Chapter 10 Landon
LANDON
The last student finally picked up their brushes, clutching a still-drying fingerpaint masterpiece that looked more like an abstract mess than the birds we’d been aiming for. “See you next week, Mr. Landon!” the kid chipped, waving enthusiastically as he left.
“Great job!” I called back, forcing my voice to sound upbeat even though my energy had dwindled with every dropped paintbrush and spilled water cup over the past hour.
Despite that, I felt affection for each kid in the class. I had memorized all their names by now and even started to pick up on all their quirks and passions.
The classroom fell quiet. The fresh coat of white paint on the walls made it feel even more so.
But hey, it was better than the vandalism.
It had taken a few days of cleaning and painting to return the classroom back to normal after Xavier’s work.
Thankfully, a local company offered to replace the broken windows and doors in the front for free.
A crack of thunder interrupted the silence. The rounded stained-glass windows offered muted daylight as the storm started, rain pattering against the glass.
Well, good thing we weren’t in a rush.
Kira collected half-squeezed tubes of paint, paper towels streaked with color, and cups of murky water. “I’ve decided to apply for the art residency you sent me.”
I froze mid-reach for my notebook, caught between surprise and a bloom of pride in my chest.
“Yeah?” I said, watching her climb the stepstool to shelve a fresh stack of sketchbooks.
She nodded, not looking down. “I think it’s time for me to take control of my life and do the things I want to do.”
“I’m happy to hear you say that. You deserve everything you want.”
A faint blush covered her cheeks as she lowered her gaze to the floor. “Thanks. If you’re not in a rush, will you look at the application with me? My laptop is in my bag.”
“Of course.” I slid the laptop out of her backpack and pulled two chairs up to the desk. “Let’s do it, Picasso.”
I may have already looked at the application when I first sent it to Kira weeks ago, but I’d pretend like it was the first time.
She collapsed into the chair next to me. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, a few strands framing her face. She wore one of those oversized sweaters with holes for thumbs, and her glasses perched slightly on her nose.
Kira didn’t often wear her glasses, choosing instead to wear contacts. But I always thought her glasses were cute.
“Okay, let’s start with the basics of the residency,” I said, suppressing a grin when Kira started taking notes on her phone.
“The Chicago Echo Studio is now accepting applications for its upcoming residency program, beginning at the start of the following year. This three-month immersive experience is designed for emerging and mid-career artists looking to refine their craft and expand their creative boundaries. The program focuses on collaborative projects, experimental techniques, mentorship from established artists, and public exhibitions. Residents will have access to private studio space, workshops, and networking opportunities with curators and gallery owners. At the end of the residency, participants will showcase their work in a curated exhibition, with select pieces considered for acquisition by partnering galleries.”
I glanced at Kira. No problems so far.
I continued, “Now for the application. They want three art samples: one painting, one drawing, and one mixed-media piece. Each work should center on the theme of identity. You also have to include a statement of purpose and two letters of recommendation.”
The details of the program went on for pages, so I summarized out loud. “Looks like as part of the program, you’ll experiment with new mediums, explore art movements, and produce three pieces for the final auction. Graduates will be eligible for full-time employment with the Chicago Echo Studio.”
Kira’s eyes grew childlike as she read the webpage alongside me. “Does it say the deadline?”
“December fifth. Participants will know of their selection on or before January first.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“That’s just over two months away!”
I checked the date on the calendar. September 15. “But you probably already have three art pieces you can submit.”
“No, I don’t.” She pulled the elastic out of her hair just so she could tug on it. “I’ve barely made anything in the last year. Nothing good enough to submit for an elite program.”
I placed a hand on her knee. “Then we’ll make more.”
“We?”
My eyes found hers. Or maybe her eyes found mine. However it happened, something like a gravitational force pulled taut between us. Kira was the anchored planet, and I was the circling moon.
“Of course,” I said with a gulp. “I’d do anything to help.”
Her hand rested on top of mine. When she interlaced our fingers, I swore I stopped breathing. When was the last time I held Kira’s hand? I couldn’t answer that, though I knew I dreamed of it many times.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
God, I hoped that was affection in her voice.
