says, “I’m impressed with your submissions so far.”
I stutter out a surprised, “Thank you,” but pride swells in my chest. Actually getting to Preston and having them realize that I wasn’t worth the scholarship has been a nagging, dogged worry of mine. It’s nice to get validation. I confess, “The facilities definitely make it easier to produce better work.”
He shakes his head. “Although I agree that Preston has excellent equipment and resources, that’s not what I’m impressed with.” He points to a photo I’d turned in the week before. It’s from the first car show. The central focus is a burst of fireworks close to the gathered crowd. The overpass looms in the background, pillars of graffitied concrete stretching to the sky. “The juxtaposition of the almost brutalist nature of the bridge set up against the energy of the crowd makes for a compelling topic. Not to mention the legal implications.”
I pause, wondering if my photograph is going to get someone, including myself, in trouble. “I wasn’t participating. It just seemed like an interesting place to take a photograph.”
“I agree,” he says with a small smile. “Part of creating art is taking risks, you know. Within reason.” He produces a folder from his desk. “Every year we have an exhibit for the art department, showcasing students’ work.”
“Like the creative corner?”
“Oh, no, not at all,” he declares, handing me the binder. “This is far more prestigious. A legitimate exhibition. Usually, we manage to browbeat a whole plethora of recruiters into attending, not to mention esteemed alumni. It’s the kind of visibility that the art department only sees here once a year.” He watches me flip through the materials, papers full of specifications and themes. “I’d like for you to participate this year.”
I look up at him, taken aback. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I think you’ve got exactly the kind of fresh voice that we need to see represented in the showcase this year. That is, if you think you’re up to the task.”
I wonder, “What exactly would that entail?”
“It’ll be a lot of work,” he admits. “You’ll have to fill a whole wall. And it’ll be a time crunch, since you’re still a new student here. But feel free to incorporate some of your older pieces.”
I glance down at the dates, stomach dropping. “This is in just a few weeks.”
He nods back. “It is, but one of the perks is that you can use the photo lab or any other equipment you need after school or on the weekends. It’s a great opportunity, Sugar. Something tells me you can handle a challenge like this. What do you think?”
A challenge? Filling a whole damn wall when I have, at most, five showcase-worthy pieces? Sure. Piece of fucking cake.
But I can’t lie to myself. When he said recruiters would be attending, my initial thought was that I’d do whatever it takes to be a part of this showcase. I’m not like the other kids around here. I don’t have money or connections or pedigree. All I have is my work. This is a way to get eyes on it, without the help of that other stuff.
I know instantly that I’m all in.
17
Sebastian
“Now, we just need someone to steal the key,” Emory says, tapping his notebook.
Caroline raises her hand. “Uh, need I state the obvious?” Everyone looks toward an increasingly stormy-eyed Reyn.
“Yeah, why can’t Reynolds break in?” Ben agrees. “It’s what he does.”
Vandy cuts in with a sharp, “No.”
Emory explains, “Reyn’s taking a break from stealing for a while, so we need someone else.”
“For a while?” Afton asks.
“My probation ends in three months, okay?” Reynolds, who has a pathological compulsion for stealing things that just might rival my own for fighting, has his arms crossed, knee jerking up and down. He looks exactly like a junkie wishing for a fix. “I made an… agreement.” He says this much like someone might admit to having genital herpes.
“If he goes three months without stealing,” Vandy clarifies, “his dad’s going to buy him a car.” But from the way she looks at her boyfriend—and the way his knee stills—I’m betting she’s sweetened the pot. Probably with sex. Probably with some freaky sex. Lucky bastard.
Fuck, I wish I were getting laid.
I played it so fucking cool last night with Sugar, telling her that I was fine with taking it slow, and I am. I totally am. Might be better if it seemed like I was making a little more headway than a brief bout of handholding, though. Secretly, I’d been dead