Page 11 of Isabella and the Slipper

Savannah groaned on the other end of the line. “Sometimes I just want to strangle her.”

Isabella laughed as she flicked on the oven light to peek at the pizza, willing it to cook faster. “I just keep counting down the days until I graduate. Then I can leave.”

“But it’s so unfair. All your father’s paintings ... his house ... she should be the one to leave. Not you.”

“He died without a will. I can’t do much about it.”

“Some of those paintings he specifically gaveyou. The one of your mother ...”

Pain bubbled up in her chest every time she thought about it. That painting used to hang in the living room. After her father died, Elenore took it down and stuffed it up in the attic, along with a dozen other paintings. “Emma is no longer with us,” she’d said. She replaced them with cheap Walmart art. Puke. Isabella still held out hope that Elenore would give the paintings to her when she graduated and left. Elenore must not want them if she thought the best place for them was up in the stuffy attic.

“I know.”

“Hey, I was calling because there’s a rumor going around that Chase Hawkins auditioned for one of the lead roles in the nextStar Warsmovie. Can you believe it?”

“I don’t think he’ll get the part.” The words were out before she could think, and she clamped her hand over her mouth.

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he will. That’s exciting.”

“You don’t sound excited. What’s wrong? You hating on Chase now?”

“No!” Had she said that too forcefully? She corrected her statement. “No. I’m just tired, I guess.”

“You up late painting?”

“More like hanging paintings. Step-thing brought in fifteen of them.” Her arms hurt from all the effort.

“Wow. That’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“She signed a new artist. Soon we’ll have to blow out a wall and add on.” The cheese on the pizza was starting to melt, and Isabella’s stomach growled.

“Well, I gotta go. If your stepmom lets you out of work tomorrow, maybe we can do something.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” They both knew that wouldn’t happen. “See ya.”

She hung up the phone and waited another minute and a half for the pizza to finish cooking. As she waited, she pulled out her mother’s photo, smiling at the events of the day. When the timer went off, she slid the pizza onto a plate and sliced it up. The house was eerily quiet. Her step-clan was probably out shopping. That’s what they loved to do. Spend her father’s money. She grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and went upstairs.

Settling in her room, she put the pizza on her desk. It was hot, but she took a bite anyway, unable to wait. She blew on the next bite and took a sip from her water bottle.

After she ate, she stood to look at the painting she’d started yesterday. Bright reds and greens popped against the canvas. It was a field of poppies, with a cloudless sky overhead. She liked the composition, but the poppies weren’t as lifelike as she’d hoped.

She squirted some more paint on her palette and started fixing them with her pinky finger. One thing she loved about painting was that it was forgiving. If you messed up, you just applied more paint.

An hour later, she was much happier with the flowers. She was washing off her fingers when her phone chimed. She picked it up and swiped the screen.

What are you doing tonight?

Painting.

For real?

She chuckled and sat down on her bed.Yes.

Like, the walls? Or a picture?

Lol. A picture.

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