Honestly, I have no idea how I’m going to paint. If my left wrist had been the one that had gotten broken then it wouldn’t have been as big of a deal. I do everything with my right hand, which is why I’m in a bit of a bind.
Well, that’s putting it nicely. I’m fucked, and I can tell by the look on Mr. Stanfield’s face that he’s well aware of the trouble that I’m in. A painter who can’t grip a paintbrush isn’t going to be able to paint. That same painter isn’t going to be able to compete for an internship.
He might as well hand it to Quinn right now, with a huge bow on top.
I swallow hard. “I’m going to heal quickly,” I lie. In truth, I have no idea how long I’m going to be out of commission, but judging by the way my wrist aches almost all the time, I have a very good feeling that it’s going to be a while. “All I need are a few weeks and then I’m going to bust my ass to get the work done, I promise you. You’ll see. Just give me a chance.”
This is it. It would be so easy for Mr. Stanfield to deny my opportunity to stay with him and keep painting right now and simply vote to have me removed from the program altogether. I can’t imagine that any students would put up much of a fuss about me being removed. Madeline’s face enters my thoughts and I push it away.
Now is not the time to think about her or I’ll break down and cry.
“Well, now, that could be interesting, couldn’t it?” Mr. Stanfield grins, a thin smile that shows all of his teeth and I shiver involuntarily. “I love the idea of you trying even harder to win. There’s nothing like a good underdog story, although, Abigail, you should know that at Trinity Prep the underdog never wins. Ever.”
“Not yet, but I will.” I lift my chin and stare my teacher in the face. The longer I’m on my feet, the weaker I’m getting. It’s been over 24 hours since I’ve had something to eat, and I’m really starting to feel the effects of being hungry. “Just give me a chance, Mr. Stanfield. I know I can do it.”
“How about a bet?” Quinn’s voice from behind me startles us both and I whip around to see him standing there, wearing a smock, a bit of paint on his right cheek. My hand twitches instinctively to reach up and brush it off, but I have to restrain myself.
If he notices the bit of movement, he doesn’t say anything. In fact, he doesn’t even look at me. He’s staring at Mr. Stanfield, as if daring him to disagree. How much power does Quinn have here at Trinity Prep? How much control can he exert over the teachers and other students without getting into trouble?
It’s obvious that I still have no real idea of what’s going on here.
“A bet? If I remember correctly from what I’m hearing in the halls, Quinn, you still haven’t collected on your last bet? What in the world makes you think that she’s good for it?” Mr. Stanfield does his best to sound bored, but even I can hear the hint of interest in his voice. Quinn has sparked something in him, that’s for sure, and he’s going to bite.
“Oh, she’s good, believe me. I just haven’t fully collected because I like to take my time,” Quinn replies, brushing past me to talk to Mr. Stanfield. He touches my wrist as he passes me and a flame shoots through it, making me suck in a breath and pull my wrist to my chest, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Mr. Stanfield raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, then, by all means. I love a good bet as much as the next man. Let’s hear what you have to say, Quinn. You and I both know that all it would take is one call to the headmaster about her inability to perform in class and she’d be back to the slums she came from.”
I can’t help but wonder why, if that’s the case, they don’t do just that. It seems like it would solve their problem of having me here and threatening Quinn’s internship, but I’m not going to bring it up. That’s not the type of attention I want to draw to myself.
“Sure, but where’s the fun in that? You and I both know that she’s my only real competition here this year. Besides, look at her. You can’t really tell me that you don’t want to fuck with her a bit more.”
My heart sinks at Quinn’s words. Even though I knew that he wasn’t trying to help me from a place of compassion, it still hurt to hear them come out of his mouth. I really am nothing to him, and I almost turn to walk away, but what he says next has me interested.
“We’re going to give Abigail the few weeks that she claims she’s going to need to be able to paint again. If she can make it through them then she can compete. If she can’t, then she’s going to end up just like Javier Morgan. How does that sound?” He sticks out his hand to Mr. Stanfield, who pauses for a moment before reaching out and shaking it.
“You’re sure that you want to go down this path?” Mr. Stanfield sounds a little nervous, and I feel a jolt of fear run through me.
Quinn laughs and turns to look at me. “Just look at her, sir. She’s pathetic. I don’t care what happens to her, but you can’t tell me that you aren’t interested in seeing just how she’s going to come
