I stared at the big bag of pot I had kept sitting in my cupboard for almost three days now. I was torn. I needed to make money fast, but I also wanted to try and tread the straight and narrow. It had been two weeks since Zoe had moved in and things had been going great. We got along amazing, and we had great conversations.

We had even gotten into the habit of having breakfast together and sometime we had dinner together too. Usually, it was in front of the television, and it was some lackluster meal that the two of us had prepared together because we were both on a budget, but it was still great. I realized that I was actually having fun. Despite my community service, my life was taking a turn for the better.

The one thing that wasn’t really going according to plan was the money situation. I still hadn’t been able to find a proper job, and without one, my savings were dwindling fast. I still needed to meet my side of the rent, and if I wanted to focus on my art, I needed steady money coming in. I had been unceremoniously rejected by the jobs I’d applied for, mostly because with a little bit of digging they could find out that I was currently doing community service for dealing pot.

I knew it was a stupid idea to go back to dealing… especially so soon after being dragged into court, but I was on a high. Life was good now that Zoey had moved in and I wanted to be able to show her that I wasn’t just some loser struggling to make ends meet. I wanted to show her that I was going to make something of myself. That she could rely on me for anything… including financial stability.

I knew I was probably thinking too far ahead, but there was something about this girl that made me feel… like I needed to do better. I justified my decision to sell pot again by telling myself that it was only temporary. If I actually managed to get my work displayed in a few galleries and I started selling my paintings, then I could put the pot dealing behind me for good.

I had a meeting with a gallery owner in a short while. If he liked my stuff, then it was possible he would showcase my work in the exhibition he was putting on a few weeks from now. I wanted to make a good impression, and I had been working on my portfolio for over a week now. Zoey had even helped me put it together, and that experience had convinced me that she was perfect for me.

I had decided that if I managed to get my work exhibited and I earned some money off my paintings, then I would not only quit selling pot but I would also come clean with Zoey at last and tell her the truth about my beginnings. Surely, she would understand why I needed to sell pot right? I was doing it to support my aspirations of becoming an artist. We were so similar; I couldn’t imagine her not seeing things my way.

I hid the pot at the back of my closet in an old shoebox, and then I made a call to Larry Kendrick. He had been one of my best customers, and I needed someone I trusted… more or less… to spread the word. I needed to make some money fast. Between my time at the station and with all the time I’d spent on my portfolio in anticipation of this meeting with the gallery owner, I hadn’t had time to keep the job search going.

I’d been forced to dip into my savings, and now my bank balance had dropped so significantly that it was making me nervous. I had decided that pot was my only option… it was a déjà vu moment, but I refused to change the narrative and go to my parents for help. They wouldn’t actually help me in any case. They would just laugh at my face and then tell me I had dug my own grave. I didn’t need the aggravation, and I refused to give them the satisfaction of feeling as though they were right.

“Hello, Larry?”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s me… Devlin.”

“Devlin?” Larry asked, in surprise. “Last I heard, you’d been busted.”

“Well, that’s sort of true.”

“What’d you get?”

“Six months community service.”

“Huh… you got off easy.”

“I thought so at the time too,” I said. “Community service is no piece of cake.”

“You still drawing?” Larry asked, with mild amusement. He had always been amused by my love for painting. I think he felt like it wasn’t a real job for a man.

“I am.”

“You sure you’re not gay?”

I smiled. “I’m not,” I said. “Not that there would be anything wrong with being gay.”

“Course not, man,” Larry said quickly. “I got a cousin who’s gay. We don’t see him much but there you go.”

I smiled at the lack of understanding, but I wasn’t about to lecture him on social awareness. I needed something from him.

“So, Larry… I just wanted to let you know, if you need something to take the edge off… I’m your man.”

There was a pause. “What the fuck do you mean?”

I sighed inwardly. Larry wasn’t always the smartest tack out there, and I realized I might have to spell it out for him.

“I’m dealing again, Larry,” I said. “You know I got good quality shit.”

“Seriously?” Larry asked. “You’re dealing…”

“Yeah.”

“You just got busted for dealing.”

“But I didn’t get jail time. No one’s watching me.”

“That’s what you say… how do I know you’re not a narc?”

“Come on,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t be ridiculous. Weren’t you happy with my product before?”

There was another pause. “I have missed the shit you were pushing… it was top quality.”

“See?” I nodded. “My supplier well respected in the community.”

“What community?” Larry asked.

I rolled my eyes. “The pothead community.”

Larry laughed. “Dope… ok, I gotcha,” he said. “How about we meet at our old spot and have a pow-wow?”

