Page 79 of Scarlett and the Big Bad Billionaire
A collection of flat-roofed brick buildings surrounded by high chain link fencing, the facility housed the state’s juvenile correctional services—otherwise known as juvie.
“We’re at the juvenile detention center? Do you know someone in here?” I asked.
“I know lots of someones in here—my students.”
My jaw literally dropped. “You’re a teacher?”
He smiled. “Not like you’re thinking. The actual teaching is a once-a-week thing for me. I started an arts non-profit that holds programs here at the detention center. I found different people to come and teach photography, pottery, drama, creative writing, all kinds of stuff. I’m helping the guys who want to learn to draw.”
“Learn to draw what?”
“Most of them are creating graphic novels. Some are doing self-portraits.”
We got out of the car and walked toward the facility’s entrance.
“As I discovered, art has tremendous potential to help unlock your emotions,” Gray said. “That’s an important thing for the kids in here because unless you address the underlying emotional issues behind their crimes, you can put all kinds of services in place, but they won’t necessarily be able to benefit from them. Self-expression and creativity aren’t just fun—they’re vital. And when the kids are recognized for doing something creative andgood, they’re more motivated to move forward with education and counseling. Some of them are even pursuing careers in art.”
“That’s phenomenal.”
His smile was wide. “I think so. I’m proud of them. Since I’ve been working with the kids here, five of my students have been accepted at Rhode Island School of Design, one to Mass Art, one to Savannah College of Art and Design, and a few to other art schools. All of them are from poor backgrounds and going on scholarship.”
I was blown away. “Gray… you literally changed their lives.”
“They changed their own lives,” he said. “But I hope by enabling them to express and discover themselves through art, maybe I helped themwantto change.”
Gray and I went through the required entry procedures—I was admitted as his “assistant”—and we went to a classroom that had been prepared for the drawing class.
I sat at the back and observed for the next hour as Gray worked with a group of eight guys, demonstrating drawing techniques and working with each student individually. He checked the progress of projects they’d started previously and praised the work they’d done.
Several times I had to fight back tears. The incarcerated boys were so excited about what they’d created, so proud of themselves, so clearlyintoit.
And that had to be because Gray was so invested inthem. It was obvious he really cared about them.
And I accused him of not following his passion.
I felt like an idiot. Maybe Gray wasn’t creating art for a living, but he was helping these young guys create better lives for themselves.
Thatwas passion.
While they worked, the boys wolfed down the cookies I’d brought. They’d had to go through metal detection and visual inspection before being allowed in, of course, but watching how the teens enjoyed whatI’dcreated made me want to bring them a fresh batch every day.
When we left, I thanked Gray for letting me come along.
“That was really special. Thank you for sharing that part of your life with me.”
He looked at the ground, but I could see a pleased expression sneak across his face. “It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s something, Gray. Remember I told you how important transparency is to me? It means a lot that you’d show me something that’s meaningful toyou.I know we’re only having a fling, but I like seeing what makes you tick.”
“You know what really makes me tick?” he asked with a rascally grin. “Pie. I’m starved. How ‘bout you?”
“I could definitely eat. And pie sounds amazing. Want to go to Nooky’s so I can try that famous chocolate cream pie you were telling me about?”
“Absolutely. But I have an even better idea.”
“What could be better than chocolate cream pie?”
“You’ll see. Or actually… you won’t.”
