Portrait of Us (21 page)

“Corinne, this is Teni.”

Instantly my lungs froze, air locked tight inside. My hand shook.

The contest.

I dragged in a ragged breath, brain scrabbling for words.
“Um, yes. Hello. It's me.” Lame! She already knew that.
Get it together!

“I have some news. Your art piece with Matthew . . . has won first prize!” Her voice grew more excited as she talked, but I stopped understanding her, my brain catching and repeating her words.

We won.

We won!

“Omigod!” I said in a huge rush, squeezing Ava with my free hand. “Omigod! I can't believe it! Wait, can you say all of that again? I think I blacked out for a second.”

Teni laughed and repeated herself. She told me when and where the gallery exhibit would be and gave me all the details. In the fall, our piece would be in a national art magazine with over a million subscribers—that part made me nearly faint. Then she asked to talk to my mom again so she could set up the flight and hotel for us.

I gave her back the phone. Then I cupped my hands over my mouth and squealed as loud as I could.

“Corinne!” Ava said, eyes huge. “Is it . . .”

I nodded. Hot tears of joy sprung to my eyes and I let them course down my face. My hands trembled from sheer elation. I couldn't believe it. Our piece had won.

Mom cupped her hand over the receiver. Her eyes shone with pride. “Congrats, honey! I'll come back in in a little bit to tell you about the hotel and flight details.” She closed the door behind her.

Ava captured me in a huge hug. “I knew it! You're amazing, and I knew you'd win!”

I drew in a few slow breaths. “I wasn't sure. I knew there would be some amazing pieces out there.” Wow. I grabbed my phone and instinctively started to enter in Matthew's number. Then I froze.

We'd won. But did that mean he'd want to talk to me? I could still see the hurt and frustration in his eyes after our argument. He hadn't even looked my way on Monday except to give me a polite nod.

I put my phone down and looked at Ava. Suddenly I felt lost. The other person I most wanted to share this moment with was . . . him. And I'd pushed him away.

“You should call him,” she said in a low whisper. Sympathy poured from her eyes. “I'm sure he'll want to hear from you. He might be doing the same thing you are, not sure if he should call or text.”

“I don't know . . .” Yes, we won, but did that change anything between us? I had to admit it to myself, to stop denying how I really felt—I was flat-out scared. Ava had clarified why she and her ex hadn't worked. But that didn't mean Matthew and I would.

Then again, I hadn't even given it a fair chance. It had failed because I'd failed it—I'd failed
us
.

“Win him back,” Ava suddenly declared. Her eyes grew heated and her words passionate. “He loves you. You love him.”

“Wait, no one said love—”

“Puh-lease. It is written all over your face.” She snorted and stood, staring down at me, still perched on the edge of the bed. “Show him you care. Let him know how important he is to you! Call him.” She paused. “Or even better, show him in New York at the exhibit. Then he has to listen to you.” Her face softened as she stared over my shoulder, eyes dreamy. “And then you can tell him how you feel, and he will take you in his arms and kiss you.”

I wanted to laugh at her for being such a romantic. But I couldn't. I knew that was what I wanted—for him to still care about me. For me to let go of my fears, step to the edge of that cliff, and jump.

A small bead of hope started in my chest. I looked at Ava. “Maybe I will.”

And if I did, would Matthew still be there?

Or had he already started moving on?

Chapter
Twenty

Three weeks later

H
oly cow,” Charlie breathed. “New
York City is crazy.”

I was about to reply, but a line of cabs swerved by the corner where we stood, honking like crazy. Midafternoon light filled the street and sidewalk, casting glows on everything, making signs shinier and even more eye-catching. Business people bustled all around us, their feet flying by in high heels or dressy shoes.

It was amazing.

“Stay together,” Dad warned. He had Mom's hand practically locked in his, like he was afraid of losing her. His eyes hadn't strayed far from me and my brother.

I laughed. “No one's going to snatch us off the street,” I said to him.

We crossed the street and kept walking. My pale blue dress floated around my legs, wisps of fabric teasing my skin as they flipped and whipped on the breeze. My shoes were cute flat sandals—I'd gone for practical instead of trendy, since I knew we'd be walking here today.

One more block and we'd be there.

We'd arrived in the city last night, tired but excited. Dad wouldn't let me and Charlie wander around alone, so we'd spent the evening in the hotel room, talking about the exhibit. Wondering what it would be like.

I hadn't talked to anyone about the question nearest and dearest to my heart right now—if Matthew would actually be there. And if he'd listen to me.

This morning had included a little sightseeing, then back to the room to get ready. And now we were about to enter the gallery. Where our winning piece would be hanging on a wall for everyone to see.

My stomach pitched. I pressed shaking hands to my belly, stopping right before we went inside the trendy brick building. Oh wow, I hadn't anticipated this nervousness.

Mom rested a hand on my shoulders, her eyes filled with warmth. “It'll be fine,” she whispered. “People are going to love it.”

I nodded, sucking in a few breaths.

Dad paused, staring down at me. “Hey. I know I don't say this a lot but . . . I'm really proud of you, Corinne. You worked hard and you deserve this. I can't wait to see it.” Sincerity shone in his eyes.

Getting that praise from my dad eased some of the uneasy tension in me. My heart swelled, and I gave him a quick nod—I wasn't sure I could muster any words out of my tight throat right now.

He squeezed my arm and smiled, stepping back. Then we all headed inside, out of the heat of the summer sun.

