THE PICASSO PROJECT

by Carol Anne Shaw

  "Want to go for a swim?" Jasmine asks suddenly.

  "No," says Eddie. "I do not."

  "Oh, come on. It's so hot!"

  "Hasn't been hot for that long. It's only June. That water will still be friggin' cold. Don't let the sun fool you."

  "Really?" Jasmine says. "Honestly, you're such a drip sometimes." She stands up and steps out of her gauzy skirt.

  "Wait!" Eddie says. "Jesus! What are you doing?"

  "I'm going swimming!" She crosses her arms in front of her and pulls off her T-shirt.

  "Jasmine," Eddie says. "Cut it out."

  "Oh, pfffffft!" she hisses. "Haven't you ever seen a girl in her underwear before?"

  No, Eddie has not, but he doesn't tell her this. He tries not to watch but he can't look away. She is pale and slim, with strong, muscular legs. She walks to the edge of the dock as though she's done it a hundred times and executes a perfect swan dive into the water. Her body hardly breaks a ripple on the water's surface.

  She comes up just beyond the loons and gives Eddie a triumphant "thumbs up" with both hands. "Come in, Edward DuMont! It's so lovely!" Then she turns and dives under the water, and Eddie sees a flash of her pale legs before she disappears. She swims with strong, even strokes, away from the dock, and soon he can barely see her from where he sits. After a bit, he stands up and walks to the edge.

  "HEY!" he yells. "That's too far! Come back!" But Jasmine doesn't come back. She swims out even farther and then stops, treading water. He can just barely make out her head bobbing up and down on the surface of the water. He waves her back.

  "Nope!" she calls. "And if you don't come in, I'm going to swim out to Memory Island." Eddie looks past her head to the little island way out in the middle of the lake. That would be a hell of a long swim, even for a seasoned athlete.

  "I'm not coming in, Jasmine!"

  "Suit yourself," she calls cheerfully. "Shan't be long." She turns and resumes the crawl, heading straight toward the island.

  Shit, Eddie thinks. Shit, shit, shit!

  He unbuckles his jeans and kicks them off, then pulls off his t-shirt. He hasn't been swimming for years, but he's pretty sure this isn't about swimming. He's pretty sure this is just a little power struggle game that Jasmine Hammond wants to play. Figures. Rich girl games. Why couldn't she have been content just to sit on the dock in the sun? That was perfectly pleasant, wasn't it? Eddie shakes his head. Why do women always have to make things more complicated than they need to be?

  He lands in the water like a bag of hammers. The cold hits him full on, stealing his breath, and for a minute, he forgets what to do. But it's literally sink or swim, so he swims. And sure enough, Jasmine, true to her word, sees him coming and swims back at record speed. In a matter of moments, they both find themselves just a few metres from the dock.

  "Didn't think you'd do it," Jasmine says, her dark hair swept back over her head. Eddie suppresses a smile; she looks like a sleek, wet seal.

  "That was stupid," Eddie says. "You could have drowned."

  "Would never happen," Jasmine insists. "I've been swimming since I could walk. I grew up swimming. I'm part mermaid, you know." She floats on her back and fans her arms lazily beside her, impervious to the cold.

  Eddie turns his head, so he won't be able to see Jasmine's small breasts straining behind the thin fabric of her wet sports bra. His teeth have begun to chatter and he's pretty sure he must be turning blue. He swims awkwardly back to the dock and grabs hold of one of the ladder rungs. "Jesus. It's damn cold, Jasmine," and then he starts to laugh because the whole scenario is insane. If someone had told him even a week ago that he'd be almost naked, swimming in Bridgeman Lake with Jasmine Hammond in broad daylight, he'd have thought they were nuts.

  Jasmine makes a grab for the waistband of his boxers, a mischievous look in her eyes. "Cold, is it? Just how cold?" Eddie snatches her wrist and holds it up in the air by her head. She pouts. "Edward DuMont? You are absolutely no fun."

  "And you, Hammond, are a shameless flirt."

  Jasmine weaves her arms through his and presses close against him. He can feel her breasts against his chest, and cold water or not, his body reacts instantly.

  "Jasmine," he says. "Don't."

