store. There's a kayak in the centre of the display, surrounded by backpacks and a rack of dry-fit clothing, all currently 50% off. Some wilderness cookware is set up on a stump in the corner, along with some high-end gourmet food packages. Freeze-dried Thai food—green curries, stuff like that.

  How cool would that be, Eddie thinks, to go wilderness camping? To paddle a kayak along some remote river, pitch a tent, and eat wieners and beans over a camp stove. Then lie down at night under a full moon and watch the stars. Maybe have a nice girl along who...

  He gives his head a shake.

  Sometimes he gets the stupidest ideas.

  ***

  The key is still under the brick, exactly where Eddie left it. He checks around them and when he sees the coast is clear, unlocks the door. Frank won't mind, Eddie thinks. He wouldn't have told him about the key if he hadn't expected Eddie to use it.

  Once they're inside, he leans back against the door and smiles a wide smile. Day by day. I guess that's a mantra, Eddie thinks. And that's the way Eddie is going to play it from now on.

  Look at me, Eddie thinks. I'm a frikkin' Buddhist.

  They drag the gymnastics mats down from the shelf again and arrange them on the floor. Later, as the moon rises up beyond the cedar trees at the edge of the playing fields, Eddie hears Maya's deep sound-asleep breathing.

  He closes his eyes. There's a calmness surrounding him tonight, despite the events of the week. The air smells sweet, and for once, his forehead feels relaxed and smoothed out.

  It might just be okay, Eddie thinks. Maybe.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  It takes Maya a minute to figure out where she is. When she does, she smiles and stretches her arms high over her head. "Oh, wow. This beats the Hotel DuMont, hey bro?"

  Eddie grimaces and gives her a gentle kick with his socked foot. "Too soon, sis. Get up."

  They are up and out of the athletic hut in record time, but when they round the side of the school, they bump straight into Cora from the cafeteria.

  "Whoa!" she says, juggling some big cloth bags. "Where's the fire?"

  "Sorry, Cora," Eddie says, catching one of her bags. "Here, lemme help you with that stuff."

  Cora unlocks the side entrance that shortcuts into the cafeteria and Eddie and Maya follow, each carrying a cloth bag laden with freshly laundered linens.

  "You have to do the laundry for the kitchen, too?" Maya asks, peering into her bag as she sets it down on the steel table in the kitchen.

  "No," Cora says, "but if I want 'em cleaned right, I do. Washing machine here is terrible. So, I take them home."

  "They probably don't pay you enough," Eddie says.

  "You're right," Cora laughs. "They don't." She draws her hand through her hair and sighs. "Phew! Never been this hot in early June before."

  She fans herself with a dishtowel and fixes her eyes on Eddie and Maya. "Why are the two of you here at the crack of dawn? And don't tell me it's because you're anxious to get to class because I'm not buying it."

  "Oh," Eddie says. "You know. The early bird catches the worm."

  "You think I was born yesterday, Edward?"

  "Fair enough."

  When Cora realizes she's not going to get a straight answer from Eddie, she sets about putting on a big pot of oatmeal. She adds raisins, a little cinnamon, some evaporated milk, and a few walnuts. It's one of the coolest things about Bridgeman High, the whole hot breakfast thing—the result of a lot of fundraising by some tenacious local parents.

  "My special recipe," Cora says proudly. "Although I don't know why I still make it. Most kids hate the stuff. You guys want the first bowls?"

  "We don't pay for the breakfast program," Eddie says.

  "Pffffft," Cora says, frowning. "Is that isn't what I asked you."

  "Okay, then," Eddie says. "Thank, Cora."

  "Do you think I could have some toast, too?" Maya asks sheepishly.

  "Toaster is over there," Cora says, stirring the mixture with a big metal spoon. "Help yourself."

  A couple of minutes later both Maya and Eddie are finishing off a pretty decent breakfast with mugs of sweet black tea to boot.

  "Hey, how are those paintings of yours coming along, Eddie?" Cora asks, taking loaf after loaf of bread out of the big walk-in freezer.

  "Not bad," Eddie tells her. "I'm pretty happy with them."

  "You got some serious talent there, sir," Cora says. "You headed for art school or anything?"

  "We'll see," Eddie says.

  "You're crazy if you don't. That's a God-given gift you got there. It would be a sin not to use it. Everybody has a gift. Yours is painting."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  "See that you do," Cora says. "Now, you kids need to get on out of here while I get to work. I need to be on task today because I have a date later on."

  "Oh, really!" Maya teases. "Who's the lucky guy?"

  "Hush, you!" Cora says. "A real lady never gossips."

  "It isn't gossip to say who you have a date with," Maya says. "What's the big secret?"

  "All right. I suppose you're right," Cora says thoughtfully. "Okay, then. I'm going to the Pepper Pot Cafe with Mr. Franklin Podborski tonight."

