Page 7 of The Art of Us

I should go home, he thought even as he added a hunch to the shoulders of his monster and a menacing stare in the eyes.

“Scales.”

“Spikes.”

Kal stopped when Mr. Wasden called out, “Time! Take a step back, Mara and Kal, and let the class get a good view of your monsters.”

Doing as he was told, Kal stepped back so the class could view the finished product.

His monster was definitely more frightening and monsterlike than Mara’s. Hers could almost be called cute, like something that would be lurking in the woods of the bookWhere the Wild Things Are. Kal’s was menacing—dark in a visceral way that could leave people with nightmares if they were the sort of people who had nightmares.

Kal was the sort of person who had nightmares.

He wasn’t always, but that was before he’d started imagining Brell’s final moments.

The class was applauding the two efforts. They were both good. Mara’s was better, but Kal wasn’t surprised by that. Mara was an excellent artist. He felt certain she’d be working for Disney, or at least giving Disney some competition, once she graduated college.

Mr. Wasden’s voice brought Kal back to attention. “So let’s consider the concept of ideas. It’s my belief that ideas are all around us just waiting to be picked out of the air and put togood use. And just because one person pulls an idea out of the ether doesn’t mean it’s not still available to the next person who reaches for it.

“Ideas are not on a first-come, first-served basis. The most interesting thing isn’t the idea, but the creator who puts the idea to use. We are all unique individuals with our own quirky viewpoints and interests. It makes the work we do and the lives we live unrepeated and unrepeatable. Mara and Kal were given the exact same material and information to work from and yet returned to us two wholly different results.”

Mr. Wasden took the class through the style, tone, and voice of each piece. He didn’t call attention to the gun in the monster’s hand. Mr. Wasden then invited the class to participate in the discussion so they could talk about the things they noticed.

Charisma, who sat in front and was enrolled in an art school in Japan to learn anime after she graduated, said, “I like that Kal included the gun as his way of describing ‘scary’ and ‘fire.’ It is not at all what I was thinking when I said it.” She pushed her red-rimmed glasses up higher on her nose as she squinted thoughtfully at the images in front of her, and said, “I was thinking of a fire-breathing dragon, but that was definitely a different way of illustrating it.”

Kal tensed. He shouldn’t have drawn that, shouldn’t have called attention to the monster of his nightmares. Mr. Wasden only agreed with Charisma and moved on to the next comment from Julianna, a blond who lived a few houses down from Kal. She didn’t get out much, so he only saw her in art class and at the occasional art club meeting even though they lived so close to each other. Julianna discussed the various levels of scary for different audiences. Kal’s shoulders relaxed, and he managed to make it through the rest of the class period without the internal chanting telling him that he should go home.

As Kal gathered up his stuff at the end of class, Mr. Wasden said, “Hey, Kal. Do you have a minute to talk?”

He tensed again because Wasden knew about Brell. Kal had told him everything one evening when they’d been making flyers for the school’s art show, but even so, he might not be chill about Kal’s visual of a gun. He nodded and shuffled to Mr. Wasden’s desk.

“You okay?”

Kal shifted and gave another nod. “Sure.”

“I get what happened there, but maybe let’s leave firearms out of our classroom art, huh?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. This time. Take a seat. Let’s chat.”

Kal sat in the beat-up, azure-blue armchair. The upholstery could have used a makeover, but the chair had become the art room’s icon of chill, which meant no one would ever do anything to change it.

“You know,” Mr. Wasden said, “art is an excellent way to work through all the stuff in our heads. Our worries, our hopes, our fears, everything. I have a little daughter. She’s four. And I often help my wife do her hair. At first, that was my least favorite thing to do for her because her hair was always so tangled in the morning. But my wife bought this detangler spray, and now I can brush through her hair without her crying and telling me how much she wishes Mommy would help her instead.”

Wasden tapped his reddened fingers on the desk. “Art is a detangler for the knots that happen in our minds. I know this is probably kind of a crappy metaphor, but I’m an art teacher, not an English teacher. So there’s that. Anyway, I know you’ve been dealing with some ridiculously hard things, and probably have enough going on to keep you busy without new things, but would you be willing to help me assemble a school-wide art project? Iwant something that unifies us, something that gives hope. I like your level of creativity. What are your thoughts on that?”

“Yeah, I could do that.” Kal wasn’t sure why he agreed. Maybe because he was sitting in the chill chair.

“Perfect! So come up with some ideas, something that can spread some positivity—a little detangler for everyone. I think we can all use that, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Definitely.” Stupid chill chair. Yet Kal liked the idea of unifying the students. Even without the chair, he would have said yes.

“Good. Then we agree. You have great ideas, and I think we have the potential to do some good in the school. By Monday, bring me at least three concepts for a school-wide project that anyone can participate in—not just the art students. Okay?”

Kal felt like a bobblehead with all the nodding he was doing. “Okay.”

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk?”

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