Art Geeks

Ch. 1: Cancelled?

Copyright 2014; by Grace Ivy

Chapter 1: Cancelled

Gum McFadden

If I could only use one word to describe my life, it would be “nicknamegonewrong”. I know that’s not actually a word, but if it were, my face would be smiling right next to its dictionary definition. And all due to the fact that in first grade, Jack Lionel stuck a big wad of strawberry bubblegum in my curly brown hair.

Basically, I’m living proof that one wad of bubblegum can change your life (or at least your name) and stick (almost literally) with you forever.

I mean, really, even my dad calls me Gum. The stupidity of my nickname has infiltrated my own home.

Oh, speak of the devil.

“Gum, it’s time to go!”

“Coming, Dad!” I shout, taking one last look at myself in the mirror. Simply put, I am the epitome of gangly. My height puts a giraffe to shame, and I’m much too skinny for my own good. My long, dark hair refuses to do my bidding, no matter how often I pray to God to fix it. My chest stubbornly remains flat.

Not that I’m complaining.  I mean, I like myself. To be honest, there is only one thing I’d like to change about myself, and that is the fact that I am shaking harder than a Chihuahua in a snowstorm.

Nervous much?

“Gum McFadden, do you hear me?!” Dad’s voice booms from the downstairs living room.

I grab my messenger bag- full of pencils, sketchbooks, and a plethora of other junk- off of the floor, and scamper down the stairs as quick as I can, hoping my anxiety level will go from ‘I’m going to explode’ to ‘I’m not going to explode until the next Lincoln High Art Show’. Preferably as soon as possible. Preferably now.

“Ready for action, Dad!”

My dad ruffles my hair and puts his strong arm around my shoulder, grinning. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” he says.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say.

“Whaddaya say? Want to check out some artwork?”

I nod, so hard it feels like my head will fall off my neck.

We hop into the car, and Dad turns up his old eighties music as high as it’ll go. I swear, I think part of him thinks he’s still twenty years old and living in 1988.

Scratch that. I know he thinks that.

“Dad.”

“Yeah, hon?” he asks, jamming out to the Clash simultaneously.

“Can we puh-leese turn on something else?”

Dad smiles at me. “Of course.”

Bon Jovi starts blasting from all sides of the car. I sigh. When Dad gets nostalgic, there’s no stopping him.

I start rummaging through my bag, looking for anything to distract me from ‘Livin On A Prayer’ (Which I actually like, but would never admit to Dad.)

“Looking for something?” Dad asks.

“I think I left my car escape portal in here somewhere.”

“Darn, you know, I needed to borrow that. It’s still in Grandma’s car,” Dad jokes.

I giggle. Every car ride with Grandma and Dad ends up in a shouting match, mostly because Grandma, being the total cliché of an old woman, keeps bothering my dad to get married. But seeing as how it went the first time around, I don’t think Dad’s going to try again anytime soon. Still, when he explains it to me, he always just says, “You’re the only girl in my life.”