“No.”
I blink up at him, and so do some of the other students. Mr. Vaughn has always been calm. His
guidance has always been well mannered. But right now, it most certainly is not. And his calm is
nowhere to be found, replaced by sudden anger.
“You can do better than this, Chloe.”
I grate my teeth and bite back my own anger as I watch him observing my piece with disdain.
“I did the best I could,” I reply. “I thought this was open to interpretation.”
“No,” he says again.
One of the girls next to me shuffles uncomfortably and scoots away as though I don’t belong here.
She’s right.
“If you want to stay in my class, you need to put in an effort.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes, but I don’t let him see that. I don’t let any of them see that.
I simply gather up my portfolio and my bag and I give him what he obviously wants.
I leave the room, taking my wounded pride with me.
***
It has been three days since I’ve been up to the roof.
Since I walked out of his class and retreated back into myself. Into the only identity I know.
I am dancing better than I ever have. Isabel is pleased. She says I am showing great improvement
from the scare I gave her the week before. And suddenly, all is right with the world again.
I tell myself it’s for the best. That this is what I was always bound for. Dancing, and dancing alone.
My father will be happy. Mr. Vaughn will be happy.
Everyone wins.
My art has fallen by the wayside. And when I come up to the roof this evening, it is with only one
intention in mind.
I’m going to destroy it. All of it.
That is what I set out to do.
But when I arrive that urge is replaced by something else. Because there on the wall opposite me,
in my vision of the garden of Eden, Eve has been reborn.
Repainted.
Into a likeness of me so startling and intense, the breath slips from my lungs and my feet cannot