Chapter Seven
SEVEN
Izzy and I only had time to grab a quick sandwich after class, which ended with Ramona announcing that we really will be trying pottery tomorrow.
We spent the afternoon discussing and outlining our project ideas, and now I’m more curious than ever to see The Four alongside the self-portrait.
I didn’t look at Professor Williams’s articles in the end, even though I’ve had my notebook with me.
It feels like something I should be doing alone.
I frown in the mirror as I tug at the black skirt Kim left out for me. The white shirt fits, but the skirt is too big and keeps twisting around so the zip is at the front. It’s testing my patience.
“Izzy, do you have any safety pins?”
“No, why?” She enters the bedroom looking very professional in her own penguin suit, and I almost wish I hadn’t given her the heads-up yesterday, because, as always, I look like a street urchin in comparison.
I spin the skirt round. “Oh, I see. It doesn’t look that bad, but there might be something we can use at the gallery? ”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
I take a final glance in the mirror to make sure I look as good as I can in this getup.
I tell myself it’s important for Dad that I look smart and I am absolutely not worried that Noah might turn up tonight.
My shoulders sag as I frown at my reflection, resigned to the fact that no one looks good in their stepmom’s clothes, then grab my bag and join Izzy by the front door.
I snatch up my keys from a dish on the small console table, making sure I’m taking the hot pink “F” key ring that Kim bought me and not Dad’s neon green “M,” which only has the gallery keys.
I show Izzy the difference and she nods, but I know her head is full of textile ideas and a certain snobby blond boy, so I make a mental note not to leave her in charge of them.
We leave the flat to make the short walk across campus to the gallery and almost immediately pass a group of people lounging on the grass, music blaring from a phone.
“God, I hope no one thinks we actually dress like this,” Izzy mutters. “Especially Ford. Maybe this shouldn’t be how he sees me for the first time out of class.”
“At least you’re not wearing Kim’s clothes,” I shoot back. “Honestly, you look gorgeous. If anyone can pull off server chic, it’s you.”
Both Izzy and I have our hair slicked back in neat buns, but where I stuck to a simple coating of mascara and lip gloss, Izzy’s face is sculpted and highlighted with the utmost precision.
Dad warned me I had to take my nose stud out because we’re serving food, so I did, but Izzy has a septum piercing, so she can just flip the ring up into her nostrils and no one will know any different.
My nose piercing is only a few weeks old, and I can practically feel the skin growing back as we walk, which is going to make putting it back in a pain.
I am not looking forward to that particular bloodbath.
I refocus, taking in our surroundings. I forgot how gorgeous Blackwood University is at this time of year. I allow myself to daydream about what it would be like to live here full-time again as Izzy chatters away beside me.
We reach the Heywood Gallery and quicken our pace.
I didn’t pay it much attention yesterday morning, but up close it’s gorgeous, all smooth honey-colored stone and glass that still manages to blend in with the historic buildings around it.
I heave open one of the towering glass doors, letting Izzy pass through first as a welcome gust of air-conditioning greets us.
A tall, chic brunette looks up from the welcome desk in the foyer.
“Felicity?” She smiles at me, and I try to place her accent. Definitely European. Spanish, maybe? Or Italian?
“Yes, and this is Izzy,” I say as the glass door closes behind us.
We approach the desk, and I look around in awe as our footsteps echo in the cavernous space.
The floor and interior walls are covered in an inviting terra-cotta tile and the gallery is cathedral-like, with external walls of glass that soar to the ceiling.
I crane my neck toward the edge of two balconies on the left, and as I look back down, the woman approaches me, grabbing my shoulders and kissing me on both cheeks before I can do anything about it.
I laugh awkwardly as I realize I have no idea what to do.
She proceeds to hold me at arm’s length, not noticing that I’m frozen in embarrassment, and smiles like I’m her favorite long-lost relative.
“I am Alessandra, the gallery manager. You are just as fabulous as your father says you are!” She lets me go and approaches Izzy, who handles the air kissing with greater dignity than I did.
