“I don’t. I just heard his name when someone pointed him out.”
“Why did Audrey call him ‘Jack’?” she questions further.
I shrug. “I have no idea. I just looked around the corner as she asked the question. I don’t know who she was asking or if she was asking anyone in particular.”
“It looked like she was asking you.”
“She wasn’t.” Lies. All lies. She totally was asking me. I’m going to get a huge pimple on my tongue with all the lies I’m telling.
“I guess I’ll ask her, then.”
“Sounds like the best thing to do.”
I need to find Jesus. Is it too late for that? Am I destined for Hell?
Ellen’s still glaring, and I toss her another fake smile.
Looks like Hell for me.
We’re instructed to draw anything we feel inspired by. I have no idea what I’m going to draw until my charcoal hits the pad. Lots are just using pencil, but I prefer charcoal. I wish I hadn’t. It’s so much easier for Mrs. Gibson to see and, crap, she’s heading this way with a look of pure elation on her face.
“This is wonderful, Jillie,” she praises, and it’s so loud that everyone looks at my work. Oh boy.
It’s an evil version of Ellen. Her crystal crown having fallen off her head and just hitting the ground. The part that hits the cracked blackened ground shatters into sparkling splinters. Ellen’s expression one of horror as her faceless king stands behind her, not even looking in her direction. Her not-so-loyal subjects are, though. They’re pointing. Some gasping. Some laughing.
I really do need Jesus. This is mean. My thoughts have been mean. I am not a mean girl. Really, this isn’t me. How did I get to be like this? This isn’t New Jillie, either. This is Evil, Mean Girl Jillie, and I don’t like her. Not one little bit.
“It’s not wonderful, Mrs. Gibson. It doesn’t come from a good place,” I admit.
“Not all art comes from a good place, Jillie. Sometimes the best art comes from the worst place,” she informs me.
“I don’t like this side of me.”
“No artist does, but if you don’t purge the bad sometimes, it’ll overflow into everything you do. Isn’t it better to get it out on the canvas or sketch pad, as it were?”
I nod. “Definitely.”
“Look at your work, what you’ve just created, from a different perspective. Look what you were able to create. Look at yourart.”
I step back and look. I guess it’s pretty good. I’m really glad I deliberately made the face blurry so no one can tell it’s Evil Ellen on this page—no one but me, that is.
That’s the way it’s going to stay.
