Daisy bites back a huge smile and nods toward the entrance on the far side of the room. Ava steps in and brightens like a light bulb when she sees us. My mom stops behind her, her eyes widening as she scans the barn, and my dad follows. Ava plows into me with a hug before I can process that they’re here.
“This issocool. Daze, isn’t this so cool?”
She laughs, a sound that gets better and richer and more beautiful every time I hear it.
“It’s the coolest,” she says.
“Everyone at school was talking about tonight. I’m kinda popular now since I know you both. Also.” Her voice drops, and she leans toward me with a conspiratorial look on her face. She juts her chin at one of the attendees. “That’s Z.”
“Oh.” My brows shoot up when I see the girl in question. She has a wild mane and a big smile, and she’s looking right at my sister.
“Stop staring,” Ava urges me, keeping her lips as still as possible so it sounds more like “Stah stahing.”
“Why are you talking like a ventriloquist?”
“In hase she can hread liss.”
Daisy loops her arm through Ava’s. “C’mon. I wanna meet this Z person.” They walk off, glued to each other’s side, as my mom approaches. Ava had every right to tell them, but I didn’t expect either of my parents to show up. My entire body tenses, preparing for a fight. I’ve never worked so hard or been so proud of a pop-up before. If they’ve got anything nasty to say, even anything mediocre, I don’t want to hear it.
“You’re here,” I say, readying myself for the disheartened looks and disinterested conversation.
“I managed the time off,” my mom says stiffly. “So you…you organized all this?”
I clear my throat, taken aback that she wants to know anything about what I do. I learned pretty quickly that not inviting mymom and dad to my shows meant avoiding disappointment altogether.
“Me and Daisy,” I say. “We were in charge of everything.”
Everything.Even with the pop-ups I did at Impressions, I was never as hands-on as I was withDesert Daze. A few months back, I didn’t know I could pull this off.
“Well, it’s impressive,” my mom hums. “Very.”
I wait for thebut… When I realize that’s not coming, I say a quiet, “Thanks.”
My dad scans the room.
“No Van Gogh,” I say, half joking. “Sorry.”
“No, I was—” He cranes his head toward the entryway. “Is there a docent?”
“A docent?”
“Yes, someone who’s like a tour guide but for—”
“I know what a docent is.” I exhale. Of all the things they’d judge me on tonight, their respect for my career hinges on our having a docent. “There isn’t, sorry. Maybe…” A student could give them a brief tour, but they’re also teenagers high on nerves and hormones. I don’t trust that combination. “I’ll show you around.”
Rather than divide the floor up into student work and professional work, everything blends together. The variety creates a sense of adventure. Every new piece and every turn brings an unexpected experience. My dad remains quiet, but my mom nods along and asks questions that prove she has a genuine interest in tonight. I think this is her making an effort.
Ava returns, and I’m about to scour the room for Daze when my sister lets out a dramatic gasp. She points to a drawing on the wall.
“Who didthis? Has she seen it?”
“That’s mine,” I say, scratching the back of my head. “No, not yet.”
“Oooooh.” Ava waggles her brows, and I shoot her a glare.
“You drew this?” my mom asks, her brows raised.
I nod at my portrait of Daisy, the one from the first day of class. During the past couple of months, whenever I had some spare time and Daisy’s face was fresh in my mind—which was always—I returned to it. Perfected the shadows. Added in the freckles I’ve now memorized. Deepened her gaze. Being back in the desert has gotten me back in touch with my artistic roots, and that funneled into my perspective forDesert Daze. Or maybe that was just Daisy.
