He chuckles, low and clearly amused. “Okay, then, almost-nineteen-year-old.” The smirk on his face makes me want to die. “It’s the Rosa Gallery in Decatur. Starts at seven. I’ll let her know you’re coming.”
Is… is he going to be there too? I want to ask, but my throat tightens and the words won’t come out. I don’t trust my voice not to betray me.
“That sounds amazing—I’ll be there.” I say, sounding far more confident than I feel.
This is huge. If I can get my foot in the door, maybe, just maybe, my parents will finally see the value in my art. Maybethey’ll finally believe in me. It’s foolish to hold onto that hope, but I do.
And even if they don’t, I think of how amazing it would be to be recognized by other artists.. To spend an evening playing make-believe, that I belong in a world of color and expression, not stifling expectations.
I realize I’m still standing here, staring at him. Heat creeps up my neck. I murmur a thank you and excuse myself from his classroom, pulse thrumming.
The excitement stays with me, buzzing under my skin, propelling me through the rest of the day.
17
SOPHIE
This has been the longest week of my life. Not at all exaggerating. How minutes can feel like hours is beyond me, each moment heavy with anticipation. Today’s the day. I’m going to the gallery.
I’d roped Sal into being my alibi, though she was all too happy to play along. My mother's anger about last weekend almost ruined my plans, but thankfully, her anger had burned out quickly. After a few days of her berating me for my “poor decisions”, she’d forgotten I was supposed to be grounded. Not that it would have stopped me. I would’ve snuck out if I had to… there is no way I’m missing this.
I arrived at Sal’s early to get ready, knowing my mother would question me getting dressed up for a night in “watching movies”. Sal tears through her closet, hurling dresses my way as I sit cross-legged on her bed, dodging silk and sequins. She’s got enough clothing for an entire army, and she insisted on dressing me for the occasion.
“Something in here has to work,” she mutters, the closet swallowing half of her words. “You’re not wearing sweatpants to an art gallery.”
My mind wanders. Will he be there tonight? Theo. I still haven’t said his name out loud again, haven’t dared to, and I want to know how it feels rolling off of my tongue. My fingers itch with the sudden impulse to look him up online, but before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone and open Facebook.
Theo Hayes.
Damn. There are hundreds of them. I scroll, my heart drumming in my chest, until…there. My breath catches in my throat. His profile picture is about what you’d expect from a 30-something man, him and his dog. Simple and endearing.
A smile tugs at my lips as I stare at his face, forever a creeper. I click through to the rest of his photos, though there aren’t many. His timeline isn’t much different. Either he rarely posts, or his profile is locked down tight.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you? I can cancel my plans!” Sal calls out, the sound high-pitched and breathy, like she’s run a marathon. Sorting through her clothes is hard work.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll be fine!”
Honestly, half of me wants to say yes and drag her with me so I don’t have to do this alone. But the other half, the reckless and foolish part of me, hopes that he will be there… that we will get to spend some time together outside of the school walls. If Sal comes with me, I know I won’t have the same opportunity. I still haven’t told her about the night I spent on his couch, too scared to say the words out loud.
Sal finally emerges, a silky nude dress in one hand and rose-colored, strappy heels in the other. My face immediately morphs into one of skepticism.
“I don’t know… that looks a little too fancy.”
“Just trust me!” She exhales sharply, clearly annoyed with my pessimism. “I looked up Rosa Gallery, it’s aswankyplace. You want to look nice, I promise.”
“Fine, I’ll try it on.” I strip out of my sweatpants and hoodie,dropping them to the floor. I go to grab the dress, but Sal shakes her head and pulls it just out of reach.
“Soph, this is a no-bra dress. Take it off.”
I roll my eyes but follow her orders, hoping the dress has enough coverage to hide my nipples. If not, the bra goes back on. She hands it to me and I step into it, gently. Afraid to ruin the lavish fabric. Pulling it up, I wind my arms through the delicate straps and place them on my shoulders.
The dress is beautiful. I eye myself in the mirror, taking in the way the fabric clings to all the right places, accentuating my curves. It falls just below my knees, and the heels add the perfect pop of color.
I look older. Elevated. The reflection in the mirror isn’t the girl who sits in the back of classrooms doodling in the margins of her notebooks. It’s someone more confident and sophisticated. Someone who’s ready for tonight.
“It’s perfect!” I say, my smile widening. “Thank you.”
“Now sit,” she says, pointing to her vanity. “Time for hair and makeup.”
