but I resist, knowing touching art is a major faux pas, even if it’s mine.
Mine. I made this—this entire night—and I’m proud. Everything looks amazing, from the art on the walls to my tasteful black dress. And why shouldn’t it? This show has been my baby for months now and is one of the reasons why the Chicago Arts Academy is tentatively holding a spot for me in next year’s prestigious Spring Student Showcase. They usually don’t allow transfer students to present until after a year of studio time, and since I’m not starting classes there until the fall, I missed the deadline by a long shot. But that didn’t work for me. My parents’ divorce and subsequent financial problems forced me into two years at community college, so when my transfer to CAC was official, I couldn’t wait any longer to delve into the art education I’ve always wanted. After much persuasion, Dean Hucksley said if I could demonstrate significant skill and dedication toward the arts, he might—MIGHT—consider finding a loophole for me.
Tonight is phase one of that loophole. Phase two? To assemble the greatest college junior portfolio the world has ever seen by the end of the summer.
My mom’s best friend, Terese, owns a gallery in the River North neighborhood, and she kindly agreed to let me organize a showcase for all my fellow Daley community college students. The only catch was I had to do everything myself. The guest list, the marketing, the curating—all of it. Which I didn’t mind, because if you want to do something right, you have to do it yourself. I spent two months putting together this show, spending hours evaluating my classmates’ submissions. I wanted the perfect blend of styles and mediums, from photography to sculpture, classical to abstract. My submission process was probably stricter than our school’s. And for good reason: If this fell below Terese’s standards, there was no way she’d let me work here part-time this summer, meaning tonight is a double test. I had to impress both Terese and Dean Hucksley. That was why I’d locked myself in my room to work every day for the last few weeks, shielding myself from all fun and distraction, just to make sure it was perfect.
And what has Matt been doing? Snapchatting Vaporizer fans and working on a new line of action figures. Insert eye roll here.
Stop it. Focus on the positive, I repeat to myself. It’s so easy for me to get swept up in hero drama, I have to make a conscious effort to step back and be present. The gallery is filled with patrons, and they aren’t only Daley students and parents. I invited many of the regular artists who show here, and they were generous enough to stop by and offer advice and critique. Getting feedback from professional artists is worth more than money can buy, so I’m hoping my peers use this time to their advantage.
“Bridgette!” calls out a friendly voice, and I turn to see Jilly, a girl from my school. Red hair pulled up in a messy bun, she’s got a bit of bruschetta topping on her cardigan, but it falls off before I can tell her. “I can’t believe you did all this!”
“Oh, thanks!” I say, looking around at all the happy faces. “Are you having fun?”
“Yes! Oh my god, yes. It is so cool that you chose my painting!” She whips around to take a peek at her canvas hanging on the wall, instantly blushing. “I never thought I would get to do anything like this. I feel so professional.”
To be honest, Jilly’s work isn’t exactly something I’d normally choose. She’s a self-admitted novice, but makes up for it in enthusiasm. Her art is just for fun, and that’s okay.
“You should be proud!” I say, and she touches her freckled face in embarrassment.
“You should too! Wow, you’re going to do so great at CAC next year.” When my transfer first got accepted, it didn’t take long for people to start whispering. About how I only got in to such a prestigious program because of my ties to Warrior Nation. About how I probably just get whatever I want thanks to Matt. The usual garbage. But Jilly was nothing but supportive. We’re not that close, but her friendliness was appreciated, and I wanted to return the favor tonight.
“Thanks. We’ll keep in touch!”
As I weave through the crowd, a couple pairs of curious eyes find mine. Girls, young ones, hoping that my hunky hero