Stars flash before my eyes as every molecule of air evaporates from my lungs.
I won?
I can’t move or speak. All I can do is stare at the stage as they carry my painting up the steps.
Wait? Why are there two panels up there? I only submitted one.
The painting I submitted is hanging on the left side of the display wall, now placed at the center of the stage. My piece depicts an incomplete oil painting of a lush, mountainous landscape wrapped in an intricate golden frame, being pawed at, ripped, and shredded from three sides by a wave of greedy human hands.
But the canvas hanging on the right side of the display wall, right next to mine, is completely alien to me, and yet it’s almost a direct mirror image. The second painting completes the image of my cut-off landscape portrait, only the hands that are touching this side of the painting are depicted as being burned, frozen, and decayed. As if this half of the portrait was magic, injuring anyone who dared touch it.
Alone, my painting is interesting, perhaps, or at the very least adequate. Buttogether... Together, the panels fit like two pieces of the same puzzle. If the shock hadn’t already taken my breath away, these paintings would have.
“Oh, darling,” Mom murmurs in my ear, finally reminding me to breathe. “It’s magnificent.”
“I knew you were talented, Bug, but this is extraordinary,” Dad agrees, holding his phone up over the crowd to try and show Grayson, who I guess Dad had video called at some point over the last minute.
“Pretty,” Everly squeals from her position barnacled against my knee.
“I—but, that’s not—”
“Maeve, everyone’s waiting for you,” Noah says as he urges me toward the stage. “Go up there.”
Dazed, I comb through the mass of people, climb the stage steps, and approach Daniel.
“Congratulations, Maeve.” He’s positively beaming. “Your two-piece submission blew the judges away. If anybody deserves this honor, it’s you.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, my mind moving too slowly to fully process the scene unfolding around me. I risk a glimpse at the crowd and am partially blinded by the spotlights, but the few folks that I can make out are clapping and cheering wildly.
My mind continues to shut down as Daniel concludes the rest of the competition announcements, and when he’s finished, I stagger back toward my family and Noah on autopilot, clumsily bumping into strangers. I accidentally stumble into someone particularly hard, and it only takes me a moment to realize I recognize them as I lift my gaze to apologize.
A black mask with a white-lined smile. One eye green, one blue. The student from the dorm roof.
I startle, almost tripping in surprise.
I thought I’d never see them again. This is it. My second chance.
The not-so-strange stranger reaches out to steady me, their skin warm against my cool wrist. The contact sends jolts of nervous electricity shooting down my spine.
“Careful there,” they say, tone swinging low.
“I know you,” I murmur hoarsely.
“You do?” they ask.
“I—”
Their gaze floats toward the stage. “That’s a beautiful painting up there, on the left.”
“Thank y—”
On the left?
“Do you know something about the painting on the right?” I ask in a hushed tone, stepping closer to ensure they’ll hear me. Our faces are mere inches apart. Without the mask, I’d be able to feel their breath on my cheek.
Faster than seems possible, the cool air between us heats; goosebumps erupting along my arms at the sudden change in temperature. “Oh, I know everything about the painting on the right.”
My breath hitches, my chest still too tight to breathe right.