  "Frank?" Maya and Eddie say in unison.

  "The one and only," Cora says. Eddie notices that she's blushing just a little bit.

  "Well, no kidding," Eddie says. "That sly dog."

  "He's been asking me out all year," Cora says. "But I kept sayin' no. I don't have time in my life for drama and heartbrea
k."

  "So, what made you finally say yes?" Maya asks.

  "Not sure," Cora says thoughtfully. "Guess he just wore me down is all."

  "Frank's a good guy," Eddie says. "One of the best."

  "Hmmm," Cora says, "We'll have to see about that." But just the same, she's smiling from ear to ear, and there's a certain spring in her step this morning.

  ***

  Eddie has art first block. He's the first one into the studio, except for Mr. Mackie, who's pinning up some still life drawings on the cork board and humming some old Rolling Stones tune. "I Can't Get No Satisfaction".

  He turns when he hears Eddie and clears his throat. "Hey, Mr. DuMont. How goes the battle?" Mr. Mac is always saying shit like that, expressions from another era. Eddie sort of gets a kick out of them. Writes most of them down in his sketchbook but this one is sort of ironic.

  "Oh, you know. Same crap, different day," Eddie tells him.

  "Little young to be so cynical, aren't you?" Mackie laughs.

  "Cynicism is the last refuge of the idealist," Eddie says. He can't remember who said it, but he likes the quote.

  "Can't argue with you there."

  Jasmine walks into the art room, dragging her oversized black portfolio behind her. She's got some weird little pillbox hat on—navy blue with white polka dots and her hair is loose. She doesn't wear it like that much. Eddie is surprised at how long it is. He wishes he would stop noticing things like this about Jasmine Hammond.

  "Hey Mr. Mac," she says cheerily, "Hey, Edward."

  Edward. Just when exactly was it that she started calling him that, Eddie wonders.

  "How's the application going, Jasmine?" Mackie asks as she hands over the portfolio.

  "Oh," she says. "I'm totally struggling with my statement. I know what I want to say. I just don't know how to say it."

  "I have faith in you. You'll figure it out," Mr. Mackie assures her. "What about you, Eddie, you going to apply to Coastal, too? Like I said, it's a pretty nice scholarship out there for their foundations year."

  "Not sure," Eddie says. "Haven't decided yet."

  "Don't even try, Mr. Mackie," Jasmine says hotly. "Edward has decided to fritter away his talent. Or maybe he thinks he's too good for the Coastal Academy. Either way, he's not going to apply."

  "I never said that," Eddie says, peeling old acrylic paint off his favourite palette.

  "You didn't have to," Jasmine tells him. "But I know you won't do it."

  "Whatever."

  "Lamest comment ever," Jasmine says. "Especially for you."

  "Hey, Jasmine?" Eddie says, unwrapping his brushes from the cloth bag he's rolled them in. "Can you maybe lay off me today? Call we call a truce?"

  "Fine by me," Jasmine says. "I don't care if you apply or not. It's your life."

  "Yes," Eddie agrees, "That's true. It is."

  Mr. Mackie just shakes his head and goes back to his hanging the artwork on the back wall.

  As Eddie paints, he tries not to think about what Jasmine said. He tries not to think about anything, except his canvas in front of him on his easel. But he can't do it. He goes into that small, mostly buried part of his mind—the part that still contains a smidgeon of hope—and thinks about Coastal Academy of Art & Design, about what it would mean to get a scholarship there. Hell, he's good enough. He knows he is, but he also knows that art school could never work for someone like him. Stuff like that happens to other people. And just suppose, just suppose he actually got in. Then what? What about Maya? She's still got three more years of school ahead of her. He's just supposed to just ditch her? No, it would never work.

  But at the end of class, when everyone else is busy cleaning up and Mr. Mackie is talking to a student, Eddie steals a look at the Coastal Academy's brochure that's on the counter. He scans the page with details about the Foundations year: Art history, Elements of Design, Life Drawing, Animation, Landscape & Abstract Painting, Sculpture and 3-D Art. Man, the list goes on. Eddie would give his left nut to be immersed in that world. He really would.

  "Take it with you, Eddie."

  Eddie turns around to see Mackie standing behind him, his arms folded across his chest.

  "What? No. That's okay," Eddie says.

  "No. Really. Take it. I've got a whole box load." Mackie tucks the brochure into Eddie's backpack pocket. "The application process is on the back page if you decide to go for it. And like I said before, I'm more than happy to write your reference letter. Just say the word."

  "Sure," Eddie says. "Okay. Thanks, Mr. Mackie."

  "Hope you give it a go, Eddie," Mackie says. "You're a talented artist."

  Eddie leaves the art room, fully intending to chuck the brochure into the recycling bin in the hallway on his way to his next class.

