I paced my station in Lacey’s heels. I hadn’t had time to shop for my own, and hers were definitely too small. They pinched my toes and rubbed at the side of my foot. But they did look good. What was it she had said about sacrifice?
She’d sent me a text earlier, and I smiled remembering it now.
Good luck. Remember: your lips will change hearts.
The doors hadn’t been opened to the public yet, but they would be soon. I pulled out my phone to look at the time. Six forty-five. Fifteen minutes. I’d told Cooper to wait until eight though, so hopefully he remembered that. It would be better for my mom. I sent him off a quick text just to make sure. Because of my strict charge to avoid him, I hadn’t gone over the schedule with him since a week ago at milk shakes, with Iris listening in.
A low-grade headache pressed at the back of my skull and up into my temples. I hoped it stayed mild.
The other stations around me each had three or four people arranging and rearranging paintings and placards. I twisted my hands around each other, then smoothed my dress again. My mom had helped me put my hair up in a loose twist with strategic pieces left down around my face.
My paintings hung on the wall behind me like a backdrop. I adjusted one of the placards: The Tree of Life. Which was obviously the tree painting. I’d named all my paintings that week. The one of Cooper on the dunes I’d named Fearless. The spotlight from the stage I called New Perspective. The fish-spa fish I’d decided to call Distorted. And finally, the sunrise. For some reason that painting represented all the new things I had tried over the past several weeks with Cooper. A coming to life. That painting was my favorite, mostly because that morning had been my favorite, sitting there and taking it in. So I named the sunrise The Heart List.
I was excited for people to see the paintings. I was especially excited for my mom to see the theater one. It was like a premonition of tonight. She’d finally get to see me in the spotlight.
Mr. Wallace was making the final rounds. He was visiting each artist, asking them if there was anything else they needed. I knew the drill. I just hadn’t been on this side of the drill before. When he reached me, he squeezed my hand. He looked a little more put together tonight. He had on a dark suit that wasn’t quite as big as usual. His gray hair had been cut recently, giving him a more polished look.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Excited.”
His eyes flitted over my paintings. “Good luck,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“You should put your phone away. Try to be as professional as possible.”
“Yes, I was planning on it. Thanks.” I tucked it back into my purse and set my purse on the chair behind a screen I’d set up for my mom. I’d found the pretty painted screen in the back room and thought it would be a perfect place to escape if she needed a breather.
The doors opened seconds later, and then there were people. There were people walking around the museum looking at paintings. Looking at my paintings. I hoped I could keep my excited feet on the ground.
A familiar face came into my view.
“Elliot!” I said. I hadn’t seen him since the party and hadn’t texted him since talking to Tree Man.
“I didn’t realize you were an artist featured here tonight,” he said.
“I wasn’t sure if it was actually happening either.”
“You look great.”
“Thanks.” I stepped aside, because he was trying to peer around me to look at my paintings.
“These are amazing, Abby.”
“Thank you.” I followed him as he stepped in front of each one. “Have you ever entered your sculptures in a show like this?”
“No. I haven’t. I should.” He stood in front of the sunrise now. “I like what you did with color here. Cold to warm.”
It was nice talking to someone my age who understood the nuances in art.
“Have you had a lot of people come by?” he asked.
“I’ve had a few that seemed interested. Lots of lookers.”
Speaking of lookers, a well-dressed older couple came alongside Elliot to look at the sunrise piece. Some patrons were the silent type, and it was nerve-racking not hearing what they thought of my art—good or bad.
“It’s amazing, right?” Elliot asked the man who was closest to him.
“Is it abstract or realism?” the man asked.
“It’s abstract meets realism.”
The man grunted a little, like he wasn’t into twists on classic forms. Then they moved on.
“He’s stupid,” Elliot whispered.
“It’s fine. Art is subjective, that’s what makes it great,” I said. “We each get to love or hate something on our own terms.”
“Well said.”
