My Dearest Enemy

9| screw what they think

❝I love it when people doubt me. It makes me work harder to prove them wrong.❞

— Derek Jeter

N I N E

Back against the couch's armrest and knees bent with my sketchbook in my lap, I dusted my pencil lightly across the page, creating curved lines and shapes as the portrait's head structure began to take form.

Several portraits were arranged about the page, each one drastically different from the last. To keep things interesting, I varied the drawing medium — brush pen, fountain pen, graphite. Faces were my speciality, and drawing them over and over again was a fun exercise, varying bone structure, the size and shape of facial features, forming different facial expressions. Sometimes I worked from reference photos, but for now I preferred to let my imagination wander.

Our latest sketchbook assignment from Cruella was to study and implement the style of a famous artist using a medium of our choosing. To prevent my creativity from getting stifled, I kept it simple, composing portraits with hatches and cross-hatches, a technique often used by da Vinci.

A week had past since I'd started the class. And it was becoming increasingly clear that, for whatever reason, Professor Huynh was out to get me, break down my resolve. But I refused to let her get the best of me. I had talent. I had skill. And if I persisted, eventually she'd come to recognize that.

But I wasn't just angry about her criticisms. What I couldn't forgive was what she was trying to rob me of. The peace of mind, the control, the bliss that creating art imparted me. Here, between my pen, paper and imagination, only I created the rules. This was my refuge, a place for me to reclaim power in a world where I often felt powerless. I couldn't let her steal this little joy away from me, too.

I got lost in another portrait, completely disregarding the passage of time. Thirty minutes or six hours could have gone by and I wouldn't have known, or cared.

My mom entered the living room and set a plate of steaming hot food and a cup of juice down on the coffee table. As she straightened, I sensed her hovering beside me and it broke me from my trance.

A sigh. "I wish you had taken my advice."

"And what advice would that have been exactly?" I asked, darkening the space beneath an eye. When she didn't respond, I glanced up from my page to catch her staring at me, displeased with the sass in my tone.

Pushing aside the meal she'd set out, she sat on the coffee table, facing me. "I know you think I'm out to ruin your life or crush your dreams or whatever, but that's not the case. Honey, you've got to understand that I'm just thinking of what's best for you. Your art might be great and all, but it can only take you so far. My concern is how you're going to support yourself."

I mentally groaned. The last thing I needed right now was this talk. I could really do without this talk.

"I'll double major, then. Art and business or something. Will that make you happy?" I drew vertical lines close together to form eyebrows.

My mom's hand reached out to touch mine. "I'd appreciate your full attention." Mouth pressed into a thin line, I recapped my brush pen. "Do you really think you can balance both things? Give them both your full focus? This art class already seems to be taking up a lot of your time. I've seen you drawing more than I've seen you do any sort of homework."

Considering she'd just gotten home a few days ago, her sample size of seeing me do much of anything was pretty small.

"My grades are fine, Mom."