She let out a small laugh and reached for her backpack. “Guess I won’t have any free time these next two months.”
“Hopefully, enough time to still help with painting the diner’s mural,” I said, trying to sound casual, like I hadn’t been looking forward to it since the moment she offered.
Kira’s eyes widened as her hand smacked lightly against her forehead. “How did I forget that? Of course I’ll still help. I’ll plan to come over soon.”
“It’s all right,” I said gently. “You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
“I’ve actually brainstormed a few ideas already,” she added, and just like that, the spark in her eyes was back.
I slung my own backpack over one shoulder, trying to play it cool. “What did you have in mind?”
“That’s classified information, Landon,” she said with a teasing tilt and a coy little smile.
I took a slow step closer, letting a smirk pull at the corner of my mouth. “Maybe I can convince you to tell me over lunch?”
She looked up at me, all mischief and challenge. “We can go to lunch, but I’m not going to tell you.”
Her smile lingered even as she turned toward the door, and I dutifully followed.
The laminated menus at Sunny Eggs hadn’t changed. It was a little impromptu and maybe a bad choice, but once we exited the CCC, my instincts took us here. Kira’s brows had lifted when she noticed, but other than that, she didn’t comment on it.
Sunny Eggs was the diner we went to a few times when we were young and needed to hide from anyone we knew. It was a temporary escape, a place that was just ours for a few hours.
The air smelled of strong coffee and fried bacon, with a faint sweetness from the pies rotating lazily in the display case near the counter.
I ran my fingers along the edge of the menu, the plastic sticky from years of handling.
Across from me, Kira’s fingers tapped idly against the side of her glass.
“This place hasn’t changed a bit.” She glanced around at the cracked vinyl booths and the jukebox in the corner. The same faded photographs of local landmarks hung crookedly on the walls.
“Not true.” I tilted my head toward the counter. “They replaced the old-school credit card reader with an iPad.”
A young waitress appeared with a smile on her face. Her apron was stained with something unrecognizable, but her tone was friendly when she asked, “What can I get for you two?”
“I’ll have the garden salad with chicken.” Kira handed the waitress her menu.
“I’ll do the same.” I craned my head toward the counter. “And a slice of apple pie.” Always had to check out the competition.
Besides, we loved pie.
The waitress looked apologetic. “We only have blueberry.”
“Then I’ll take a slice of that.”
She jotted down our orders and disappeared with the menus.
“Blueberry pie?” Kira echoed, raising a brow. “You hate blueberry.”
“I don’t hate them. I’ve grown tolerant,” I said with mock gravitas, earning an eye roll. And Kira loved blueberry.
“Wow.” She giggled. “You’ve changed.”
“Well, if this is the dealbreaker…”
A flash of a smile appeared on Kira’s face before she forced it down again. If the beauty of her smile wasn’t permanently stamped into my mind, it would be like it hadn’t happened at all.
“Speaking of change,” she said. “I’ve started a new resolution.”
“Four months before the new year, too.”
“People can decide to change any day during the year. It’s usually when you put something off that you don’t really want it or you’re afraid to start.”
“So this is something you’re not afraid to start.”
“On the contrary,” she said. “I am very afraid. My resolution is to do something every day that scares me. I’m tired of not changing and not growing. It’s like I’ve been living so deep in my routine every day that life happened around me.”
I couldn’t understand how someone as amazing as Kira could look at herself and see someone less. I wondered what role my actions played in influencing her opinions of herself. For one moment, I couldn’t decide whether I hated myself more than I loved her. In the next moment, the answer was obvious.
“I look at you and see a very different woman than the one I last saw in this café. You speak your mind much more frequently, you’re confident, beautiful, selfless.
You spend your free time volunteering with kids, Kira.
They’re obsessed with you.” I took a sip of my water.
“If you want to do scary things, I support you, but don’t let it be because you think you’re not good enough. You’re already more than enough.”
“You haven’t known me in years, Landon.”
“All I want is the chance to re-learn you. I’ll help you with your goal. It would benefit me to do some scary things as well. As long as it doesn’t involve skydiving.”
She extended a hand across the table to me. “I don’t know what you get out of this, but it’s a deal.”
What she didn’t understand was that I got everything out of this.