“It’s incredible,” I whispered. “She’s so pretty.” I felt an urge to run my fingers over it, but didn’t want to smear the charcoal.
“It’s you.”
I looked up at him, in shock. We’d been working on this project for three months. My eyebrow shot up, and I shook my head, unconvinced. “You’re such a liar.”
“I’m completely serious.”
“Is everyone ready to reveal their final project?” Mrs. Cup said as she sauntered into the classroom, dressed in a black shawl and pants suit. “I know you have all been working incredibly hard. In years past, you’ve taken home these projects and framed them, given them away, or did with them as you choose. But I’ve asked more from you this year. We’ve learned about Faulkner’s lessons and that as artists, you must learn to kill your darlings.” She sighed. “For your final grade, I’m going to ask this of you.” She held up Shannon LaBlue’s poster-sized painting and ripped it in half, length-wise. It made a quick, high-pitched sound, and we all gasped.
Shannon’s mouth fell open. She looked around, unsure of what to do.
Mrs. Cup walked to Zach Skidmore, who sat next to me. “Well?”
“Are you serious? I thought this was going to be the crowning project of my high school years. I worked my ass off on this, Mrs. Cup!”
“It’s your final grade.”
Zach stared at the ground for a moment, breathed out through his nose, and then took his project, a beautiful landscape, and ripped it in half. We all winced, as if he’d cut his wrists.
The teacher stood in front of my desk. I had worked hard on my project, a charcoal piece featuring a dark hallway with Victorian paintings. It made a horrid ripping sound as I separated one side from the other.
Mrs. Cup took a step, standing in front of Weston. His project was still laid out on my desk, behind him.
“Weston.”
“This is cruel,” he said.
“It’s a lesson. Not all lessons are easy. The best ones—those you learn the most from—are the most difficult.”
“I’m not doing it,” Weston said, shifting just slightly, protecting his elegant and tender rendering of me.
“It’s your final grade, Weston. It was the whole point.”
He stood, pulled his poster from the desk, and rolled it carefully. “Then I guess I fail.” He left the classroom and walked down the hall toward the parking lot.
Mrs. Cup shook her head, then took a step toward the next horrified student.
“It was you?” Frankie asked, a little stunned.
I nodded.
“An art project he’d been working on for three months . . . and it was you?”
“It was me.”
“Whoa. And he failed his art class to keep it. That’s . . . that’s kind of poignant.”
“I kind of thought that, but I wasn’t sure if I was reading it wrong.”
“How can you read that wrong? It’s so romantic I could die!” She bent over, nearly in half, pretending to sob in a very unflattering way.
“That’s ugly,” I said, trying to stifle a grin.
“It’s soooo beautiful! I can’t stand it! Agh ha ha!”
“Stop,” I said, scooping M&Ms into the cup of vanilla I’d just pulled out.
She stood up. “Sorry. I had a moment.”
I handed the M&M Blizzard to the little girl. She turned on her heels, revealing my next customer, Alder. Her eyes were red, and she was beyond pissed.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice already breaking.
“We were just joking around. What can I get you?” I asked.
“Fuck you. You know what I’m talking about, Easter,” she seethed.
My mind raced for a response, but she hadn’t come for a fight. She was alone, and that wasn’t like the Erins.
She cocked her head a bit, impatient with my silence. “Answer me. And don’t you dare pretend to be innocent. We both know what’s been going on.”
Frankie stood beside me. “She’s working, Alder. You can talk about this later.”
“No, I can’t,” she said, her eyes glossing over. “Because I’m leaving in half an hour for South Padre. I was supposed to be riding with Weston, but he’s suddenly decided that he doesn’t want to go, so I’m riding with Sonny. Explain to me why that is, Easter.”
“I can’t speak for him.”
“Well someone’s going to have to. The only thing he said was that it wasn’t working out between us.”
“He broke up with you?”
Alder put both of her hands on the little counter in front of the window, palms down. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“I never expected him to,” I said. It was the truth.
“He didn’t have a lot of time to go into details, because he was taking some stupid drawing to Ponca City to have it framed.”
I choked. “He . . . what?”
“So you can tell me, Easter. Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, that same anger I felt with Sara bubbling up again. “Why am I doing something to you?”
“Has he been cheating on me? I deserve to know!”
Frankie put her hand on her hip. “If he broke up with you, does it really matter?”
Alder’s eyes targeted Frankie. “Oh, go push out another kid, Frankie.”
Frankie slowly moved me to the side and leaned down. “You need to leave right now, or you’re going to have to try to enjoy your senior trip with no boyfriend and a new black eye. Because I will come through this window at you.”
Alder rolled her eyes. She walked away, but stopped and came back. “You watch yourself, Easter. When I get back, I’m going to make it my mission to make you so miserable you’ll have to finish high school at home. You think I’ve been mean to you? You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“That sounds like a threat.” Frankie narrowed her eyes at Alder.
Alder smiled, but she looked more frightening that I’ve ever seen her. “I don’t make threats. I’m just giving her an idea of what the next six weeks of her life are going to be like.”
“Same thing,” Frankie said.
“I’m going to go enjoy my Spring Break. You should really try to enjoy yours.”
“I will,” I said, lifting my chin.
She shot me a look that made my blood run cold and returned to her Honda.
“Whew! You lit a fire under her ass!” Frankie said, nearly euphoric from the confrontation.
I leaned my butt against the counter. “She’s serious. When she gets back, it’s going to be hell.”
“Who cares?” Frankie said with a wink. “You’ve got Weston.”
“I don’t have him.”
“He’s framing your drawing.” She sighed. “He’s got it bad.”
“This is all really weird. Everything has been the same every day since first grade. Things have steadily gotten worse, and now they’re . . . I don’t know.”
“Amazing?”
“Different.”
Frankie nodded. An SUV pulled into the parking lot, and four kids hopped out, followed by their toddler-toting mother. Frankie and I got back to work.
I was feeling even more excited for Spring Break. If I was going to be punished for it, I was going to make sure every second was worth it.
Chapter Eight
Weston’s truck was parked directly behind the Dairy Queen. As if he already didn’t look happy enough, I brought him an extra tall Cherry Dip Cone. His grin spread from ear to ear.
“Do I have time to go home and change?” I asked.
“Nope. I’m too excited to show you something.”
We drove to his house. The windows were dark, and when he pressed the garage door button, his parents’ vehicle wasn’t in its spot. Even though it was a weekend, the entire town seemed to be closed down. With all the upperclassman traffic gone during Spring Break and so many families away for vacation, Blackwell would be on a week-long sleep; it was that way every year.