Chapter 5
Tacky as semi-dry paint, I peel my tongue off of the roof of my mouth.
In all the excitement last night, I didn’t drink nearly enough water.
Groaning as I roll over, I reach for my phone on the nightstand.
Even though I’m disturbingly dehydrated, I’m happy as hell, because one word—the best word—occupies my mind: Stunning.
I squint to look at my illuminated phone screen. At first, my tired mind doesn’t register the anomaly. But after a few slow, arduous blinks, my eyes snap wide open. I hurl myself up into a seated position.
Thousands of new notifications.
What the hell?
I open the app and my jaw drops. The five most recent painting videos on my profile now have over ten thousand views each, and thousands of likes. My next breath hitches somewhere in my constricting throat as I stare at the app’s notification center; the numbers continue to climb.
Holy shit, I’m going viral!
Thumbs dancing across their glass stage, I switch to another app. Three thousand new followers overnight. Hundreds of comments, and even more likes. I check my online store and find several hundred new orders pending for digital prints of my paintings.
Trapped air leaks from my lungs. I reflexively fist my pastel-pink comforter between clammy fingers, suddenly feeling faint. Falling back onto the pillow, a tangle of disorienting thoughts clamor for my attention, until, finally, one wins out over the others: Why?
I hadn’t posted any new content yesterday, what with classes and the excitement of the comment on my livestream. There has to be another reason people found my accounts like this. I spend fifteen minutes in bed, searching through the apps for the reason why—all in vain.
I blink, dumbfounded. Was it the prayer?
But there’s no way. It doesn’t work like that, right? Gods aren’t genies. They don’t go around granting the wishes of just anyone. Do they?
There has to be another reason. But I don’t have time to dwell on it now; I have to get ready for class.
With my stomach tied up in knots, I climb out of bed, thankfully no longer dizzy, and hop in the shower.
I skip shaving my legs, so I’m out and drying my hair five minutes later.
My hair falls in loose, frizzy waves around my shoulders as I throw on a cream-colored sweater dress, black knee-high boots, and a jean jacket.
I’m galloping down the stairs when a honk from the driveway draws a curse from my lips. “Shit,” I murmur, picking up the pace.
I race to the kitchen, grateful Dad’s nowhere to be found since I’m running so late.
After shoving a banana bread muffin into my lunchbox, I bolt from the house and clamber into Noah’s car.
Before I can take a breath, he’s reaching for me with both hands, capturing my face, and smashing his lips to mine.
He parts them with his tongue, hot and searching, deepening the kiss.
A familiar warmth stirs to life in my core, and I want nothing more than to melt against him and savor the moment, but my mind won’t quiet down.
I pull back, gently breaking the kiss off early. There’s a question in his gaze.
“Noah, look,” I explain, pulling my phone out of my bag.
His eyebrows knit together, frustration tugging at the edges of his mouth like marionette strings.
“Noah, please,” I plead. “Just look.” I push my phone in front of his face and watch as he registers the immensity of the situation, his face falling slack. Thousands of followers, thousands of likes. All for my art.
“What the hell?” he asks, grabbing my phone to get a closer look. “Maeve, this is incredible.”
I try not to squeal and fail miraculously. “I know!”
His gaze whips to mine, asking, “What did you do?”
“After my livestream yesterday afternoon? Nothing!” I rattle my head, all the excitement making me woozy again. “Absolutely nothing.”
“This is crazy.” His blue eyes are wide and wild. “We have to celebrate! And you absolutely have to post your painting from yesterday. They’ll want to see it.”
“You think?” I ask around my fingers as I pick at my chapped lips.
His responding smile is infectious. “Babe, I know. Come on, if we hurry, we can post it before your first class.”
This time, it’s my turn to devour his beautiful face, just for a few precious moments, before he puts the car in drive and speeds down the street.
Several photos and a video of my abstract painting join the ether moments before the start of my first class of the day.
“I’m so proud of you,” Noah says as he walks backward down the hall. His first class of the day won’t start for another thirty minutes.
“Couldn’t do it without you,” I reply. An exquisite ache had taken up residence in the muscles of my cheeks, making the words come out garbled. He understands my meaning anyway, chuckling to himself before turning to jog toward the exit.
Compelled like metal to a magnet, I pull out my phone and watch in awe for a moment as the views, comments, and likes on my posts climb higher and higher.
Beautiful!
You’re so talented.
Are you going to add this one to your store? I NEED a print of it!
So jealous!
I wish I could paint like this.
You’re amazing!
