Lucia--
After Silas's phone beeped last night, he left. I glanced at his phone when it beeped, but I couldn't make out the words on the message popup icon, not that I was curious.
I don't think I had the right to be curious after ruining the night. He seemed angry, and he had every right to be.
"Everything go okay last night?" Priest Dixon asks as I settle into the chair behind the kitchen island.
Right. He knew about that.
"Of course he did."
"More humiliation for you. Let someone talk some sense in you for acting stupid. Why would you-
I shake my head, trying to block out the voice in my head.
"It went as well as it possibly could," I say with no trace of excitement as I grab an apple from the fruit bowl.
"I mean you're in the mood to eat so it couldn't have been that bad." He places his wrinkled right hand in front of me asking for the apple.
My mouth sours at the thought of real food.
"Not really." I place the apple in his hand.
The only reason why I'm eating something right now is because I know he won't let me leave this kitchen till I've downed something.
"So?" He turns to me after washing the apple, handing it to me.
Lifting a bushy eyebrow at me, his brown eyes look like they sparkle with excitement; it's like watching a fangirl in action as he asks, "What happened?"
"You seem excited." I take a bite out of my apple.
"Not excited, intrigued."
"Why?"
"What happened?" He asks the same time I ask 'why?'
I sigh, as much as I can with a stuffed mouth.
I look down at the bitten part of my apple, watching the bitten apple slowly turn brown.
"I did it again."
"What?" He leans forward on the countertop, looking fixedly at me.
I glance up at him and chew on the inside of my cheek.
"I don't know what it is, but I did that thing that causes people to always lose interest in me." The thought makes my skin crawl and makes me wish the ground would open up and swallow me.
"What? You mean act aloof, trying to test if someone will stay." The voice almost sounds criticizing.
"Then not realize you're judging the person by calling them 'impulsive' in your usual standoffish attitude."
I wince at the mention of both words: 'judging' and 'impulsive.'
"But yeah." I toss the apple from one hand to the other. "We were talking about our favorite Avatar character then next I knew, I was calling him 'impulsive,' and I sounded like...that me." I look pointedly at him when I say 'that.'
"Are your thoughts still bothering you?" he asks, walking around the counter to me.
"Your right eye is twitching." He adds, causing me to touch that eye.
He steps in front of me and places both his hands on either side of my face, "do you mind?"
I shake my head 'No.'
He places his hand on my head and I let my head fall onto his chest, inhaling the sweet smell of cinnamon on his garment.
"Dear Heavenly Father, we bring your child before you today, and we thank you for her life and we humbly ask you to please help her to overcome the voices in her head. In Jesus' holy name."
"Amen." He says out loud and I mutter the word into his chest not feeling that peace other Christians say they always feel when they pray to God. Maybe it's just a me-thing.
My heart thuds.
I hold my breath as the voice that normally torments me doesn't show because this moment is normally its entrance time.
"I'm glad you know."
I groan and wish the priest's chest was a wall so I could bang my head against it.
"Remember what that pastor you listened to last week said: "God answers the prayers of those who are righteous." Sweets, you're nowhere near righteous with all those nasty thoughts you have."
I almost bang against the thing my head is leaning on, forgetting for a moment that it's the priest's chest as I mutter harshly, "Shut up."
"Still there?"
I nod and sigh.
"It'll be okay, Lucia. He'll answer those prayers."
A part of me wants to believe him and be brave with those words, but most of me cling to the words "nowhere near righteous." Perfection. I haven't been perfect enough for my prayers to be answered; no matter what I do.
"You have to keep trying."
I have to keep trying. But I've been trying for a while, I wonder if He's even listening or if there's any point in me praying to Him.
"And you wonder why you're not perfect enough or why your answer isn't here? You're too doubtful. Block your heart against that doubt. You're too weak."
Yep. I'm too weak. Those words weigh on disappointment and frustration as though they were directly from God himself.
My shoulders sag as the familiar feeling of weariness hits me.
"Lucia-
"I have to work." I grab my bag and my unfinished apple.
"Bye." I don't turn around to say it. Maybe he's just as disappointed in me as someone else is right now.
I sigh and square my shoulders as I walk into the Cathedral auditorium, rubbing my temples to ease the sharp pain that just shot through them.
***
"That's really pretty, Rosie." I smile, occasionally staring at her sketch of a horse which is surprisingly detailed for a six-year-old.
"Thank you!" She smiles up at me with her windowed teeth and rosy cheeks.
"But I feel like it could be better." She pouts, lightly tracing the edges of her paper with her pencil.
Crouching to her desk, I study the sketch and see what she's talking about. The neck of her horse could use a little less elongation, the edge of the horse's hooves looked more smooth than sharp, and there were fewer than expected mistakes. But she didn't need that kind of pressure at her young age, still, I can't leave her with no pointers to improve.
"Here." I point at the horse's hooves, hoping to start correction on something simple, "Why don't you make the edges more sharp?"
