Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits #1)(29)

I gestured to the third painting. “Abstract expressionist?”

Her boisterous laughter vibrated in the room. She adjusted her black horn-rimmed glasses. “Lazy student who thought art would be an easy A. She claims to be an impressionist.”

“What an insult.”

“I know. I asked if she knew what an impressionist was and when she shook her head, I showed her your paintings.” Nancy stared at the mess in front of her as if trying to find something redeemable in it. “I’ve missed you.”

Familiar guilt tiptoed through my insides. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, kid. It’s not your fault. Your father informed me you were no longer allowed to take an art class. I took that to mean I’d never see you.”

I walked to the fourth picture. “Nice lines.”

“Are you still painting?”

Hoping to make it look like I was extremely interested in the color chosen for the banana, I tilted my head, but I wasn’t. The black hole in my mind widened, interrupting any thought of painting. “No, but I still sketch. Mostly in pencil. Some with charcoal at home.”

“I’d love to see them.”

Nancy snatched the sketchbook I pulled from my backpack. She sat on the table with the fruit and flipped it open. “Oh, Echo. Simply amazing.”

I shrugged, but she missed it, too infatuated with my sketchbook. “We won.”

She tore her eyes away from the sketches and stared at me in silence. I continued to busy myself with the other artists’ work. After a few seconds, she returned to studying my drawing of Grace. “No, you won. I was merely along for the ride.” She paused. “You remember?”

“No.” Surely Nancy would take pity on me and fill in some of the gaps. “Were you there?”

“Mmm, girlfriend. You’re itching to get me in trouble with your father and Mrs. Collins. Your father I could take, but Mrs. Collins?” She shuddered. “Between you and me, she scares me. It’s the friendly ones that’ll get you in the end.”

I snickered, missing Nancy’s honesty. “I wish I could remember.” The fifth canvas was completely blank. The oil paints and brushes sat unused. “Do you mind?”

In her classic deep-in-thought stance, Nancy rubbed the bottom of her chin. “He only said you couldn’t take an art class, not that you couldn’t paint.”

I picked up a flat brush, dipped it into the black paint and made circles on the canvas. “It’s like I have this large black hole in my brain and it’s sucking the life out of me. The answers are in there so I sit for hours and stare. No matter how hard and long I look, I only see darkness.”

I chose a fan brush and mixed black and white paint together to create different shades of gray. “There are edges around the black and every now and then a flash of color streaks out of the gray. But I can never really grasp any of the slivers of memories that emerge.”

Clutching the paintbrush, I stared at the canvas that now represented my brain. “I wish someone would just tell me the truth and end the madness.”

A warm hand pressed hard against my shoulder, causing me to blink out of my zone. Wow, five o’clock. Dad would kill me if I didn’t get home soon. Nancy kept her hand on my shoulder and her eyes locked on the canvas. “If this is madness, then madness is brilliant. Are you going to finish this?”

For the first time in two years I felt like I could breathe. “You mind me hanging out after school?”

IN THE FIGURE BELOW, RAY AB was constructed starting from rays AC and AD. By using a compass, C and D were marked equidistant from A on rays AC and AD. The compass was then used to locate a Point Q, distinct from A, so that Q is equidistant from C and D. For all constructions defined by the above steps, find the measures of BAC and BAD.

If Aires was here, he would know what to do.

I mean, come freaking on—was there even a question in there? If so, simple English required a question mark. Was the triangle-looking drawing below supposed to help? Did I need a compass? And why did the answers below have numbers? There weren’t any freaking numbers in the story problem.

“Breathe, Echo,” Aires would tell me. “You’re psyching yourself out. Take a break and come back to it later.”

And he was right. Aires was always right. God, I missed him.

I tossed the ACT study book to the floor and rested my head on the back of the couch. I hated this room. Tacky pink flowered wallpaper hung on the walls to match the tedious curtains and upholstery. The moment she kicked my mother out the door, Ashley traumatized all interior designers of the world with her redecorating. She may have glued paper on the wall to wipe out my mother’s influence, but I knew what remained underneath—the mural of Greece my mother had painted.

I typically studied in Aires’ car, but Ashley had nagged at me until I lugged my books back into the house. I must have killed a lot of cows in a past life for Karma to hate me this much. Maybe I’d died two years ago and unknowingly entered hell. Doomed to spend the rest of eternity living with my father and stepmother and retaking the ACT over and over again.

“How was dance team practice today?” Ashley asked. The Wicked Witch and my father walked into the living room hand in hand. Good God, I must have died, because I’d hate to see the real thing if this wasn’t hell.