Chapter 14 #2
I hover at her side, useless and desperate, waiting for the next blow to land.
I want to tell her that none of this matters, that there will be other projects and other chances.
But I also know that right now, to her, this is the only thing that matters.
And that helplessness, the inability to fix what’s broken, is a special kind of heartbreak.
Around us, the science fair pushes forward, oblivious. Other parents snap photos, judges consult clipboards, the distant echo of a soda can rolls across the floor. But at our table, everything is still.
Until I hear my name.
“Diane?” The voice is off a little, uncertain, as if he’s not sure he belongs here.
I look up, and there’s Nathan at the gym entrance, framed by a shaft of sun and the blurred commotion beyond.
He’s holding a paper grocery bag, his hair windblown and his shirt just a little crooked at the collar.
His eyes dart between Cassie and me, then to the project, and he puts it all together before I even say a word.
He’s here to deliver art supplies for the fair—he mentioned it in passing, said he’d offered to set up a painting demo for the sixth graders.
I’d forgotten, or maybe I just didn’t expect to see him in the middle of this crisis.
But now he’s walking over, navigating the obstacle course of folding chairs and emotional landmines, zeroed in on our disaster.
He crouches next to Cassie, careful not to crowd her. “Rough morning?” he asks, gentle.
“It’s broken,” she says, voice flat. “It’s not going to work.”
Nathan examines the damage, hands on his knees, and whistles low. “Oof. That’s a bad one. But I’ve seen worse. My first gallery show, the paintings got delivered upside down, and the frames exploded. I had to glue them back together with chewing gum.”
He glances at me, eyebrow raised, as if asking permission. I nod, desperate for any lifeline.
He sits back on his heels and addresses Cassie directly.
“You know, I’m not sure if they’re judging for creativity or just for survival.
But you’ve got both covered.” He opens his bag, rifles through the contents, and emerges with his sketchbook, its cover peppered with coffee stains and old, dried paint.
“Let me show you a trick,” he says, flipping through until he finds a blank page.
He tears it out clean, then finds another, stacking them together until he’s got a surface big enough to cover the ruined ocean scene.
He leans over the gym table, right in the chaos, and starts to draw.
At first it’s just the hush of pencil on paper, quick and effortless, lines blooming into the shape of water.
Then the pace slows, and his whole body seems to fall into the rhythm.
His left hand steadies the paper, the right shading in layers of blue and gray, then switching to a stubby marker for the deeper creases of the sea.
He doesn’t bother with straight edges or rulers, just draws.
Cassie watches, seemingly captivated despite herself.
With every sweep of the pencil, the ragged gym, the failure, all of it blurs into background.
Nathan is fast but not rushed, narrating his process in a low, soothing voice.
“The trick to water is to let it be messy. The more you try to control it, the less it looks like water. Kind of like life, right?”
Cassie nods, barely perceptible, but I see the tension in her jaw loosen.
A small crowd has started to form—a couple of kids, a teacher, the girl with the volcano from earlier.
Even the judges, their clipboards held like shields, drift closer to see what’s happening.
Nathan doesn’t notice, or pretends not to.
He reaches into his bag for a pack of colored pencils, hands one to Cassie.
“You want to help with the marsh? I bet you remember all the names.”
Cassie hesitates, then takes the pencil.
She draws in the tufts of grass, the curve of the sandbar, a flock of sanderlings racing the tide.
Her movements are cautious at first, but soon she’s adding tiny details, labeling species, pointing out where the fiddler crabs hide.
Nathan shadows her, filling in the water behind her strokes, letting her lead.
I stand back, barely breathing, afraid to disrupt the spell.
In ten minutes, the two of them have conjured a seascape even better than the original. The colors pop, the horizon is clean, and the marks of disaster have been transformed into a wild, dramatic sky.
“Tape it over the rip,” Nathan says. “No one will even know.”
Cassie mounts the drawing, and when she’s done, she sits beside it, breathing deeper, her shoulders no longer curled in defeat.
Nathan wipes his hands on a napkin, stands, and gives me a lopsided grin. “Not how you planned your morning, huh?”
I shake my head, too full to speak. For a second I think I might cry, but then Cassie grabs Nathan’s arm and hugs him, quick and fierce. “Thank you,” she whispers.
He hugs her back, careful and gentle. “You did most of the work.”
The judges approach. Cassie straightens, ready. She starts her presentation, voice clear and strong, while Nathan and I stand to the side, just far enough away to let her have the spotlight.
I lean close and say, “I think you just saved the day.”