  She tilts her head coyly and looks down at his shorts. "Why not? It's clearly obvious you don't mind."

  And that's the funny thing; as hard as he tries, Eddie can't tell Jasmine Hammond why all of this is a bad idea. He can't find the words, and then it's too late because he is kissing her, and she is most definitely kissing him back.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  JOURNAL ENTRY (June)

  "If only we could pull out our brain and use only our eyes." - Pablo Picasso

  My brain is failing me lately. Betraying me big time. I thought we had a deal, my brain and I, but clearly, it has its own agenda.

  How awesome it would be if I could put it on a shelf for a few days, or even while Jasmine and I were having that epic swim down at the lake. Then I'd have full license to just sit and bask in all that is beautiful about Jasmine Hammond. I'd be able to swim alongside her and think about nothing else except how smooth her skin is and how dark her eyes are, and how she looks like a dolphin, the way she dives under the water so effortlessly.

  But my brain keeps messing these moments up. Keeps telling me to look, but not touch. Tries to convince me that it's all a mirage—reminds me that stuff like falling for amazing girls like Jasmine is something that happens to other guys, not guys like Edward Harrison DuMont. Worst of all, my brain keeps trying to convince me that the kiss we shared, didn't mean a thing.

  So, yeah, my brain spoils the moments, but damn! My eyes are working just fine.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  A few days later, Mark finds Eddie alone in the boys' bathroom. He steps up to a urinal and unzips.

  "Man. Sure is a shame about your, uh, living accommodation," he says, smirking.

  Eddie walks over to the sink to wash his hands.

  Here it comes. Stay cool. Stay cool. Stay cool.

  "So, where you hanging out now? You find a nice dumpster in town? I hear there's a good one near Luigi's Pizza."

  "I'll keep that in mind." Eddie dries his hands calmly and walks toward the door.

  "You know what your problem is, DuMont?" Mark says, coming up behind him.

  "No. But I'm pretty sure you're going to tell me."

  "Damn right I am. You're a loser."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. You're a piece of shit. Scum. And like the saying says, the apple don't fall far from the tree."

  "Ahh," Eddie says. "Got it."

  "It's true. I heard your old man was a lousy drunk."

  Eddie opens the door. "You'd be right about that. He was."

  ***

  "Let's go somewhere tonight," Jasmine says at lunch in the school cafeteria. She's taken to wearing her hair on top of her head, off her neck, because of the heat. Eddie finds it distracting. Jasmine's neck is inviting.

  He takes a bite of his sandwich. Egg salad; not his favourite, but, as the saying goes: Beggars can't be choosers. God, he hates that saying.

  "So, what do you think? Wanna do something?"

  "Awesome!" Maya says, a big smile on her face. For the past few days, ever since Eddie and Jasmine have been hanging out, Maya smiles a lot. "Like what?"

  "We'll figure something out," Jasmine says. "I can pick you guys up after dinner."

  Pick them up? Eddie freezes. Sure, he thinks. Just drive on up and over the rugby field and wait outside the Athletic Hut. We'll be waiting right outside.

  "I have to cram for finals," he says. Lame.

  Jasmine rolls her eyes. "Well, duh. So do I. But a night off isn't going to kill us. Come on. Don't be such a stick in the mud."

  "Sorry," Eddie says. "Can't."

  "Yes, we can, Eddie!" Maya says, pouting. "Quit being so boring."

  Eddie glares at his sister and pushes his sandwich away.

  "What? What did I say?" Jasm
ine says, but a moment later a look of comprehension comes over her face. "Oh. I get it. You don't want me to see where you're living right now. Fair enough. No worries. We'll meet somewhere, then. Just name the place, and I'll be there.

  Eddie doesn't say anything, but he knows he doesn't stand a chance against the two of them. Besides, people are starting to stare. He can feel it.

  "Come on, Edward," Jasmine teases. " We'll just hang out for a couple of hours. No wild partying, just a walk and a coffee or something. "

  "Please, Eddie?" Maya whines.

  Jasmine leans over and kisses Eddie's cheek, right there, in front of everyone. "It's me, here," she whispers. "That girl you were kissing in the lake the other day? Don't shut me out, Eddie."

