“It’s Heaven!” Mr.Rick says as he shimmies by me.
“Hi,” I say, my voice cracking. “Here, let me help.” I grab one of the grocery bags he’s carrying, and Jake takes therest of the bags from his mom. Esther strolls in being super helpful as she pulls the plastic seal off a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
“Is this the culmination of a year’s worth of hard work?” Miss Kelly asks, nodding toward my portfolio and my tablet on their kitchen island.
“Yes, ma’am.” My voice only quivers a little this time.
“Let me just wash my hands and then we can head down to my office and I’ll take a look,” Miss Kelly says. “While Esther helps put away the groceries.” Esther groans but gets to work helping her dad.
A few minutes later, Miss Kelly and I are setting up in their home office. I put my stuff down on their drafting table. I look around at the ocean mural that Miss Kelly painted on the far wall and the boxes of Ink & Pearl T-shirts and sweatshirts stacked in the corner. We weren’t allowed in this room when we were little. It feels weird to be in here now for semiprofessional reasons.
“Okay.” Miss Kelly closes her eyes and then cracks her neck. “Sorry. I did a six-hour back session today and I am only getting older.”
I snort, looking at the rose tattoo showing through on her half-shaved head. “I don’t know, the tattoos make the neck crack seem more metal than old lady.”
“Thanks, Heaven. That means a lot. I am pretty metal.” She smiles, putting her tattooed hands on her hips. “Show me what you got.”
“Okay.” I take another deep breath and open my leather portfolio. I didn’t bring everything I worked on this year,just the best stuff, including the pastels our art teacher, Ms.Bennefield, absolutely loved. Miss Kelly doesn’t say anything at first. She just purses her lips and gently lifts through each piece before she turns back to me.
“And you’ve been sketching on your tablet?”
“Yeah,” I say. I flip my case open and unlock the screen before I hand it over. The first I show her is my attempt at the Ink & Pearl logo. Miss Kelly doesn’t say anything, but she smiles some more. She finishes up with the self-portraits I drew of myself in sad-clown makeup.
“Do we need to talk about this?” she asks, her eyebrow tilting up.
“No.” I laugh. “I’m good, I promise. Some girl posted all this sad-clown art her great-grandmother had in her house and I felt inspired.”
“Okay, good.” Miss Kelly grips her lower lip between her teeth as she looks back at my tablet, at my final drawing for the student art show—a miniature of the view from the top level of the Westfield mall parking lot, a stunning view of the 405 and the Just Tires body shop in the distance. All that’s romantic about Culver City. Miss Kelly shakes her head and I think I might pass out. She hates all of it.
“Trying to figure out a nice way to let me down?” I try to joke.
“What? No. I was just thinking about how good it is that you can actually draw. You’d be amazed at how many tattoo artists can’t draw at all. They just learn how to use the machinery. Sometimes not all that well, and you just hope they don’t chew up someone’s skin. But you? We just gottaget you through proper training and you’ll be more than fine.”
I start to exhale, but there’s still a whole layer of anxiety bubbling under my skin. There’s abutcoming. “So what should I do next?”
“I think you should definitely make sure you draw this summer. More sad clowns, if that inspires you.” She chuckles. “I’m going to start sending you kind of like a historical record of flash sheets. You’ll develop your own style, but you’ll need to be comfortable with the standard things people will ask for. That’s the best way to get and keep new clients.”
“Okay.” I swallow. Right. The flash sheets are easy. Every shop has them, little themed samples of tattoos you can just pick off the wall instead of a custom design. I can make those in my sleep, but the clients? If I want to be a tattoo artist, I will have to actually tattoo people. I’ll have to talk to them. Not something I really love doing. I’m what some scientists would call an introvert. I have a social battery that extends to Jake, our other friend Axel, and that’s about it. Their girlfriends, Bethany and Valentina, get a pass because they’re really nice. If I have to be, like, outside, talking to people, I just kind of shrink in the background and read on my phone. It works out best for everyone.
“So yeah, this summer I really want you to start working on some flash sheets and then if you’re really serious about this—”
“I am.” The last thing I want Miss Kelly or Mr.Rick or my parents to think is that this is just something I kinda sorta maybe want to do. Becoming a tattoo artist? I’ve neverbeen more certain about anything in my life, and even though introverting feels natural, for once it feels good to have a plan for the future that doesn’t involve me reading on my phone in the corner.
“Well, good,” Miss Kelly goes on. “I think it’s time you started getting your social media off the ground. With a professional account. I know your personal account needs to be private, but you need to get comfortable showcasing your work for the general public. Posting regularly, stuff like that. I mentioned a public account to your parents already and they’re okay with it.”
“Oh.”
“I know it’s a lot.” She laughs. “People are really intense online, but you’ll learn how to focus just on the business and your brand. When you start your apprenticeship, I want you to already feel comfortable with that aspect of the gig—posting and interacting with people who are actually interested in your work.”
I swallow again, trying not to freak out. Interacting is the last thing I want to do. “ ‘Intense’ is putting it nicely,” I say.
“Listen, I’m not pretending I don’t get super-rude comments on my posts every day. But almost everyone I’ve tattooed this week found me on Instagram. If you just think of it as a marketing tool, it’s much easier to manage. You think you can handle that?”
“Yes,” I say, calling on the few molecules of confidence left in my body. But most of them get pulverized by the storm of anxiety rushing through my head.
“Great.” Miss Kelly’s smile should give me the boost I need,but instead I feel like I’m gearing up for a medium-grade panic attack. We talk for a few more minutes about how she’s happy to help me get set up or answer any questions, and then it’s time for me to go.
“Oh, your dad told me you’re gonna do the summer bingo again,” she says as we walk back toward the front of the house.