Cool air whirled around us instantly, and I blinked to acclimate my eyes to the dimmer lighting in here. There was a narrow staircase on the left with a sign indicating the gallery was upstairs, so up we climbed until we reached the gallery's glass doors. We entered. The building's walls were rough brick, a long, wide room stretching all the way to the back. Paintings were scattered everywhere, all shapes and sizes. Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, and small chairs and couches were scattered throughout.

It was amazing.

“Welcome,” a short round woman said, popping up out of nowhere beside us. She had on a pair of black pants with a ruffled white shirt, and her hair was pulled up in a messy but cute bun. “Can I help you?”

“We're here because of the high school art competition,” Mom said proudly. She inclined her head toward me. “Corinne Walters, one of the winners this year.”

The woman clapped. “Wonderful! We've been waiting for you. Please, come this way. We have a table of refreshments all set up.”

Charlie tugged at his necktie as he slumped beside me. “Think I can take this off yet?” he asked.

“Maybe soon,” I whispered back. My phone vibrated. I took it out and smiled, then handed it to Charlie. “Guess who.”

He swallowed and reached for the phone. “It's her,” he breathed. His fingers flew across the buttons as he texted Maxine back.

I couldn't help but feel proud of him. After our talk, he'd approached Maxine and flat-out told her that he realized he liked her and he didn't want her dating anyone else. According to what I could pry out of him, she'd apparently rolled her eyes, told him it was about time, then planted a huge kiss on him.

While I was happy for them, I couldn't help but think of my own situation. Wondering if I was going to get my first kiss anytime soon. Or if Matthew would even listen to me. I scanned the room, looking for him. He wasn't here.

Disappointment filled my chest. I made my way to the refreshments table and grabbed a cup of punch. There were several adults standing there, and they all came up and talked rapidly to me, thanking me for showing up, for entering the competition, gushing about how much they loved the project.

I tried to shove aside my own personal turmoil and focus on the moment. But the win wasn't as satisfying due to how things
were with Matthew. Because he wasn't right here at my side, holding my hand, making me laugh or pointing out meaning in art I couldn't understand.

Then the people stepped away, and right behind them was the project. I was able to see the painting for the first time since we'd turned it in. Matted, framed, mounted. It was real.

My heart hammered. I couldn't stop staring. There was Matthew's face, forever linked with mine. Our smiles blended, our eyes sparkling.

He was so handsome.

All the noise around me faded away to the rush of my pulse in my ears. I couldn't tear my gaze away from the painting. How had I not seen it like this before? I guessed the weeks away from the project had given me real clarity. Because right now, I could sense every heart-rending emotion I felt right there on the paper, in every line on his face, every careful attention to detail. Surely everyone else in this room could see it too.

Oh, wow. I loved Matthew.

Heart in my throat, I flicked my attention to his half. He'd done the same attention to detail as I had—granted, in a different way, with more abstract lines and suggestions. But it was there nonetheless. The shell of my ear, the dimple in my chin, the way my mouth crooked in the corner.

We were different, yes, but looking at this painting, I realized it worked. The old and the new, the wild and the calm. They blended together to create a piece that was surprisingly harmonious.

Maybe
we
could work too.

A frustrated cry bubbled in my throat and I bit it back. Why had I walked away from him, from everything he'd offered? Stupid, stupid! I wanted to smack my own forehead. Was it too late?

Could I be brave, like Ava had said, and jump right in, tell him exactly how I felt? Despite my fears?

“Honey, is that him over there?” Mom asked from right behind me. “Is that your art partner, Matthew?”

I spun around and saw Matthew strolling in with his mom and twin sisters close behind. He had on a dark gray suit with an electric blue tie. I drank in the sight of him, my eyes filled with all the love I just now realized I was feeling.

“Mom,” I whispered under my breath, “I . . .” I paused. How did I spell out to her how I was feeling, what I needed? Panic bloomed.

“Go talk to him,” she said, shoving me forward a touch. “You two can work it out, whatever it is.”

I turned to look at her. “You're okay with it? With us?”

She laughed. “Seriously? You've been in a funk for weeks. I want to see you smiling again. Now go, and good luck.”

I swigged the last of my punch and dumped the cup in the garbage. My hands were shaking so hard I'd just spill it anyway.

What should I say to him? Words were running through my mind, but I couldn't seem to get them to form a cohesive sentence, much less express the intensity of my emotions.

Matthew's mom was right beside him, whispering in his ear.
He laughed and gave her a quick hug, then moved to the side of the room to look at the artwork. A couple of the judges came over, probably to have the same conversation with him that they'd had with me.

Crud. I couldn't go talk to him right now, not when they were having this talk. I needed a moment to get myself together.

I saw the bathroom sign in the corner and practically ran to it, locking the door behind me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long minute. My makeup looked okay, subtle but there. Lips were glossy pink. Hair was slightly mussed, so I took a moment to smooth it back into place.

Then I turned my back to the mirror and stood there for several more minutes, frozen, scared to death, heart about to thump out of my chest.

He was here. He came.

Stop stalling.
But the right words still weren't forming.

Someone knocked on the door. “Occupied?” an older female voice asked.

Time to do this. I straightened my shoulders and willed a large smile to my face as I opened the door. Then I moved past the frail old lady back into the gallery.

The area where he'd been standing before was empty.

Disappointment kicked me in the gut. I scanned the room, but Matthew was nowhere to be found. Where could he have gone? I saw my parents over by the table, talking with his mom and sisters. Everyone else was walking around and eating snacks,
drinking punch. Enjoying this moment that had soured so badly for me because of my cowardice.