She doesn't respond. She only begins to make corrections. I smile as I watch her stick out her tongue with a scrunch between her eyebrows intently drawing and erasing on the paper. It kind of reminds me of...
The bell rings.
"Okay, kids!" I exclaim as I get up, walking from table to table to grab the drawing equipment baskets to place each in the cabinet by the teacher's desk. "Don't forget to clean up your table and pack your stuff in your bag before you leave."
"Yes, Miss Carlos." They coherently say.
Within minutes, the room clears and I begin to gather my stuff.
I sigh and roll my shoulders to ease the tension off my shoulders.
I wince as a sharp pain shoots through my head again.
"Miss Carlos, please report to the principal's office." The words echo from the intercom.
What could this be about?
I sigh as I push through the classroom door and head to the principal's office.
***
"Hey," Anna, the principal, says as I push through the door of the front office.
I chew on the inside of my cheek not liking the way she said 'hey.' It sounded almost nervous.
"Why did you call for me?" I adjust the headphones on my neck and then tug on each sleeve of my red and black flannel tied around my waist.
"Right." She nods once and then gestures toward her office.
"Take a seat," she says as soon as we enter her office.
I settle into the brown office chair in front of her desk as she settles in the chair behind her desk.
"Sorry, I'm late." I hear someone say as Principal Anna opens her mouth to speak.
I turn to find my former high school art teacher, Miss Racheal, in front of the door in a floral dress, frantically panting. Seeing her here is nice, but it makes things seem all the more serious.
I watch as she settles into the chair beside me barely glancing at me. She finally glances my way, but her face looks almost grim.
I begin to tug on my thumb as my heart bangs against my chest.
"Did I...do something wrong?" I ask, wondering why they are acting weird.
"No, not at all," she says, grabbing something from her drawer. "Quite the opposite."
I shift in my seat as she drops a file before me.
Her stare briefly shifts to my former art teacher before focusing on me. "We..." she's sounding, hard to say, but she's sounding nervous. "While you were still a student, we signed you up for an over one-year study abroad art program at John Cabot University in Florence, Italy."
My eyebrows shoot up. John Cabot University is heaven for an art student.
"What?"
She holds up her fingers resting on the desk, her wrists remain planted on the desk. "Your teacher saw your drawings and thought they were too good to keep hidden, and when the program was promoted to our school, she thought you were the perfect fit."
My former teacher smiles softly at me. I don't return it, still feeling perplexed.
"And after a couple of months of judging, you and many other students from around the world were miraculously chosen to be hosted in Florence, be taught to improve your art and whatnot. I don't know the specifics; I'm not an artist, but we thought it'd be an excellent thing for you."
It was an excellent thing. It is an excellent thing. It could change my and my mother's lives, but Florence, Italy?
Did it have to be that far away?
"They want you there in three months--admission money and all." Anna pauses, but I can tell there's still something on the tip of her tongue with the way her lips open and close. She side-glances my former teacher, and my teacher nods at Anna.
This is a good thing, so why are they acting like it's bad?
"It just..." She finally opens the file, "...it cost fifteen thousand dollars plus the plane tickets."
I see the words themselves printed on the front of the brochure.
Fifteen...wow. How...how will I pay for it--that?
"Thanks for the offer. But my family..." I pause. "I don't think we could...It would take a lot of money that we don't have, and-
Miss Racheal takes my tugging fingers into her hands and rubs circles on the back of my hands. "We know, so we're providing two thousand dollars for you, and we will provide anything you need for your travel and drawing equipment." She emphasizes the word 'anything,' and then turns her gaze to the desk, causing me to turn my gaze there too.
There is a check on the table, glowing blue as ever. I free my hands from my former teacher's hands and grab the check, and indeed, written on it, is two thousand dollars.
"Thank you." It's all I can say after all they did.
"You're welcome," Miss Racheal says, gaining my attention. "We know that after you won the last two year's competition, things got...brutal for you."
I scrunch my nose refusing to let the wince bubbling behind my throat come out. But it made sense why they were acting earlier.
"Thanks," I say, gazing at the check.
"But that's it." Principal Anna taps against the desk before getting up.
"Thank you, again," I say to both of them, coming close to letting the tears forming in my eyes spill over.
"You were a star student at our school, and we would do anything to make sure your talent doesn't go to waste," Miss Racheal says.
***
I'm gonna need a lot of money, and that means I'm gonna need to work.
Before leaving Anna's office, I asked if I could work full-time at the school; the pay's better than what I get at the Bodega, but that doesn't mean I'll quit working at the Bodega. The extra change could still prove useful given I need at least fifteen thousand dollars, well thirteen now, considering the school provided me with two thousand dollars, and I need money to cover the cost of the plane trip.
I can't believe I have to make up that much in less than three months. I still can't believe this is happening.
I sigh, realizing I have to do something I never thought I'd do.
"I need your help," I say, letting the doors to Carly's office shut behind me.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