“Sure,” I nodded. “Oh, and one more thing… let your friends know that I’m in business again. But trusted people only, please… I don’t need the cops on my tail again.”

“Got it, man.”

I hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. If I kept this up, then I would have a couple of thousand in my pocket by the end of the week. I could make rent, save some of it and have enough left over to take Zoey out for a nice meal. I could always cover it up as a thank you for helping me with my portfolio.

Feeling very satisfied with myself I grabbed my portfolio and headed into the city to meet with Gordon Chadwick. He was the owner of White Lines Gallery. It was a relatively small space and a relatively unknown gallery, but I needed to start somewhere. He was willing to meet me, and that was all that mattered.

When I got to the gallery, I was greeted by a tall, skinny woman with pointed features and a face that looked painted on. She was wearing an impeccable white suit, and I knew she was part of the look that Gordon Chadwick wanted to emulate. I was shown to his office at the back of the gallery, and I had to wait almost half an hour before he let me in.

Gordon Chadwick turned out to be a short, balding man with a burgeoning potbelly. He had seedy blue eyes and a false smile that was far too shrewd.

“Mr. Danvers,” he greeted, as he extended his hand out towards me. “Welcome.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Mr. Chadwick,” I said, sitting down.

“I’m always interested in cultivating new talent,” he said. “Unfortunately I don’t have a lot of time to give you. This will have to be fast… I’m afraid that puts a lot of pressure on you to make an impression.”

I raised my eyebrows, realizing that he wasn’t going to help me at all. I cleared my throat, projected an aura of confidence and pushed the large portfolio folder in my hands towards him.

“Well, in that case,” I said. “I’ll let my work speak for itself.”

Gordon seemed impressed with that move. I knew he wasn’t the type of guy who would fall for a lot of talk. I needed to show him what I could do. He zoomed through my portfolio, giving each picture of my work perhaps three seconds of attention each. I felt my optimism drop. What if he was speeding through them because he didn’t like what he was seeing?

It had taken me a long time to get this interview with him in the first place. Persistence was the only thing that had helped me here. If he turned me down, then I was back to square one with nothing to show for all my hard work.

“Interesting,” Gordon said, closing the portfolio and pushing it back towards me.

“Interesting?” I repeated, unsure what that meant.

“You play in many different mediums?”

“I don’t like to limit myself,” I said, reminding myself to stay confident even if I didn’t feel it.

“Your subject matter is all over the place too… but it’s very compelling.”

“That was my goal.”

Gordon rested his face on his hand for a moment while he studied me carefully. “Have you been exhibited anywhere else?”

“Only a few shows in college,” I admitted.

“But none in any galleries in the city since then?”

“No.”

“Hmm… well then, if I agree to take a chance on you… I’d be doing you a favor.”

I hesitated for a second. “Actually, I think I’d be doing you a favor,” I said.

He stared at me and then smiled in amusement. “Do explain that.”

“I’m going to be a big name someday,” I said. “Everyone’s going to know my work; everyone’s going to fight to own a Devlin Danvers painting one day. Don’t you want to be the one to say that you were the gallery owner who gave me my start? Don’t you want to say that you spotted my talent before anyone else did?”

Gordon narrowed his shrewd eyes at me and pursed his lips. “I’m not usually a fan of arrogance, but in this industry, I think sometimes it’s necessary,” he said. “And you’re the only one who’s given me a sales pitch that’s not half bad. So…”

“So?”

“I will exhibit your work here,” Gordon said, and I tried not to jump out of my seat. “Keep this portfolio with me. I’ll go through it again and pick the five paintings I like best. Those will be the ones on display. I’ll price them as well and send you the details. The gallery keeps twenty percent of whatever you make on each painting.

“Twenty percent?” I asked. “That’s steep.”

“And non-negotiable,” Gordon said.

I knew better than to push that point. I nodded. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

The moment I stepped out of the gallery, I took a deep breath and let joy fill my lungs. I immediately grabbed my phone and texted Zoey. “Guess what? We have a big reason to celebrate tonight. It’s time to party and party hard. Get your dancing shoes on.”

I sent the text and then gave calls to Beatz, Roy, and Ethan. They would get the word out about the party tonight. I went to the station to report for my community service and spent four hours there, checking my phone continuously for a reply from Zoey.

I all but raced home wanting to tell her all about the meeting and get ready for the party, but when I opened the door to the apartment, something didn’t feel right. I saw one of Zoey’s suitcases by the door, and I could hear her moving things around in her room.

“Zoey?” I said, making my way to her room. The door was wide open, and she was folding clothes and packing them into a small carry-on.

She turned downcast eyes towards me, and I realized how tired she looked.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

She sighed. “I’m leaving, Devlin.”