Page 7 of Fire of the Fox

No more being told it couldn’t be done.

No more drowning in anguish every time I saw a painting hanging proudly and being told that couldn’t be me.

This was it. This was my chance to prove everyone wrong and to show them my dreams weren’t irrational.

I was going to be a painter!

“I know it’s a lot to think about,” Professor Lichen said, pulling me back to the here and now. “You don’t have to make your decision now. Go through the papers, read up on the program and course work, and talk about it with your parents. There’s also a page in there about the cost breakdown and where all that money goes. This program is one of the more expensive ones because of Luca Romano, so it’s roughly five thousand dollars.”

The light raining down on me suddenly sputtered and went dark. All the hope I’d previously felt was sucked right out of me like a wet rag being wrung dry.

“Five thousand dollars?” I croaked.

Professor Lichen nodded. “It’s a lot. I know. We wouldn’t need the money right now. You can talk it over with your parents. We’d just need the money and your answer by the first of November so that we can get everything ready since you’d be going in the spring semester.”

I looked back down at the cream colored folder, one that held promises of my longed-for future. I clutched the papers to my chest and faced her again.

“Okay. I’ll talk to them. Thank you so much for this opportunity, Professor. Really. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

The corners of her mouth lifted as she nodded. “Of course, Bria. You deserve it. I hope it works out and you get to go.”

I made my way out of her office. My mind was still in a daze as I shuffled through the halls of the art building. I was dumbfounded that Professor Lichen actually believed in me like that. When her class first started, she’d given all of us a simple enough assignment.

Create anything.

Students were allowed to draw, sculpt, paint, whatever they wanted. And the subject? That was up to us too. We’d spent the first week working on our pieces, both in and out of class, and I’d put my heart and soul into my painting.

It was of a lake’s edge in autumn, and I’d slaved over the colors and details in an effort to make it perfect. I’d had no idea that the completed piece had left such a profound impression on Professor Lichen.

Not only that, but I couldn’t believe that I was now faced with a chance to study under the great Luca Romano. With his aid and wisdom, I’d no doubt get even better at painting, something that could open doors which had previously been closed to me. I could create connections in the art community, establish myself as a gifted artist, and finally make real progress in achieving my dream. The idea alone was enough to make my feet lighter and my determination stronger.

The only problem was the money.

Five thousand dollars was a lot. Greg and Wendy lived paycheck to paycheck. I’d been incredibly fortunate, getting a full ride to Brinkley due to my academics and art achievements. To ask them to fork over five thousand dollars, all so I could go to Italy, made my stomach sour. Was it selfish of me to want something so expensive?

I couldn’t help but think it was. To ask the people who had already done so much to raise a person that wasn’t even their flesh and blood, to provide that kind of money for a dream they didn’t support, wasn’t an option. Which left me to sort it out myself. But how could I? There was no way I could save up that kind of money in three months.

My eyes slipped closed as I finally stepped out into the sunlight. I raised my face up toward its warm rays, and for a moment, I let myself wonder. Would my real parents have given me the money? Would they support my dreams?

My chest squeezed tightly as the questions plagued me. Would my mother have taken one look at the hope in my eyes, smiled, and told me my dreams were valid? Would my father have hugged me tight and told me he was proud of my talent? Would we have sat around the dinner table, the two of them joking and laughing over who I got my talent from between the two of them?

They were questions I often wondered, yet knew I’d never get answered. Because I didn’t know them. Their scents, the feel of their hugs, the way they laughed or cried. I would never know those things, and while my dreams of becoming a painter suddenly seemed possible, knowing my parents was one dream that would always remain just that.

A dream.

Chapter Four

REACHING BEHIND ME, I gripped my backpack and pulled it around so I could safely tuck away the folder holding my dreams. Once the papers were secured, I started my trek across campus for my dorm. It took a minute, but I shook off the somber mood brought on from thoughts of my parents and focused on how excited I was to tell Dallas about this chance to study abroad.

“Hey, Bria! Wait up!”

Speak of the devil.

Smiling, I turned around as Dallas ran smack into me. We tumbled down to the grass, laughing at our embarrassing collision. I sat up, wiping the dirt from my jeans as I looked at her. Her fiery red hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she wore a pair of jogging pants with a t-shirt. She was in a rush to get to class earlier this morning after staying up way too late on the phone.

“Nice tackle,” I said with another laugh.

We stood back up, and her giggles died down until she met me with a serious frown. “Well,” she started, “I had to catch up with you fast. I saw Dax with that girl again.”

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