Page 108 of I Wish You All the Best

“That day we got the paint from the art room, you acted like you were going to say something. What was it?”

“You remember that?” He chuckles.

“I think it was the only time I’ve seen you speechless.” I nudge him. “Come on.” I make my voice deeper, sounding as serious as I can. “What do you feel when you see them?”

“That’s a terrible accent.”

“I sound scholarly,” I argue. “Now stop avoiding the question.”

“Your paintings seem … complicated.”

I freeze; okay, not really expecting that. “What do you mean?”

“It’s … nothing,” he says, and then he starts to laugh for no reason. “Nothing, I swear.”

“No,” I say. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know, I feel like I can see you in them. That probably doesn’t make any sense.”

Not really. But I want to hear him out on this. “Keep talking.”

“Like the Pollock one, I don’t know, it seems bright and active. But, like, really dark at the same time. If that even makes sense.” He takes a slow breath. “I think it’s the painting that feels most like you.”

“That one was just some assignment. Mrs. Liu wanted me to show her freshman class how Pollock painted.”

“Still, it feels like you.” He laughs again. “Like a very ‘Ben-ish’ painting.”

“‘Ben-ish’?” I say. “Huh.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, no.” I glance toward him, and then back to the painting. “I get it.” At least, I think I do.

“The one of the bird feels lonely,” Nathan keeps going. “Like you’ve got all this empty space, even though it’s this huge canvas.”

“You should critique art,” I say.

“Or maybe I’ll just critique you.” He winks.

“That might be your worst line yet.” But I can still feel my face getting a little hot, and I can’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds.

I wait for him to keep going, to say something about his portrait, but I guess he’s already told me everything he needs to say about it. The bright colors, the angle. “Do you want to walk around?” I ask him.

“Yeah, why not?”

But the second we round the corner, my eyes find the front doors of the school. And the two people walking right through them.

“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath.

Mom and Dad are here.

“No. No, no, no, no.”

Nathan freezes. “What are they …”

I have to think fast. “Listen, please find Hannah and Thomas,” I say just low enough so that only Nathan will hear me. “Distract them, keep them away from my section, okay?”

“Got it.” Nathan nods and runs off, glancing down the aisles.