“Are we going out to celebrate?” Mrs. Wells asked.

“I have to run, but have fun,” I said.

“Where are you going?” Cooper asked me. “You don’t want to celebrate?”

“I have that museum preschool group thing, remember?”

“Oh, right.” He gave me a side hug.

I pushed him away a little. “Ew. You’re sweaty.”

He laughed. “It’s hot. And this is ‘winner glow.’”

“Congrats on your win. I’ll see you later?”

“Yes. For sure.”

I said bye to everyone else and left with only one backward glance. It wasn’t a good move on my part, because all I saw was Cooper giving Iris another hug and his family all smiles.

“Are you a painter?” It was the second time the little girl had asked me that question. I had led the group and their parents through over half of the museum at a faster rate than I would’ve an older group. I was surprised their attention spans had lasted this long. This was the first tour I had personally led, but I’d watched what felt like a thousand. I didn’t think I’d be this excited to lead one, but I was enjoying opening their eyes to art, even if they weren’t quite getting it. A little boy in the back of the group head-butted his mom’s leg over and over. I sensed I was seconds from losing them. But this little girl, the one in the front, with big brown eyes and pigtails, was paying attention. And apparently she knew a nonanswer when she heard one, because she didn’t accept my “I like art” answer.

“Yes, I paint.”

“Show us your painting here,” she said.

I straightened the museum blazer I wore. “I don’t have a painting here. These are famous artists on display. And once a year, we have an art show with amateur art that people can buy.”

“So that’s when we can see your paintings?”

“Maybe.” I clapped my hands together. “But right now, I’m going to show you some really famous works of art.” I was deflecting a four-year-old’s question. How pathetic was I?

I led the kids down the hall and into the room where I had hung all their drawings, lower on the wall than the other paintings, so they could see easier. I’d even rearranged some spotlights to highlight them.

This focused the previously restless group.

I spoke in an official tour guide voice as I said, “Art from the Schoolhouse Preschool is on display today. This is a rare exhibit that we’ve never had before, so it’s extra special.” The kids pointed out their own drawings with loud voices. Even the parents and teacher seemed more animated than they had been until then. I noticed Mr. Wallace in the back. He gave me a thumbs-up. As the group filed out, Mr. Wallace walked with them, talking to the teacher as he went.

I began taking the drawings down one by one. The skill level of the four-year-olds was more or less the same. They could draw circles with eyes on them and sticks for legs and arms. They could draw a sun or a rough tree. But there was one drawing that was quite good, that was well above the skill level of the others. This was how I’d been with my art at a young age, ahead of the curve. This was what prompted my parents to put me in classes.

Feet scuffing along tile caught my attention, and I looked up.

Cooper’s smile greeted me.

“You’re here,” I said both surprised and happy.

“Do you know how tempted I was to sneak up and scare you? What had your undivided attention?”

I held up the drawing I’d been looking at. It was a girl standing under a rainbow. It was obvious it was a girl; she had more than just a circle head. She had arms and legs and a body. She wore a purple dress.

“Cute,” he said. “Did you draw that?”

“Funny. No. A four-year-old drew this.”

“Is Mr. Wallace putting it in the show?” His voice was sarcastic.

“Shhh,” I hissed. “Don’t say stuff like that here. He’s everywhere.” I looked around, but the room was empty.

“Maybe I should say stuff like that here. Maybe it will make him think.”

I sighed and pulled down the remaining drawings.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. “What was I supposed to notice about that four-year-old’s drawing?”

“Probably nothing.” This child’s picture may have been ahead of the curve now, but everyone would catch up with her soon enough. I stacked the papers together and looked up at him. “I thought you were out with your family.”

“We just grabbed dessert this time, so we’re done. And I have something for you.”

“Okay.”

“We were leaving the Cheesecake Factory and they had one more piece of white chocolate raspberry left. One! And I thought, it’s fate. Or whatever you like to call it.” He brought the white bag with colorful stripes out from behind his back.

“You’re the best.”

“I know. Now come on. Let’s go sit on the overlook so you can share that with me.”

That night I went home and set up a small canvas. I painted a fish. At first I painted it realistic, as if viewing it underwater. But I realized it didn’t feel right. How I’d been feeling at the spa, how I’d felt at Cooper’s race that day, didn’t match up with what I’d created. I changed the painting. I made the fish warped, bent at a weird angle, its parts not aligned quite right. I made the water around it choppy, almost murky, unclear. I stepped back and studied the final product. That was how I felt.

NINETEEN

How had I never gone to a typical party before? What was I supposed to wear? Sundress? Shorts and a tank top? Something fancier? Was I supposed to put on more makeup than normal? I thought about calling Lacey to ask, but I felt stupid. I should’ve known this stuff. Plus, she was probably busy setting up for her party. I called Cooper instead.

Cooper picked up after three rings. “You’re not bailing on this thing, are you?”

“No. Elliot is picking me up in an hour.”

“Wait, what? I thought you’d drive yourself so you wouldn’t be trapped there.”

“I know. It was a moment of weakness. The real question is, what are you wearing?”

“You need to say that in a sexier voice for that line to work. Like this: What are you wearing, baby?” That last line he said low and raspy.

“Gross. I wasn’t trying to be a pervert. I meant it for real. What are you wearing to this thing?”

“Oh.”

I could almost see him look down at his outfit. Like he was just now, with the question, discovering what he was actually wearing. “Shorts and a T-shirt.”

“Not helpful.”

“Wear a sundress and flip-flops. Mascara. Some lip gloss.”

My mouth opened and then shut again.

“I pay attention to what girls wear, Abby.”

“Thank you! Now I need to go get ready.”

“I’ll see you in a bit. Look for us when you guys get there.”

“I will.” I had already planned on it. He was the conversation starter and kept the conversation going and knew when to end the conversation. He made being social so much easier.

Elliot arrived at my door right on time. He looked nice, in a collared polo and cargo shorts. His normally untamed dark curls were styled off his forehead. My grandpa answered. “Elliot, good to see you. Come in.”