I turned away from my paintings to face the room again. My feet were killing me. “You haven’t seen my family or Cooper around, have you?”
“Around here?”
I smiled. “No, at the McDonald’s up the street. Of course around here.”
“I haven’t. You want me to go make a loop and see if I can find them?” He pointed to the second level, where the other half of the displays were set up.
“No. That’s okay.” They’d come find me once they were here.
“I’m going to finish my round then. Check out the other artists.”
“Of course. Go. Tell me your favorite when you’re done so I can look at it later.”
“But art is subjective, Abby. You’ll have to pick your own favorite.” He winked at me.
I gave him a shove to help him on his way, and he smiled at me over his shoulder. Then I went back to waiting. After three more groups of people came by my display, I couldn’t help myself, I snuck out my phone and slipped behind the screen.
My phone said it was already eight thirty. Only an hour and a half left of the show. There were three missed calls, all from our home number. None from Cooper. I texted him again: Where are you?! My mom and grandpa are waiting!
I pulled up the Find Your Friend app and tried to locate him, but it said inaccessible. It only said that when his phone was powered off or out of battery.
I quickly dialed the home number. Grandpa picked up after the second ring.
“Where is Cooper?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I was calling you to find out.”
“He hasn’t been here,” Grandpa said.
“How is Mom?”
“She’s okay, but she does much better when things go like she meticulously rehearsed them in her head.”
“I know. Cooper was sick Friday night. Yesterday morning he said he was feeling better, but I haven’t talked to him since then. I wonder if he took a turn for the worse.”
I felt a presence to my left and looked up to see Mr. Wallace. I let out a short yelp of surprise. “I have to go,” I said to Grandpa. “Can you try to call Cooper?”
“I’ll try.”
“Come even if he doesn’t.”
“Without Cooper we have no car. You have it.”
I had forgotten that minor detail. “A cab?”
Grandpa gave an ironic laugh. “You think your mother would get in a cab?”
“No.”
“Either way, Abby, have fun tonight. Don’t pin all your success on your mom.”
I hung up because Mr. Wallace was still there, still staring.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “My mom was supposed to come, and my friend, and I was getting worried. . . .” I trailed off when I realized he didn’t care about my excuses. “I’m sorry.”
“Please try not to show your age tonight, Abby. This isn’t a show about parents seeing their kids’ artwork.”
Ouch. I nodded and stepped out from behind the screen. There was nobody at my station, but I went to stand by my paintings anyway.
Another half hour went by. At least that was my guess. I couldn’t be certain without my phone. My excitement from before was melting to disappointment, and my head started to ache even more. I saw Elliot across the way, and I waved him over.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“What time is it?”
He looked at a smart watch on his wrist. “Five after nine.”
“There’s less than an hour left. Cooper was supposed to get my mom. I have the car. Will you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Text Cooper for me.” I had a feeling his phone wasn’t on, but maybe it was just the Find Your Friend app that wasn’t working. Or my phone was being weird. Or . . . something.
“What’s his number?”
I recited it to him.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Say, Abby is looking for you. Where are you? She said that if you’re not sick, she’s going to break into the nearest science facility, steal their deadliest virus, and release it in your bedroom.”
Elliot raised his eyebrows at me. I watched him type—Abby wants to know where you are—into his phone.
“That works too,” I said.
We both stared at his phone, waiting for a reply. When nothing happened, I sighed.
“Excuse me,” a voice from behind us said. “Are these your paintings?” I turned to see the woman looking at Elliot.
“No,” he said at the same time as I said, “No, they’re mine. Here, let me show them to you.” As I walked her to the nearest one, out of the corner of my eye I caught Mr. Wallace staring in my direction. Had he seen that whole exchange? My grandpa was right, I needed to stop thinking about it and let tonight be about my paintings and not about a breakthrough for my mom . . . or Cooper and me. As I let both of those ideas slip to the floor, my heart followed suit.