How to Be Brave(50)

I log off and check my phone, hoping maybe Daniel somehow got my number from Liss and texted me or something.

Nothing.

I have one thing left. My art.

I pull out my paints and dig in, working until 1:30 A.M., when I collapse on the bed.

I dream of protons and electrons and palm trees and cucumbers.

I dream in vivid color of new maps, new topographies.

I’m surfing on ice.





13

Daniel’s desk is empty. It has been for over a week. He’s been absent in all his classes. Word on the street is his father’s sick, like really sick. I overheard a few kids in art class talking about him. Apparently, he lives here with his mom, but neither of his parents has a lot of money, and with his dad’s chronic illness, it might mean they won’t be able to afford college. He’s been working double shifts at Baskin-Robbins to try to save as much as he can. But now he had to fly out to Oregon because his dad is having some kind of heart procedure. And I have no way of contacting him. I have no way of telling him that I’ve been there, that I know what he’s going through.

At the end of class, Marquez hands me a stack of postcards—announcements for the gallery show. They’re so official looking. On one side is this gorgeous piece that looks like an abstract cross section of human musculature. And on the other side is this: Shikaakwa Art Gallery and Coffee House presents

Important Things

Works from Georgia Askeridis, Elsa Baines, Roberta Fernando, and Elizabeth Revell revolve around the

themes of creation, mutation, and destruction

Contemporary art in all media

Opening Reception: Friday, May 20, 8:00–11:00 P.M.

Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant, there is no such thing.

Making your unknown known is the important thing.

—Georgia O’Keeffe


There it is, my name, first in the list, with many thanks to the creator of alphabetical order.

Okay, enough glass-half-empty bullshit.

This is really happening.

I feel like calling someone, but the only person who comes to mind is my mom. Well, and Liss, of course.

I could give her a card, invite her. And tell her to bring Daniel, too.

Except that prom is that night.

Either way, I want her to know that I did it.

I completed #6.

She should know.

I think of Daniel’s note. I pull out a Sharpie and write in the corner of one of the postcards: “#6. Check.”

I head to my locker for the first time in months. Liss is at her locker, talking to Avery. I open mine and pretend to shuffle my things around. I wait for them to finish up. After they leave, I run over and slide the card into the slots in her locker.

There.

A peace offering.

It’s the most important thing I could do right now.

*

Dad is very excited about the show. Like, I’m kicking myself for not telling him about it last week. I haven’t seen him this happy in a year, maybe.

“I will close the restaurant that night,” he announces.

“Dad, you can’t close the restaurant. I mean, you’ve never closed the restaurant.”

“Eh, why not? We’re going to close for good in a few months. What’s another night?” He places his hand on my cheek. “Anyway, koúkla mou, there is no other place I would rather be.”

He plants a kiss on the top of my head. “You are my important thing.”

*

The next day, in the middle of chem lab, I get a text from Liss: Congratulations.

Huh. So, she’s talking to me.

I tell Zittel I need to go to the bathroom, and when I get there, I duck into a stall and text back: Thanks. You okay?

A minute later, I get: Yes. Thanks. Hope ur good.

Okay.

I go for it: Is everything okay with Daniel’s dad? I heard the news. I hope he gets better. And I only wish the best for you guys.

There. I said it.

It’s a start, I guess. An exchange of words. The first in four months.

Then nothing, for like six minutes.

I’m sitting on the cold porcelain sink in this cold, dank bathroom waiting for the response that could bring me back my best and only friend. Ninety-nine percent chance Zittel’s going to ask if “everything came out okay.” I don’t care. I’ll stay here until the end of the period if it means a 1 percent chance of reconciling with Liss.

Then: Not sure yet. It doesn’t look good. Thanks though. Congratulations again. Bye.

And that’s it.

When I open the door to the chem lab, Zittel looks at me and asks, in front of everyone, “Did you fall in?”

Well, I took the risk and tried my chances, and regardless of the actual statistical outcome, I most definitely lost.

*

I spend every day after school working on my stuff. I have to bring it all to school three days before the show so that Marquez can drive it over to the gallery, where his sister is going to work on putting it up.

I’ve stopped sleeping, both because I’m hungry to create more pieces and because I’m a nervous wreck. I’m just too excited for the show.

Everyone else at school is too excited for prom. All I hear all week is “prom this” and “prom that” and “Oh, my dress is so freaking awesome” and “Oh, I still gotta rent my tux” and on and on and on. All I can think is, I still have three more pieces to finish. I like mine better.