They go on and on. I can barely breathe through the disbelief compressing my chest, but I force myself to take one small inhale and one large, shaky exhale before closing out the apps and texting Alexis the good news.
She’ll be so excited for me, but also pissed if I let her discover the sudden traffic my pages are attracting before telling her myself.
A soft whoosh tone later and I’m shoving my phone into my jacket pocket and readjusting my backpack on my shoulder.
“Hi Maeve,” someone with colorful tattoos on their arms calls out at me from across the hall.
“Hi,” I reply, not quite making eye contact. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to them before. I don’t even know if they’re in any of my classes.
“Your paintings are amazing.”
My mouth opens and closes a few times before words, ineloquent though they may be, finally come out. “I—uh, thanks.”
I’m called to three more times on the short walk to my gen ed English class.
All of them compliment my art, grinning as if they know me.
As if I know them. My vision swirls as I take my seat in class.
I can’t hear the professor’s lecture over the deafening beat of my pulse in my ears.
Stunned, I feign taking notes, barely able to concentrate enough to remember to breathe, let alone learn about Shakespeare or whoever it is we’re discussing today.
After the hour’s up, I walk to my next class in a daze. More people talk to me. I try not to be awkward, but I’ve never received this much attention before. It’s wonderful, and overwhelming. I don’t know how to act. What do I do with my face? Or my damn hands?
My next class is thankfully with Noah. He waves me over when he sees me enter the lecture hall. I drift toward him and take a seat on his right.
He says, rather smugly, “I was just telling Trey how you’re an internet sensation now.”
Flames lick at my cheeks. “Pshh, yeah right.”
“Hey, numbers don’t lie, Maeve,” Trey says, his brown eyes flashing with excitement.
Leaning forward in my seat, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“That video you posted an hour ago already has fifty thousand views. Based on the algorithm the app uses, at this rate, you’ll have a million views by sundown,” Trey explains.
And he would know. He’s an exceptionally talented gamer and livestreams himself.
He’s gained a large following and has already made enough money from streaming to pay for a new car and his own apartment.
“Seriously?” I ask breathlessly, taking out my phone, only to find that Trey’s right. “This is too wild.”
“Embrace it, babe,” Noah says, rapping his knuckles on the desk. “Like I said, you deserve it. You work so hard on your paintings. They should be appreciated.”
Who cares what anyone else thinks? I recall Noah’s earlier words with a bitterness that I can almost taste on the back of my tongue.
I try, but I can’t hold off the indignant smirk that rises when I remember that’s not what he was trying to convince me of yesterday.
Quickly, I turn away so he can’t see what I think of his hypocrisy.
As the professor calls the hall to attention, I’m forced to abandon the thought. For the next hour I struggle to focus, distracted by Noah and Trey stealing glances at their phones as they watch the number of views go up. Trey tosses me a conspiratorial wink when it hits two hundred thousand.
“Told you,” he mouths.
I’m shaking my head at him when my phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. I wait for the professor to turn back to the slide deck being projected against the wall before checking my phone. It’s an email.
Dear Maeve Adelyn Johnson,
It is with my sincerest pleasure that I invite you to audition for acceptance to the prestigious Lizbeth College for the Arts in Rockrose, Illinois.
Despite the fact that our Fall semester has already begun, your work has recently caught the attention of our admissions committee.
Instead of waiting for our next admissions cycle at the end of the semester, we invite you to audition for immediate enrollment.
Please respond to this invitation at your earliest convenience.
We would relish the opportunity to meet you as soon as possible.
Congratulations!
Kind Regards,
Carol Reithart, M. Ed.
Dean of Admissions
Lizbeth College for the Arts
I don’t hear my chair clatter to the linoleum floor. I don’t feel all the eyes in the class snap to me. All I can do is turn to Noah and throw my arms around his neck. Unprepared, he barely catches my weight before we fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
With concern glinting in his eyes, he asks, “Maeve?”
For the second time today, I shove my phone in his face. His gaze softens as he reads the email. The entire class is out of their seats and staring, but I pay them no mind.
“What is going on?” our professor demands.
“Maeve’s leaving this hell hole behind,” Noah replies too quietly for anyone but me to hear. “She just got an invitation to play in the big leagues.”
The adoration in his gaze makes my heart grow so large, it feels like it might burst from my chest. We both ignore the professor, and our classmates, as we kiss on the floor for the whole world to see.
The class descends into chaos, whistling, whooping, and clapping for us.
I laugh against Noah’s lips before moving to stand as I sear this moment into my memory forever.
Get ready, Lizbeth. Here I come.