  ***

  The cafe is called Aroma Mocha, a tiny brick place near the bowling alley that specializes in overpriced coffee and healthy organic baking. They sit outside at one of the patio tables on the sidewalk, and even though the sun is setting, it's still hot and sticky.

  But Eddie isn't thinking about the heat. He's daydreaming into his mug. Actually, the truth of it is, he's composing sappy Haiku poems about Jasmine in his head. He's been doing that all week. Jesus, what a sap, he thinks. And Haiku, too. Total emo stuff. He composed two as he lay awake early this morning:

  Jasmine is the rain

  That washes away the past

  She is the promise

  and...

  Her hair, a river

  that spills over bones and skin

  to pool in my hands

  He's been writing them down in an old notebook—he'd write them in his sketchbook if he could find the damn thing—as well as the drawings he's done to go with them. They're not bad, the drawings. They're lighter, somehow. Not like the others. He'll have to hunt around for it. The whole art room looks like a bomb hit it these days. End of year clean-out. It's probably hiding in a cupboard somewhere.

  Jasmine flashes Eddie a smile, her dark eyes shining. "Penny for your thoughts?"

  "Only a penny?" Eddie teases. "They're worth more."

  "Okay then, how about a dime."

  "Nope."

  "Twenty-five cents," Jasmine chides, "and that's my final offer."

  "You lose," Eddie says. "My thoughts are priceless."

  Jasmine laughs and brushes the side of his face with a hand. The touch sends tiny electrical currents across his skin, and he wants to kiss her, but doesn't. Not here. If he kisses her here, he might not be able to stop.

  When the three of them have finished their iced coffees, Maya pauses in front of a tiny boutique with anorexic mannequins in the window, all of them dressed up in the latest summer fashions.

  "Cool skirt!" Maya says. "Look, Jasmine. So pretty."

  "Let's go in," Jasmine says. "You don't mind, do you, Eddie?

  Mind? They could be touring a funeral parlour, or a chicken processing plant, and Eddie just would not care. Not if he was with Jasmine Hammond. So, he allows himself to be dragged into the store without complaint.

  There is a resident cat nestled inside a basket of rolled t-shirts. It's a big black one with emerald green eyes, and Eddie is more than happy when it jumps into his lap, demanding to be scratched.

  "Eddie!" Maya says breathlessly. "Jasmine wants to buy me that skirt in the window!"

  Eddie sighs. He'd hoped this wouldn't happen, but he isn't surprised it has. "You tell her thank you, but no. We can't take hand-outs, Maya."

  "It isn't a hand-out," Jasmine says, appearing from behind a rack of dresses. "It's a beautiful skirt and it suits her, and I'd like to buy it for her."

  "Well, that's really nice of you, Jazz, but no."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it isn't necessary. You don't have to buy us stuff. I mean, the coffees were great, but Maya doesn't need a new skirt."

  "I know. But it's a gift, Eddie. I just want to give Maya a gift. People give people gifts all the time. And anyway, the store is about to close."

  "Well, I'm not cool with this."

  Jasmine looks over her shoulder to ensure the store clerks are not listening, then turns back to face Eddie. "Look. With all due respect, this isn't really about you. It's about me and Maya. And if I want to buy somebody a present, then I get to buy somebody a present. It's my present to give."

  Eddie sighs. How can he argue with that?

  "Okay?" she says.

  "Okay."

  She walks to the cash, buys the skirt, and hands the bag to Maya.

  Eddie feels more uncomfortable with each passing second. The store suddenly feels stifling and small, and the black cat, sensing the change in Eddie's mood, stiffens and jumps out of the basket to scurry underneath the dress rack.

  "Thank you so much," Maya says when they're out on the sidewalk. "I absolutely love it! I don't think I've ever had anything so pretty!" She hugs Jasmine, and then sticks her tongue out at her brother.

  The three of them walk silently back up Harper Street in the growing dusk. A transport truck is backing up outside the Home Depot, and the loud beep, beep, beep keeps perfect time with their footsteps.

  Somewhere in the distance a siren screams.

  They pass an older man sitting on the sidewalk outside the beer and wine store. He's got an old black lab with him, a faded red bandana tied around its neck, a piece of frayed rope for a leash.

