The Astonishing Color of After(87)

“I could go to a regular school that has a good art program and other things, too,” I said.

But it seemed that if I compromised the slightest bit, he pushed harder.

“What if you went into the sciences? You’re always spouting off random science facts, like remember when you were telling me all about pigments?”

The frustration was heating up my face. “Because I’m interested in scientific things that have to do with art. Do you even remember what my science grades look like?”

“Well, you could even study, like, accounting or economics—and just take an art class for fun. You don’t want to box yourself into an impractical profession—”

“Tina majored in philosophy and now she has her marketing job, which she says has nothing to do with her college degree.”

“There are always exceptions. But imagine how difficult it must’ve been for Tina to get that position.”

“And what about you, Dad? Are you going to tell me that your East Asian Studies major was the most practical thing?”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “At the very least, it offered solid options for working in academia.”

It wasn’t like art school was my number one goal in life, but the more Dad pushed against it, the more I wanted to prove him wrong. Wrong about something. Wrong about me.

Mom was never around for these conversations. I started to wonder if Dad purposely waited until she wasn’t in the room. Maybe he thought he’d hurt her feelings, because she had pursued her art. She embodied the exact opposite of what he wanted me to do.

“The only people who succeed in artistic fields are the ones who are incredibly lucky and phenomenally talented,” Dad said another day. “And even then, they struggle. It’s not going to be good for you.”

“Got it, Dad. You don’t think I’m talented enough. Or lucky enough, or whatever.”

“It’s also hard work, Leigh. Have you ever worked so hard at something there was nothing else you could do? Truly worked hard?”

I thought of the art show in Berlin. I thought of Nagori singling me out, warning me the months would disappear quickly. He’d been right about time. And Dad was right about the work. I hadn’t been working hard enough. Was I capable of it?

That last conversation with him lit the match: I was going to prove my father wrong. I could work hard. If Nagori believed I was good enough, I was good enough. But I would do everything in my power to be better than good. I wanted to be one of the best.

Dad flitted off to the other side of the world again and I bought a new art pad, larger than what I normally worked on. When I sat down to begin, though, I found I couldn’t think. The darkness in my house pressed up against me. When Mom was quiet, our home felt like a pit deep in the ground. When she was loud and irrationally angry, our home was a storm cloud holding tightly on to all its thunder.

While Dad was unbearable with his arguments about art school, his being home seemed to buffer the storm, quieting my mother. I was enormously glad but also hated to have him be gone again.

It was on a Wednesday that Axel came and met me at my house right as I was getting off the late bus.

“Make good progress today?” he said, gesturing toward the art case tucked under my arm.

I shrugged. “Nagori seems to be liking the direction better.”

“Cool,” he said.

It wasn’t like it was weird to see him, but there was just something strange in the way that he stood there, watching me unlock the front door. He followed me inside, kicking off his shoes.

“Is your mom upstairs?” he asked.

Most of the lights were off and it was quiet. “Um, I assume so.”

He came to sit on the sofa so that he was as far away from me as possible. I heard the inhalation before he spoke, as if he were steeling himself for something. “You planning to go to the thing on Friday?”

I had no idea what he was talking about. “What thing?”

“You know. Winter Formal.”

I felt my body freeze up, and my face must’ve looked funny because then he said, “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean. No, I wasn’t planning to go.”

“Why not?” he said. He was staring so hard at my feet I wondered if there was something wrong with them. I rubbed my toes together self-consciously. “We could go together.”

“To Winter Formal?” I said, not certain I’d heard correctly.

He nodded.

I heard the floorboards upstairs creaking slightly, which meant my mother had gotten herself out of bed. The last thing I wanted was for her to hear this conversation. I pushed up off the couch.

“Sure,” I said.

He stood up, too. “Great.”

My expression managed to stay neutral as he left, but the moment the door closed I seemed to lose control over my body. I burned like a star and smiled until my cheeks were sore.

Later, the terror settled in: I was going to a dance. How did dances work? And what if I did something wrong?





I had no idea what people were supposed to wear to this kind of thing, and it didn’t help that I basically had only one day to figure it out. In the end, Caro got Cheslin to lend me some of her dresses, and I chose one that was delicate and airy, the aquamarine chiffon draping down to my ankles.