Page 62 of The Art of Us by Symone

FIFTEEN

Rustling pulls me from my nap. I squint in the dark and rise to turn on the light, walking to the window afterward. That’s where the sound came from. I’m sure of it.

Hope saturates me. I want it to be Brandon.

I move the curtain and peek out. But he’s not there.

No one’s outside.

Then I hear noises in the kitchen, receiving further confirmation.

Opening the door, I catch a whiff of spicy flavors and follow the delicious smells to the kitchen.

Momma’s cooking dinner.

“Smells so good,” I rasp.

She chuckles. “It’s your favorite; stew chicken. You were out when I came home an hour ago. How’s school?”

“Good.” I sit at the small dining table.

While stirring the pot, she says, “Don’t think I forgot about that expensive easel, Kayla.”

“I gave it back to him.” Brandon’s right. It’s not entirely a lie since the easel is in the possession of the gifter, but only so I’ll be able to use it.

Momma sets the spoon aside, covers the pot, and perches against the counter. “I hope you’re not too upset about it. Your dad and I will buy one at the end of the month.”

“It’s okay,” I say too fast.

When she curls her brows, I explain, “The academy provides one for in-school use. But I have sketchbooks at home so...” I stall, then add in a low tone, “Please don’t spend too much on me. I know it’s hard. Even with the scholarship, Charleston is pricy.”

She frowns. “Malcolm and I will do our best to get whatever you need. We want you to have all the opportunities to succeed.”

“I know, Momma. You both work so hard. That’s why I want to make you proud.” I pause, adding softly, “Like Doreen.”

The warm and comforting smile that I love appears. “We are proud, baby. So very much. You don’t need to live up to your sister. Got it?”

I nod. But sometimes, it’s like I am wearing Doreen’s persona and not my own.

Brandon’s so damn right.

We have dinner together once Dad comes home, and I head to my room after to do homework.

I feel restless. It’s when I catch myself staring at the window for the hundredth time that I realize I want Brandon to show up tonight.

My phone vibrates next to me.

Speaking of the devil.

Picking you up @ 6:30

Though I genuinely like driving with him, I won’t make it seem too easy.

No need.

Dad can drop me off before work.

He texts back right away.

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