We Were Giants

Chapter 31

"Mr. Camplin," the school secretary calls over the intercom three days before my portfolio is due for the state art show.

Mr. Camplin and I are buried in paperwork, making sure we've taken care of everything for the portfolio review. I've printed photographs of my works. I've filled out a stack of paperwork detailing my creative process. I've written about artists I admire and feel inspired by. I've poured my entire existence into this portfolio. I've put all my eggs in this one basket.

"Mr. Camplin," the secretary calls again. "Will you please send Cade Swanson to the front office. Ask him to bring his belongings."

The room stills, and everybody looks at me. Isaiah makes eye contact with me, but I don't know what to say. Terror runs through my veins. I've never been called to the principal's office, ever. I don't know what I've done to get called to the office.

"I'll hold onto this," Mr. Camplin smiles. "We'll finish it when you get a chance."

I nod. Tomorrow I'll bring all my finished pieces to the school, so Mr. Camplin can submit them to the exhibition. I can't believe this year is almost over. I can't believe that in five days, my future will be determined.

"Cade," the secretary smiles sweetly as I enter the office. "Your mom called. Your father is on his way to pick up your little brother from school. She needs you to meet her at your house."

"What's going on?" I ask, worried.

"It's not my news to tell," she says softly, concernedly. "But you need to go. I just need you to sign here to show you're checking out."

Panic rises up in me. Mom and Dad are both taking off work? There's something wrong. Is something wrong with Thomas? Is that why Dad is picking him up? I'm not in a stable place to drive. I don't know how I'll make it home, I'm so worried. I wish Isaiah could come with me. Or Cameron. Or, hell, at this point I'd even take Kayla. I don't know how I'll stay focused enough to drive.

I drive home, running through possibilities in my head. When I get closer to my house, I notice a pillar of black smoke in the air.

"No," I say out loud. "No. That's not my house. That can't be my house."

I turn into my neighborhood and see my mom, standing on the edge of the road. A firetruck, giant and red and hulking. I park as close to my house as I can and get out and run to Mom.

I've never felt this helpless in my life before.

Everything is ruined.

Everything.

"Mom," I ask, my throat dry. "Are you okay?"

She doesn't say anything. She just wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. The heat of the flames cause me to sweat, but we don't move away. We're as close as we can safely be and we're watching our entire lives crumble down.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she says as she holds me. "I'm so sorry."

And then I realize what she means.

Everything is ruined.

Everything.

Including my entire art studio. All of my paints. All of my pastels. Hundreds of dollars of materials ruined.

And every single completed painting.

Every. Single. One.

Every piece of my Kintsukuroi Boy. Everything I've done for this art show. Everything. My entire life is literally going up in flames.

"Mom," I gasp. "Mom. It's everything. I don't have anything to make for the art show."

I feel myself fall apart. I crash into her so hard she struggles to stay upright.