“Yes,” I answer through tight lips. “But I really don’t think I deserve all of this attention. I’m not even that—”
Emmy cuts me off. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
“Emmy’s right,” Zayne continues. “If you finish that sentence, you’ll be discrediting yourself. Would you allow a surgeon to operate on you if the first thing out of their mouth was, ‘I’m not eventhat good.’ Absolutely fucking not. The vast majority of people on this planet can’t do what we can. We might think everyone can create art like we can, if they were just given the opportunity, but that’s a lie we tell ourselves to dull our shine. We are artists, so we should damn well act like it.”
For a long moment, I’m quite literally too stunned to speak.
“You’re good, Maeve,” he finishes. “Just take the attention as a compliment like Emmy said, and move on.”
Everyone at the table resolves to eat their lunch, falling into amicable silence.
Eventually, Iris comments, “I know you can’t post the painting from class, but you should definitely post the painting you did over the weekend. The one depicting the world turned on its axis. It’s too good not to share.”
Taken aback, I ask, “You think?”
“Definitely,” she confirms with a nod.
“Plus, you’re a mini socialite at Lizbeth now,” Emmy chimes in breezily. “You need to keep your new fans appeased.”
“Right.” A humorless laugh escapes my lips. “Fans.”
Franco bumps my shoulder before speaking low into my ear so the others can’t hear, “I know it’s disorienting, but you’ll get used to it—the popularity, I mean. Plus, you’ve got us to help you through it.”
“Thanks,” I whisper back, the terrible tension in my shoulders abating.
While I walk to my next class, I post the photo of the painting Iris was referring to. It depicts a person walking around a busy city street in a world that’s been turned on its head. They’re walking on clouds while the people around them are walking on the ground, far, far above them.
That’s what being at Lizbeth feels like right now, especially after that dangerous look the scowling person gave me in class—like I was public enemy number one. And with my newfound popularity on social media, the inevitable haters have started coming out of the woodwork. Though few and far between, it’s impossible not to notice them, their black-and-white insults somehow louder than the overwhelming praise.
It’s like I’m walking on the clouds, terrifyingly immune to gravity, while everyone else around me is going on with their lives as normal. Right now, nothing feels normal. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get back to normal again.
12Rendition
I’ve only been at Lizbeth for half a week, but already, trying to keep up with coursework, social media, old store orders, and my newly booming social life feels like swimming against a too-strong current. One minute I’m gaining an inch, and the next I’m losing a mile. I’m exhausted and floundering. But I’m not alone. Everywhere I look students are floundering.
Emmy covers the dark circles beneath her eyes with layers of concealer, and Iris nurses a full-blown caffeine addiction with at least three iced lattes a day. And, to be honest, I have no idea how Franco or Zayne are faring. I haven’t had an opportunity to ask them. Every time I’ve seen them at lunch this week, their noses have been in a book or turned toward their phones, making small talk utterly pointless.
“I’m exhausted,” I complain to the others at our usual lunch table. The dark, ominous clouds hovering above us look liable to weep at any moment. Shivering, I pull my rain jacket tighter around me.
After swallowing a mouth full of food, Franco murmurs, “Get used to it.”
“Yeah, just accept the fact that you won’t be sleeping again until Thanksgiving break,” Iris chimes in over her burrito bowl. I’m grateful she’s moved past her ‘hazing the new girl’ phase.
“I wouldn’t have expected an art school to push their students so hard,” I say.
“Have you been living under a rock?” Zayne remarks snidely.
Emmy chides, “Rude.”
“I’m just saying it’s a problem within our society as a whole. This university doesn’t exist in a vacuum. We’re a capitalistic society, remember? So, we value productivity and commerce above all else. If you’re not grinding to the bone, you’re worthless. Period.”
Unease churns my stomach, annihilating my appetite. As I set my veggie wrap down, I reply, “I guess I’ve never really thought about it like that.”
Zayne nods but doesn’t respond. He’s tired too.
After a few beats of uneasy silence, I ask, “Hey, Zayne, can I ask a favor?”
He shrugs, meeting my gaze with bloodshot eyes. “Depends on what it is.”
