Art Geeks

Ch. 1: Cancelled?

Yeah. My dad is so cheesy sometimes.

“D@mn it,” I say, dropping an abundance of colored pencils on the car’s rubber floor mats.

“Language,” Dad scolds as I gather all my blue pencils in one hand and reds in another.

“I meant, like, you know, a beaver’s dam. To stop up rivers and make lakes and stuff.”

“Right. Sure.”

So, without an escape portal in sight, I am forced to take in a variety of Michael Jackson, A-ha, Journey, and a lot of AC/DC. God, my dad has a thing for ‘Back in Black’.

Finally, after suffering through ‘Highway to Hell’ for the fifth time, the McFadden family station wagon pulls into the parking lot of Lincoln High.

“Gum!” someone shouts. Smiling in at me from the passenger side window is my best friend, Jess.

I open the door and hop out of the car.

“See ya later, Dad!” I call, met with an angry ‘We’ll talk later’ glare. I guess getting out of the car while it’s still moving is a good reason for receiving a glare like that. But, hey, the car was moving slowly.

“God, Gum, aren’t you excited?”

“Bursting at the seams,” I say, which really is true. I think I’m going to burst out of my seams if I don’t find some kind of distraction from my earthquake-esque shaking.

Crap. How many cups of coffee did I drink this afternoon? Five? Ten?

D@mn you, Starbucks.

Jessica links her arm in mine and we scurry into the gym, where loads of canvases, photo prints, and papers dot the wall. Pottery, sculptures, and other canvases set up on easels are scattered all over the basketball court.

God, art is so wonderful I can’t even explain it to you without dying of true love.

I mean, Lincoln High Art Gallery may not technically be an art gallery, but right now, that doesn’t matter. Nor does the fact that anyone can submit artwork, so if you give a blind one-year-old a marker the color of dried blood, and he uses it to scribble on a dirty napkin, and it ends up being the most atrocious piece of artwork known to man, it could still stand in the gallery. I don’t even care that I’m standing in a gym that is badly in need of a new paint job and smells like a mixture of old feet and burnt rubber.

All that matters is the paintings, and the sculptures, and the pictures, and the drawings…

Hey, why is Harrison crying? He’s been looking forward to this all week!

No. Something is wrong.

A gasp escapes from my throat before I can stifle it, and I realize that every single piece of artwork is covered in spray paint.

I am dreaming. This. Is. Not. Happening.

Since when did anyone care about the art geeks? No one likes us, but no one hates us, either. Everyone just leaves us alone. No one gives a d@mn about us.

“What happened? Who did this?” I wonder out loud, my voice joining my body with its own tremors.

“I don’t know. I got here when you did,” Jess explains. Her face is gray with worry.

Right underneath the clock on one of the four dingy walls are where my drawings hang. There are nine pictures in total, all portraits of my friends in Art Club. Each drawing is split in half, the left side done only in pencil, meant to represent the subjects’ physical appearances, the right side done in colored pencil and cray pas, trying to show the color and life of each of their personalities.

I spent hours on each one. I was proud of each one. I was happy to see the signature G. McFadden at the bottom of each one.

A spray-painted green X cuts through every single picture.

I feel heat rise in my cheeks, and my whole body swells with rage.

Who did this? Who did this? Who did this?

The words repeat in a steady, monotonous rhythm while ‘Don’t Stop Believin’” still plays in my head, stuck there from the 80’s themed car ride.

I look around, hoping, praying for there to be cameras, something, somewhere that caught the whole thing. But there aren’t.

Principal Berkeley’s voice cuts through the chaos spreading through the room. For the first time, I realize that Jess isn’t beside me. She’s staring at her own artwork, once beautiful and creatively shot photos, now covered in blue paint. Even from a distance, I can see her eyes tearing up, turning into fragile pools of chocolate colored glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she begins. “Please do not panic.” Yeah, right. “It appears someone snuck in earlier today and vandalized the art show.” Really, where did you get that idea, Einstein? “But don’t worry.” Easier said than done. “We are searching the school grounds and looking through every locker for evidence. We ask that anyone who has information on this reports to me immediately. The art gallery has been cancelled. I apologize deeply.”

Cancelled. Cancelled. Cancelled.

The Art Gallery is cancelled.

I look around the gym, searching for my other friends. Clay mourns the loss of his oil painting while Dexter stares blankly at his ruined recycled metal sculpture. Mikayla sobs loudly in front of her once amazing still life collection, Lily wipes her eyes at the sight of her spray paint covered embroidery, and Clark glares at the sight of his defaced pottery.

This art, it’s our life. It’s our reason for getting up in the morning, and for going to bed at night. And someone took it away from us.

Of course there will be other artwork waiting for us when we get back to school. But we poured our heart and soul into this and… Now. It’s. Gone.

I feel a salty tear drop down my face. Who would do this?

God, I don’t know. I can’t think straight. I feel myself walking numbly over towards Jess; feel myself wrap my arms around my best friend. But I don’t really, truly feel anything, except my heart thumping angrily against my chest.

No. That’s not true.

Without my art, I feel nothing at all.

Who did this? I’m not sure. But if I ever find out, I'm never going to forgive them.  

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