Page 12 of Absorbed

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” her mother demanded, her hand slicing through the air toward the mess. It knocked into her wine bottle, but she grabbed it just before it toppled over.

Stacey shrugged. “Why are you making it such a big deal?”

“Because I almost broke my neck tripping over it on my way into the house tonight. And it is a big deal! A first-place award from an art contest you never mentioned? And–” she waved the receipt between them, “sixty dollars you charged to my credit card without asking? Again!”

Stacey sucked in her cheeks and inhaled sharply. Her eyes flashed to the painting she hated, to her mother’s furious expression, then back again. She felt like throwing something at both of them. Through clenched teeth she said, “I needed another suit. You even said I did.”

“I told you to wear the one you bought before! You were supposed to ask your father for the money—”

“You never listen to me!”

“You stole my credit card! Twice!”

“I didn’t steal anything!” Stacey screamed, blinking back hot tears. “I told you I would pay for it!” She balled her hands into fists.

Her mom crossed her arms and flared her nostrils. “Fine. Give me your paycheck!”

“I’ve only worked two days!”

“Exactly!” Her mom slapped the counter and the stacked art-class pottery rattled.

“You don’t get it!” Stacey grabbed her keys and stomped to pull open the front door. “No one understands what my life is like!” She slammed the door behind her.

She collapsed into the driver’s seat and turned up the radio. She whipped the car out of the driveway, finally allowing the hot tears to fall as she turned out of the neighborhood.

She drove past Gabe’s house. His car wasn’t there. She thought about going to his work, but reconsidered. What if he got in trouble for talking to her when he was supposed to be bussing tables? What if someone else was already there visiting him? Like Jenny?

She drove toward the center of town, unsure where she was headed. It had to be anywhere but home. With the windows down, she wiped at her cheeks. She squeezed her jaw to avoid screaming and her breaths skipped frantically behind her ribs.

Stacey turned right and headed down the boulevard. She heard a flapping sound and noticed a blue piece of paper flying around the backseat. It fluttered into Stacey’s face, then at the front windshield. Shit, she thought, swerving, and tried to grab it. She pulled to the side of the road, put the car in park, and grabbed the paper off the dash. It was Ms. Moreno’s Art lab flier. When Stacey took the self-portrait and pottery inside, the flier must have slipped beneath the seat.

She was about to crumple the paper when she read: “Escape on an ART adventure this summer.” It was super cheesy, and so typical Ms. Moreno. She probably hung travel posters all over the walls, too. Stacey grinned, imagining the colorful classroom. Ms. Moreno’s gentleness appealed more to Stacey than being alone. She filled her lungs with a gulp of air, exhaled slowly, then pulled back onto the road, and drove to campus.

The lights for the Art Studio were on. In the parking lot behind the art building, there was only one other car. A small, boxy VW with Ricky Martin, Shakira, and Selena stickers on the back windshield. Definitely Ms. Moreno’s.

Stacey turned off her car and sat for a minute, chewing her left thumbnail. She looked at her reflection in the rearview mirror, relieved that the short drive had helped the redness fade from her eyes and cheeks. She could hear Vanessa Williams’s soulful voice rang out from the classroom.

Ms. Moreno sat with her back to the door. She was the only person in the Art Studio. The music was loud enough to drown out Stacey’s footsteps, so she didn’t think Ms. Moreno noticed when she entered. There was a strong smell of rubbing alcohol that Stacey recognized from cleaning acrylic paint off brushes in class. Over that, she smelled the patchouli incense that was burning on the overhead projector.

Taped to the butcher block table was a plain sheet of paper, and in front of Ms. Moreno were mason jars of water, several brushes, a rag, and a small tin beside a large white ceramic plate. Stacey approached on her teacher’s right quietly, not wanting to startle her.

Ms. Moreno’s long, creamy brown fingers gripped a broad paintbrush, coating her paper with clean water until it reflected the fluorescent lights. Curious, Stacey inched closer, watching over her teacher’s shoulder as she used a smaller brush dipped in what looked like a pool of black ink, and touched it to the edges of the paper. It was more of a navy color that diffused to a bluish-purply-gray as it combined with the water and spread across the surface of the paper.

It was mesmerizing to watch the color move and fade. Ms. Moreno re-dipped the brush in the water and the paint, and again touched the paper’s corners. From the edges reachinginward, the blue seeped into itself, becoming darker and deeper and richer, while the center of the page stayed a watery white.

“Hi,” Ms. Moreno said without turning.

Stacey gasped. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“You didn’t.” Ms. Moreno looked at Stacey out of the corner of her eye and grinned. “I saw your car lights through the windows.” She nodded toward the row of panes at the top of the wall. Then she eased more dark paint onto the corners of the soaked surface and Stacey watched as it blended into the rest. “I’m glad you’re here. Pull up a stool.”

“What are you painting?” The metal feet of the stool dragged on the concrete.

“Aurora borealis.”

“You mean that northern lights thing that happens in Alaska?” Stacey lowered herself onto the stool. “We studied it in science.”

“It happens in a lot of places the closer you get to the North Pole. Canada, Iceland, Russia…. Have you ever seen it?”

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