On His Face - Tabatha Kiss Page 0,79

kid sister,” he jokes. He leans forward and kisses me goodbye. “I’ll text you tonight,” he promises.

“I’ll be here,” I say as I heave a sad sigh and sprawl out, “all by myself in this cold, cold bed—”

“Stop it,” he scolds.

I wink.

Chapter 41

Heidi

I stare at the oil painting in front of me. I tilt my head to the side. I squint my eyes.

“Nope,” I say to Jenna. “Still can’t tell what it is.”

Jenna bites her painted lip. “I think it’s a dog.”

“Maybe…”

“Or a duck?”

“What’s the title?” I ask.

We search the table beneath it for the placard.

Jenna reads it aloud. “Electric Ruin?” She scoffs. “Well, that’s no help at all.”

“We must not be smart enough to get it,” I quip.

She pinches her chin, nodding sagely. “Right, right…”

“Great technique, though!”

She gives a serious nod in agreement and we move down the line to the next exhibit.

As I move through this semester’s Art Fest, often shoulder-to-shoulder with bustling art enthusiasts, I feel a little better about skipping out. I don’t think I’m ready to have my work ogled and judged like this just yet. Maybe by next semester, I’ll have some thicker skin.

“Oh, now this,” Jenna says as she waves at what appears to be a sculpture at first glance. “This is art.”

I chortle. “Jenna, that’s a water fountain.”

“Great technique, though!” she jokes.

“If you don’t want to be here, you can go,” I say, smiling. “I really don’t mind.”

“No way! I love this stuff.” She continues forward with me. “Remember the field trip to the Art Center in Des Moines sophomore year? That was fun.”

“You mean the trip where you and Dodger Ryan snuck back on the bus to bang and left me waiting in the courtyard?”

“Yes!” Her smirk fades. “Sorry.”

I grin. “It’s all right. I forgive you.”

“Heidi!”

I spin around at the sound of my name.

“Hey, Professor Wilson!” Jenna and I greet as she wanders toward us.

Wilson pauses in front of us, her grin wide and infectious. “You know, I have to tell you, I was devastated when you said you weren’t entering this year…”

I deflate. “Yeah, I—”

“But I am so glad you changed your mind!”

“I what?”

“I just love your piece and — you didn’t hear this from me — the judges are loving it, too!” she adds with a wink. “We need more artists like you! Ruthless! Fearless! You’ve got a future, kiddo.”

My piece?

I open my mouth to ask, but she hustles off into the crowd, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

“What piece?” I ask anyone who’s listening. “I didn’t submit anything.”

Jenna smirks at my reaction, her devious eyes pointing toward a table the next row over. “I think she might be talking about that piece over there,” she says.

I follow her gaze, and my blood runs cold. I take wide strides over to the table, my jaw dropping more and more the closer I get.

Several of my drawings lie arranged on a large canvas, grouped together to create a disjointed image of a man. His hands. His body. His face.

His...

“Oh, my god,” I say.

Jenna stands beside me and grins. “Gotta hand it to Drew,” she says. “He’s got a nice pecker.”

My cheeks burn. My heart stops.

“What is this?” I ask, too shocked to think for myself.

“It appears to be your submission to the Art Fest.”

“No. I didn’t do this. I didn’t submit anything.”

“I know,” she says. “You didn’t think you were good enough to compete. So, I did it for you.”

I stare at her, cringing at what feels like a knife twisting in my back. “You did this?” I ask.

She holds up her hands. “Now, before you get mad—”

“You did this?!”

“Yes!” she answers. “You needed a little push, so I gave you a shove. It’s what I do! Happy Birthday, by the way. I got you number four on your vision board. You’re welcome.”

Vision board? I don’t give a fuck about my vision board right now.

I take a deep breath as nausea takes over my stomach. Lines of people pass by, each one staring intently at my drawings.

Staring at Drew.

I read the placard along the bottom.

“The Objectified Man?!” I bark at Jenna.

“I thought it had a nice ring to it,” she muses. “And, from what I hear, the judges agree.”

“I don’t care about the judges! Take this down. Now!”

“Oh, calm down, Heidi. It’s art. It’s beautiful. The people love it.”

“No, Jenna, these are drawings of private moments,” I say, losing my cool. “You didn’t have the right to do this!”

“Art is all about exposing beautiful, private moments to the world,” she