Then Alessandra clasps her hands to her chest in a show of pure joy.
“I am so excited for this evening! Come, put your bags in the locker room and then I will show you around, yes? Your father said you have not been to the gallery before?”
“No, it hadn’t been built back when I lived here,” I say.
Izzy and I follow her down a long corridor lined with large doors that blend seamlessly into the tile on one side, floor-to-ceiling windows on the other.
They look out onto a small courtyard that separates the gallery from one of the older buildings.
“People should start arriving at seven, so we have about half an hour before you start work.” Alessandra stops in front of a door marked Staff, then types a code into a keypad and holds it open.
“One two three four? Are you serious?” I blurt out, not able to help myself.
Alessandra laughs. “I know, I have said we need a better code, but I cannot change it myself.” She shrugs. “I will meet you back at the front desk when you are both ready.”
We walk into an area that looks more like a gym changing room than I was expecting.
There’s not much in here apart from a water dispenser on the left, a stack of little paper cups on top of it, and a rack on the right that holds a trench coat and a black hoodie.
Wooden benches sit in front of long silver lockers that line the other three walls, and I’m surprised to see that the bench straight ahead is already occupied.
“Hey.”
A bored-looking girl a little older than Izzy and I glances up from her phone as we enter. She’s also wearing a white shirt, which has a little logo that says Top Class Catering on the chest pocket, and I assume she’s the only agency staff that Dad managed to get hold of last minute.
“Hey,” I echo, opening a locker on the right and checking my own phone before I put my bag away.
There’s nothing from Dad yet, but the flight to the Maldives is more than ten hours long, plus a boat ride from the mainland to the island hotel, so they’re only about halfway there by now.
Mom has been in touch, though, sending pictures of Ethan, who is only three and doesn’t understand the concept of a nine-hour time difference.
Apparently, he’s too excited to sleep because he gets to hold a koala today.
He is the cutest. I send a message back asking for koala pics and put my phone in my bag, locking both away.
Izzy does the same and we leave the room.
The girl from the agency doesn’t even look up.
“Friendly,” Izzy notes, and I laugh as we walk back to the welcome desk.
“Not everyone is Miss Personality like you,” I joke. She slips an arm through mine and cranes her neck to look at the balconies.
“I know. This place is cool. Are you still planning to apply to Blackwood?”
“Yeah, the journalism course is one of the best in the country, and it makes even more sense now Dad’s back. Why, are you having second thoughts about applying to universities in London?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Izzy says, but when she smiles, I can see a hint of nerves behind it. “It’s just scary to think we won’t be together all the time, you know?”
“I know. Let’s not think about it now.” I squeeze her arm and drop it as we approach Alessandra, who greets us with another wide smile.
“You are ready?” she asks, not waiting for an answer. “Good, follow me.”
She bustles to the double doors behind the desk and pulls one of them open. We follow her and I watch the heels of her black stilettos click against the tiled floor. I note the red soles and the way she carries herself with effortless elegance. I want to be her when I grow up.
We follow her through gallery one, which is a large white room with nothing but a huge net suspended from the ceiling.
Alessandra informs us that it’s made from human hair.
I wrinkle my nose as Izzy stops to admire it.
Gross. We almost jog to keep up as she glides through the different rooms, pointing at an archway.
“That is the route the visitors should follow. The art gets older as you progress through the galleries on this floor, ending with the early nineteen hundreds.” We enter another large space. “This is gallery four, where we will be tonight, but first we must complete the paperwork.”
There’s another discreet door at the back of the room, this one marked Office.
Alessandra swipes a card on the sensor next to it and there’s a click as the door opens.
We follow her into a stuffy, windowless room and watch as she nudges a polished chrome doorstop along the floor with her foot, holding a finger to her lips as she does so.
“Do not tell your father—he is such a rule follower. We are not supposed to use these, but some of the rooms get so warm I need to prop the doors open now and then.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” I smile as she kicks it into place.