“No.” I’m still talking to myself, but I feel panic start to rise in my chest. “No, no, no.” Dropping my brush, I grab a clean one and wipe it across the corner of my canvas, trying to see if I can remove some of the paint.
I’m horrified when I look at the brush and see that it has not only removed some of the black wash, but also the bright colors underneath it. The turpentine mixed with the oil paint to thin it out has affected all of the layers of the paint, even the ones that I thought were dry.
“No!” I don’t want to draw attention to myself, but I can’t help it. Someone came in and fucked with my painting last night, and now Quinn is clearly going to win. Nobody can look at my canvas and think that it looks good, let alone that it looks better than something that he could paint.
My single loud cry brings Mr. Stanfield to my curtain. “Is everything okay in there?” Before I can answer, he whips open the curtain and comes to stand next to me.
Tears spring to the corners of my eyes and I sway slightly, but I don’t move. He doesn’t say anything at first, and the silence is even worse than if he had said something right away.
Finally, he speaks. “Is this a joke?”
His voice jolts me back to earth and I feel grounded again. Worse than that, though, I feel weighed down. Turning to him, I force myself to speak. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked if this was a joke.” He waves hand at my canvas. There are huge drips that I hadn’t noticed before where the paint is running from the additional thinned out layer on top. It looks horrible. He knows it, and I know it. “I was told that you were skilled, Abby, that you were going to come to Trinity Prep and shake the place up, but I didn’t think that this is what they meant when they said that. This is, quite frankly, terrible.”
“I didn’t do this.” My voice is quiet, but he still hears me and leans over closer to me.
“Come again? Is this not your space?”
“Yes, but – ”
He cuts me off. “Is this not your canvas?”
“It is, but – ”
“Then it’s your work.” He turns to me, his dark eyes angry. “Listen up. You’re here because you’re supposed to be good, but if you can’t hack it then you will go back to your second-rate high school. Just because you’re good compared to a group of inner-city kids doesn’t mean that you will actually amount to anything.”
Now I can’t help the tears that spring to the corners of my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, trying to keep the hiccups out of my voice. I have a really bad habit of ugly crying when I’m upset, and I have a very strong feeling that right now is going to be one of those times. “I promise you that I will work hard to make you proud, Mr. Stanfield. I’ll do everything I can to show you that I deserve to be here and that I’m the top of the class. I want that internship, and nothing is going to stand in my way.”
He pauses for a moment, staring at me, before saying anything. “I hope that you can pull it together, Abby. I know that you want this, but wanting it isn’t enough. The best students here are willing to bleed and die for their craft, and you have to decide if you are willing to do that, too. Are you?”
I don’t have to think about it. I already know how badly I wanted to be here. “I’ll do anything it takes, Mr. Stanfield. I promise, you won’t regret that I’m here. You’ll see. I’ll show you and I’ll show the rest of the class.”
“Big words, Abigail.” Quinn’s voice makes us both turn to look at him. He slides around my curtain, but from his vantage point, he can’t see my canvas. The thought gives me a little relief, but I already know that he’s going to see it eventually this afternoon, and there’s nothing I can do to hide or cover up how terrible it is.
“Don’t worry, Quinn. I know that you think the internship is yours, but I’m going to give you a run for your money.” I’ve almost forgotten that Mr. Stanfield is standing right next to me, but he suddenly claps his hands together.
“Oh, good. I do love a little friendly competition in my class. You know, I really think that the two of you could be good for each other. I have no doubt in my mind that you will end up pushing each other harder and farther than you ever thought possible. What do you think?”
Quinn doesn’t take his eyes from me when he answers. “I think that I’m ready to push Abigail here until she breaks.”
My breath catches in my throat. Before I can say anything, Mr. Stanfield walks past me. “In that case, I’m going to let the two of you get to it. I expect amazing art from everyone in my class, you know, but you two have a passion that I haven’t seen before.” He turns his gaze to Quinn. “Watch out. If she’s nearly as talented as she claims to be then she could be trouble, especially with all that passion in her.” He then turns to me. “Don’t make me regret you being in my class, Abigail, because right now I do.”
He leaves the two of us alone and the curtain flutters shut behind him before Quinn speaks. “You’re just packed full of passion, huh, Abigail?” His voice is low and rich and I can totally see how most girls would willingly throw themselves at him. I’d be one of them if I weren’t so
