This will be the talk of the school for days, I realize,if not weeks.
I don’t even try to bite back the wicked smile that twists my lips.
“Karma really is a bitch,” Franco says with a cackle.
“Oh my god. Look at his face,” Iris agrees, pausing to bark out a hearty laugh. “Now, that’s what I call justice.”
I ask, stunned, “There’s no way he turned in a painting like that though, right?”
“I guess someone could’ve painted over his original work,” Zayne reasons, “or submitted a different piece under his name, but Dean Reithart said the painting was done in Remi’s usual style. Now, I’m no painter, but I think it’d be insanely hard to copy another painter’s technique, wouldn’t it?”
“Probably,” Emmy agrees. “But regardless of whether or not he actually painted the piece himself, the asshole got kicked out for it. He’s gone for good!”
Emmy’s point is bulletproof, but the question sticks like glue regardless. If Remi’s telling the truth, who could have done this? Did they do this for my benefit, or does Remi have more enemies?
Well, shit. Whoever’s to blame, I’m wishing them well.
“Fuck yeah,” Franco yells, punching the air above his head. “Let’s celebrate!”
All of my friend’s eyes swing to me, their collective gazes questioning and eager.What are we going to do next? Your call,they seem to ask in unison.
“Hell yeah,” I agree in a shaky voice. “Let’s drink to the douchebag’s well-earned demise.”
In an instant, I’m being squashed at the center of a group hug and smiling uninhibited for the first time in weeks.
19Opposition
Irun faster when I see him.
“Noah,” I cry as I slam into his chest.
Then his arms are around me and he’s spinning me in a quick circle before the brush of his lips sends a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I haven’t seen him in over a month, since my last night at home before I left for Lizbeth. Being in his arms again feels practically divine.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against my lips.
I pull back far enough to flash him a smile. “Ditto.”
“Where’s my family?” I ask, noticing he’s alone. “You took them up on their offer to carpool for the festival, right?”
“Yeah. Everly had an accident on the ride here, so your parents are changing her. They’ll be here in a minute.”
“Good.” I smirk. “Then we have a minute to ourselves.”
I push him against the cold concrete exterior of my dorm building and kiss him until I feel dizzy. When I finally pull back, Noah’s ears are pink and his blue eyes are sparkling.
“Are you excited for the festival?” he asks breathlessly.
Evading the question, I answer, “I’m excited you’re all here.”
“I can’t wait to see your painting for the competition.”
My stomach drops.
Even though Remi is expelled now and my friends successfully helped me express myself through art again, I found I was still uneasy while painting the piece for the competition. The composition planning didn’t come as naturally as it usually does. I labored over it. Second guessing every decision, every color, every brushstroke. It wasn’t like me, and it didn’t feel good. I found myself asking, in the dark of night, if I really want to do this anymore.
I don’t even know why I’m pursuing this dream. In retrospect, it seems like every choice I’ve ever made has been motivated by other people and how they perceive me. Never for me or for whatIwant.
WhatdoI want?