  "Spare any change?" The old man asks with tired eyes.

  Jasmine smiles and gives him a couple of Toonies.

  "Thank you, Miss," the man calls out after them.

  Eddie's head gets hot and the air around him feels still and stagnant.

  "You didn't have to do that, you know," he says.

  Jasmine stops walking. "What do you mean?"

  "Back there. That homeless guy. You didn't have to help him just because of me and Maya's...just because of our situation."

  Jasmine says nothing, but her eyes darken, their spark gone.

  "What?" Eddie says.

  "Why is it always about you, Eddie?" she says flatly. "Honestly, when are you going to get over yourself?"

  "Wait. What?"

  "I'm serious. Are you going to spend the rest of your life playing the martyr? Because, I'm not kidding, it's kind of getting old."

  "Hey," Maya interrupts. "You guys. Don't—"

  "Yeah, I figured you'd get tired of slumming it pretty quick," Eddie says acidly.

  Jasmine grows pale. She takes a step away from Eddie. "Really? That's what you think I'm doing?"

  "Come on," Eddie says. He knows he's going to ruin everything; he knows he should shut up right this second, but he doesn't. "You did your good deed. You befriended the homeless guy, bought us coffees and bought the little sister a skirt. You performed your random act of kindness. You can sleep in your queen-sized canopy bed tonight with a clear conscience."

  Eddie watches as she storms off down the sidewalk and disappears around the corner.

  They walk in silence, conscious only of their footsteps on the pavement until they reach the old graveyard. The tilting bleached headstones are illuminated under the yellow light at the side of the church. Eddie thinks the stones look lonelier than ever, sticking out of the unkempt grass like sore thumbs.

  Maya finally breaks the silence. "Nice going, Eddie."

  "Don't worry about it," Eddie mutters.

  "It's like you don't even want to be happy. You act like you want to stay miserable forever. Like, you get a hint of what life could be like, and then you go and blow it for yourself. It's like you think you don't deserve to be happy or something. I think it's called self-sabotage. Which is really messed up, brother. I mean, come on! You and I totally deserve a break."

  "I said, don't worry about it."

  "I just think that—"

  The scream of the siren interrupts their conversation and a fire truck screeches up to the entrance of the school, then takes the side road up toward the rugby field.

  "Eddie!" Maya gasps and grabs his sleeve.

  Eddie puts his hand ove
r his sister's. "Shit."

  They run through the trees, then stand just off the trail, hidden by a thick stand of alders, and watch as the athletic hut burns to the ground.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Principal Redman is seated in front of the old oak desk, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Eddie notices there's a spot of something on his tie: tomato soup, or maybe ketchup.

  "I presume you know why you're here," the principal says.

  "Not really," Eddie says, although he has a pretty good idea.

  "Is that so?"

  Eddie remains silent. He wonders why Redman doesn't just cut to the chase. But then again, Redman likes messing with the kids at Bridgeman. It makes him feel powerful, like the big man on campus. But Eddie isn't going to squirm, no matter what goes down. No way.

  He looks at the clock on the wall and shifts his weight in the chair. His back hurts, most likely from sleeping behind the church, or not sleeping behind the church. Not a good night: first the Jasmine drama, then the fire. Maya got a couple of hours in, but not Eddie. His head feels as though it's packed with aged Swiss cheese, hard and full of holes, and he hasn't seen Jasmine all day. She wasn't in art class, or anywhere to be found at lunch.

  "Somewhere you need to be?" Redman asks, glancing at the clock.

  "No, sir. Just wondering what this is all about, sir."

  "The athletic hut burned to the ground last night," Mr. Redman says, tipping forward and clasping his hands together on the desk in front of him. "Nothing but smoke and ash left. "

  "I heard," Eddie says.

  "Yes, it is most unfortunate. Thousands of dollars worth of equipment. Gone. Destroyed."

  Eddie shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

  "You wouldn't know anything about this, would you, Edward?"

  "Me? No. Why?"

  "Are you sure? No tips that might help the investigation?"

  "Investigation?"

  "It's already been determined that this was an act of arson."