  Only he doesn't.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Sometimes, if Eddie comes to the cafeteria at lunch, Cora automatically hands him a tray without asking for a ticket. He's never told her about his circumstances and she's never asked but Eddie has a feeling she's been in his shoes once or twice by some of the things she's said.

  Today's lunch consists of beef burritos and coleslaw. Eddie is a big fan. The burritos are spicier than they usually are and twice their normal size. Cora places two on his tray and gives him a wink.

  "Where's that skinny sister of yours?" she asks, looking over Eddie's shoulder.

  "She's at a lunch tutorial," Eddie says. "She sucks at math. Her teacher got a few kids to come by bribing them with the promise of sushi."

  "Smart," Cora says.

  "If you like sushi," Eddie answers.

  "Not a fan?"

  "Not a fan."

  Eddie had planned to take his tray and sit down near the exit door, in case Rex was outside looking for company. But on his way there, Jasmine sticks her foot out from the table she's sitting at, pretending to trip him.

  "Edward," she says. "Join me?"

  Eddie hesitates. She's sitting alone, which is good, but she's sitting alone, which is bad.

  "I'm not dangerous or anything," she says, smiling. She picks up her burrito and takes a huge bite. Despite himself, Eddie can't help but smile. Most pretty girls eat tomato wedges and ice berg lettuce from the salad bar in the school cafeteria, but Jasmine Hammond eats like a trucker. Eddie has seen her scarf down five pieces of pizza without even batting an eye.

  Against his better judgment, he sits down beside her, then scoops a little of the guacamole from a bowl on the table onto his enchilada. "You're eating alone?" Eddie says.

  "No, I was eating over there with the posse," Jasmine says, nodding toward a table of very chatty girls near the salad bar. Georgia Baines is among them—the "it" girls of Bridgeman High. "But," Jasmine says, "they were arguing about gel fingernails."

  "I take it you don't like gel fingernails?" Eddie smirks.

  "They're a bit silly, don't you think?" Jasmine says. "Just not my thing, I guess." There's a bit of sour cream on her lower lip, and Eddie resists the urge to wipe it away with the tip of his finger.

  Quit looking at her lips, moron.

  They eat in silence for a bit, but it's clear to Eddie that Jasmine has something to say. He knows her well enough now to know when she's about to open her mouth and then promptly stick her foot in it. He waits, chewing slowly, and mentally counts down.

  Ten.

  Nine.

  Eight

  Seven...

  "Edward?"

  Wait for it.

  "I've been thinking."

  Here it comes.

  "Now," she begins, "I don't want you to think I'm a busy body or anything, but...um...this is going to be harder than I thought."

  "I don't believe it," Eddie says. "Jazz Hammond? Stuck for words?"

  "No," she says. "Not stuck. Just choosing the right ones."

  "Okay."

  "So, listen. The whole school is talking about you and Maya. Well, more about Maya, actually. Because, well, Mark Johnson is a first-class asshole."

 
"True," Eddie says.

  "But Georgia told me about your car. How, it got trashed, and how, well, about how you and Maya were living in it." She wipes her mouth with her napkin and stares earnestly at Eddie with her dark eyes. There's a very faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her slightly bent nose that Eddie hadn't really noticed until now.

  "So, is it true?"

  "What?," Eddie says.

  "The car thing."

  "Was."

  "Well, what if I could help?"

  "You?"

  Jasmine sits up straight and puts her burrito down on her plate. "Sure. Why not? We're friends, aren't we?"

  Really, Eddie thinks? She's always pissed at him. Besides, friendship is uncharted territory for Ed. He's not even sure how it works.

  "Sure," he says.

  "Well, I know this place. We have this—"

  "We've got a place to say for now," Eddie interrupts. "But thank you. That's pretty decent of you."

  "Are you sure? I mean, I wouldn't tell a soul."

  "Oh, I see," Eddie says, bristling. "You wouldn't want anyone to know you were helping out a homeless guy, right? Wouldn't be good for the Hammond name?"

  Jasmine flushes and then looks angry. "What? No! That's not what I meant at all. And actually, I resent the implication, Eddie."

  "Don't worry about it, Jasmine. It's not your fault your well off. A lot of people think like you."

  "Think like me?" She pushes her chair back, stands up, and collects her things from the table. "You know something?" She stares hard at Eddie.

  "I have a feeling you're going to tell me, no matter what I say."

  "You, are the biggest victim I've ever met."

  "Really."

  "Yes. Really. Do you think you're the only one in the world who has it hard, Eddie? Did you ever stop to think that maybe other people have their own shit to deal with, too? No? Didn't think so. You live completely inside your own head. You're the most self-involved person I've ever met."

  She almost looks as though she might start to cry. Eddie blinks at her slowly, but doesn't she get it? People like him can't be friends with people like her. It just doesn't work. No. She doesn't get it.