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Apparently we’re not there yet.
I watch him walk away and stare at the spot even after he’s gone. I force myself to turn away. To focus on the real problem: the vandal. My mind is full of thoughts—none of them make sense, just a jumble of words and names and places and motives—as I walk into the AGD classroom and take my seat. Je
As Mrs. K readies something on her computer, I grab my supplies and get ready for the free sketch period. My mind is so full of other things that I can’t think of anything to sketch. I hold my pencil above the paper, waiting for inspiration to strike.
When it doesn’t, I fall back on something that my very first art teacher in fifth grade taught me.
When all else fails, draw the world.
Meaning you should take inspiration from the world around you when you have none of your own.
I start at the bottom of the page, sketching the surface of the table I share with Je
I sketch Je
Then again, maybe that explains the copycat art. She couldn’t come up with her own epic art, so she ripped off mine.
Maybe.
I expand my sketch to include the other tables in the room. From the back row, I have a clear view of them all. There are eight tables in all, enough to seat sixteen students.
As I rough sketch the tables and begin to pencil in the students seated at each one, I notice something. Several of the seats are empty.
On the first day of class, every seat was occupied—hence the fact that I got the last available next to Je
I pull up my memory of that first day and picture who was seated where.
Mira had been in the seat directly in front of me.
Jaq was in the table two rows up and one over.
Mark, Devan, and Ha
It’s the girls, I realize. Most of the empty seats are where girls sat on the first day of class. And now they’re gone.
Of the seven girls Mrs. K called in to tell us about the design scholarship, three of them are either out of the class permanently or have been removed for disciplinary reasons.
“No,” I gasp.
Je
“What?” I jerk back, realizing that I hadn’t meant to say anything out loud. “Oh, nothing. Just, um…” I wag my pencil. “Broke my lead.”
She shrugs and goes back to her shapes—today they’re stars. Star after star after star. No imagination.
I stare at the sketch filling my page. The empty seats where girls once sat. Where scholarship contenders once sat.
Could that really be why? Could the copycat incident not be about me at all, but about getting rid of the scholarship competition?
It seems ridiculously farfetched. Who would go to these lengths just to improve their chances to win a stupid prize? Farfetched, maybe, but it still makes more sense than someone targeting me specifically for whatever nonsense reason.
Okay, okay. I calm my thoughts. I have to think through this, work through the possibilities. Like a detective in a murder mystery, I have to consider the…suspects.
There are four girls left in the class.
Me. I obviously didn’t do it. Besides the fact that, well, I know I didn’t, I would have taken myself out of the ru
There’s Je
There’s Liza. Her computer got some kind of terrible virus and her entire portfolio was destroyed. Definite victim.
There’s Aimeigh. She… I struggle to think of anything bad that’s happened to her. Any design-related sabotage or trouble. Nothing. Of all the girls in Mrs. K’s class, only Aimeigh has been untouched by the bad luck curse.
Only Aimeigh is poised to present her best work and be academically eligible to enter the competition.
Is that…? Is that possible?
“Sketchbooks away,” Mrs. K says, calling the room to order.
My suspicions will have to wait until after class.
When the bell rings, I take off. I’m across the hall and hiding behind the door to the empty ceramic arts classroom before Aimeigh can catch me.
I wait impatiently as the AGD room empties. Aimeigh walks out in a group of guys, looking around like she’s searching for me. I can’t face her, not until I at least bounce my crazy theory off someone else. I duck deeper behind the door.
They walk on, and I hope she’s given up on me.
Still, I wait. Je
Normally I mock her brown-nosery, but today it works to my advantage. Everyone is long gone, the hall all but empty by the time she emerges.
“Je
She smacks a hand to her chest, like I just startled the hell out of her. Which I probably did.
“Sloane,” she says, her voice tight. “Yes?”
“Sorry,” I say, mostly meaning it. “Look, last week when you warned me about trusting Aimeigh. Why did you say that?”
She frowns. Studies me like she’s evaluating a test subject.
Je
Then again, people might wonder how I ended up here. With parents who are corporate types and a brother who is a certified math genius—seriously, he has a certificate—I might seem like an unlikely candidate. But considering I have a rebellious streak a mile wide…maybe it’s not so unlikely.
So I suppose stranger things have happened than a science geek ending up in an art school.
“Why are you asking?” Je
I roll my eyes. “I don’t have time for this, Je
“All right,” she says. “I warned you about Aimeigh because she has burned people before.”
“Like who?” I move closer, like I’m physically approaching an answer. “In what circumstances?”
“Lots of people. She stole Vivian’s American history assignment freshman year.” Je
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say, stopping her because it seems like she’s never going to end. “God, why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Je
In the vaguest way possible.
“How did she get away with all of those things?” I ask.
How could I have been so wrong about her? I thought Aimeigh was my friend. I trusted her, I confided in her, and she was playing me. It doesn’t say much for my people-reading skills.
But Tru trusted her, too. Tru believed in her. I’m not the only one who was blinded by her game.
“She never gets caught,” Je
Until now. Aimeigh picked the wrong girl to take on this time. Never pick a fight with a New Yorker. We know how to fight back.