“It was three hours, Mom. Three hours talking about glaze techniques.”
Anna sighed. “Fine. I’ll wait in the car. Or go get my canvases. Or get coffee. There’s coffee near here, right?”
“There’s coffee everywhere. This is California.”
Stella’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t have to look to know who it was. Fiona had called twice this morning already, plus a voicemail Stella still hadn’t played.
She silenced it without checking.
“You okay?” Bea asked.
“Fine. Just... not ready yet.”
The school appeared around the corner—familiar now after the visit with Tyler. Same beige buildings, same palm trees, same outdoor walkways. But today felt different. Today she wasn’t here for paperwork and requirements. Today she was here to see what her life might actually look like.
Anna pulled into the visitors’ lot. “Text me when you’re done. I’ll be at the coffee place on the corner.”
“The good one or the bad one?”
“There’s a bad one?”
“Mom. We’ve discussed this.”
“Just text me.” Anna waved them out. “Go. Have your formative educational experience.”
Bea grabbed Stella’s arm and pulled her toward campus. “Come on. Before she changes her mind about the art teachers.”
Bea pulled Stella through the campus gates. “Are you excited?” she asked.
“I’m not— okay, maybe I’m a little excited.” Bea slowed down marginally. “You saw the guidance office. Very boring. Very administrative. Now I’m showing you the parts that actually matter.”
“The parts with art supplies?”
“The parts with darkrooms and photography labs and teachers who actually care about what you’re making.” Bea grinned sideways at her. “This is the real tour.”
Bea led her through campus on a different route than before—past the library and the amphitheater, through the senior courtyard with its painted mural.
“Class of 2019 did dolphins,” Bea explained. “Class of 2020 did a sunset. We get to design ours this year.”
“Let me guess. You have ideas.”
“I have a vision. There’s a difference.”
The campus wasn’t as empty as Stella had expected it to be. Bea explained that they were there to change classes or meet with teachers early. They passed students sprawled on benches, athletes heading to practice, a group clustered around someone’s phonewatching something that made them laugh. A few waved at Bea. She waved back without breaking stride.
“Everyone knows you,” Stella observed.
“Small school. Plus I’m memorable.” Bea steered her toward a building marked CREATIVE ARTS WING. “Also I may have been involved in a few... incidents.”
“What kind of incidents?”
“The kind that build character and are no longer discussed in polite company.” She pushed open the door. “Photography lab’s this way. Come on.”
The lab was better than Stella had imagined.
Corner room, north-facing windows, walls covered in student work from what looked like years of accumulated images. Landscapes, portraits, abstract compositions—ambitious and messy and real.
“Told you,” Bea said, watching her face.
