in her room.”
Meleika stares at him. “I don’t have a key.”
“You’re joking.”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“But we need the paint, and no one else has a key.” Nathan rubs the back of his neck. “Stephanie’s going to go nuclear.”
“This Stephanie sounds like a piece of work,” I add.
“I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t demanded we call her Your Highness yet,” says Nathan.
“Just go get the key from Mrs. Liu.” Meleika holds up another poster, and I tape the corners down.
“They’re in the auditorium, and the door’s locked.” Nathan drags his hands over his face.
Meleika’s groans echo through the hallway. “What are we supposed to do, then? We aren’t going to have any other time this week to get it done.”
“I have a key,” I say.
They both just look at me like I’ve grown an extra head. “Why do you have a key?” Nathan asks.
“Mrs. Liu gave it to me so I could use the art room during lunch.”
“Great.” Meleika looks at Nathan. “Get the key from Ben and get the paint.”
“I mean, sure.” I reach for the ring of keys in my backpack. “But I’m going with you.”
“Awesome.”
“Oh, you are not ditching me!” Meleika stares at me, her mouth hanging open. “Ben!”
“I’ll be back, I promise.”
“Don’t trust me?” Nathan’s already got my arm, leading me down the hallway.
“I’m not risking anything.” I doubt Mrs. Liu would be angry with me, I mean, it’s just Nathan. But you never know, and I don’t want to risk losing this privilege.
We run to the art building, double-checking each of the doors. Sure enough, all three are locked. I peer through the small glass windows, and four huge cans of paint sit right there on the counter.
I unlock the door and walk in ahead of Nathan, snagging the two cans of paint, handing the other two to Nathan. “Come on, I need to finish helping Mel.”
“Which one is yours?” Nathan asks. It takes me a minute to realize he’s talking about the paintings Mrs. Liu’s hung up on the wall.
I want to tell him we don’t have time, which makes me feel bad, because he’s been nothing but supportive of my art, but he’s only seen my drawings before. Never my paintings, at least not in real life.
“That one.” I point to the drip painting. “And that one.” The one of the cardinal is hanging on the other side of the room.
“Oh.” Nathan gasps, walking right over to the drip painting. “Hmm …”
“What?” I ask. For just the briefest second, I wish I could read minds. I mean, that’d open me up to a whole other slew of problems. But right now, I really want to know what Nathan’s thinking.
“Just … unexpected.”
Unexpected?
Nathan still looks awestruck. “And this one?” He crosses the room in just a few steps, staring at the one of the cardinal. Part of me wants to hide it, because I really don’t think it compares to the drip-style one.
“Yeah. What do you think?” I’m almost scared to ask. He’s liked everything I’ve done before, but I’ve never seen him react this way.
“They’re great!” he says, but something about the way he says it seems un-Nathan.
“They’re fine. It’s really no big deal,” I say. “I probably should’ve worked on it some more.”
“Yeah.” He scoffs. “Right, just don’t forget about me when your paintings hang in the Louvre or something.”
I laugh a little more loudly than I mean to. “Because that will totally happen.”
“Never say never, De Backer.” Nathan starts back toward me, his eyes bouncing between both of my paintings.
“Come on. Mel’s going to kill both of us.”
“Are you going to the game?” Nathan asks.
“It’s funny, Mel asked me the same thing.”
“And?”
I shrug. “Baseball and dances? Not really my thing.”
“You know, prom is in a few months.” He adds that out of the blue.
“Oh yeah?” It’s a hard thing to ignore. Student council’s already ambushing people inside the cafeteria to vote on the theme. “Do y’all ever rest?” I ask.
I’m not saying that two dances in three months seems excessive, but …
“Tradition is tradition,” Nathan says.
“Is that all student council is good for?” I tease him. “Planning dances?”
“Hey!” He sounds angry but his grin gives him away. “We plan other things. We did a bake sale last October.”
“Was there a dance?”
“No,” Nathan says, sounding totally unconvincing. “Technically.”
“How do you dance at a bake sale?”
“Stephanie managed to find a way. So, are you going?”
“To?” I ask, knowing full well what he means.
“To prom?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Really?” His smile fades. Is he actually disappointed?
“Dances,” I