This really was the big day.
And I was included?
“As you know,” Mr. Barlow said after he’d taken his seat behind his desk, “Trenton is a very competitive school. HTA has one of the few art programs in the Midwest from which Trenton will even consider students. To keep up the reputation of our program, I hand select the students from my AP class each year who I feel are best suited to apply for the program. There are only four applications to go around this year, and each of you is holding one.”
Daniel took in a deep breath beside me, as if savoring the moment.
I just plain couldn’t breathe.
“The application is due in a month. You will need to take photographs of your best pieces to make a portfolio of your work, get two letters of recommendation—I will provide one of them for each of you—and write two personal essays. You must mail the package by the date on the application, or you will not be considered. This is your one chance for Trenton, people—don’t blow it.”
April shook like a happy puppy. Katie hugged the application to her chest. Daniel wrapped his arm around me and gave my shoulders a squeeze.
“We did it, Grace,” he whispered, and kissed the side of my head.
“Don’t start celebrating yet.” Barlow clasped his hands on top of his desk. He usually did that when he was about to deliver the catch. “Trenton usually accepts only one HTA student a year—occasionally two.” His eyes flicked between Daniel and me. Then he looked at April and Katie. “I chose you four because you have a real shot. Do your absolute best with the applications, and maybe we’ll set a new record this year.” He stroked his handlebar mustache. “Now get out of my office and get back to work.”
“Good luck, ladies!” Katie said after we left the office. “Daniel”—she put her hand on his arm—“I want to make sure my painting is just right for my portfolio. Do you mind looking over it for me? Everyone knows you’re the best.”
“Um. Yeah. Sure.” He gave my shoulders another squeeze and then followed her to her table.
I drifted over to my chair and sat there for a moment, staring at the Trenton packet in front of me. I’d convinced myself that there was no way Mr. Barlow was going to give me an application; besides my recent unsteady hand, my grades had taken a real dip last winter—what with finding out my true love was a werewolf, and my brother’s wreaking havoc all over town.
Daniel talked about Trenton on a daily basis. What it would be like for the two of us to go there together. He wanted to be an industrial designer—to make functional art that people could hold in their hands and that would change the way they lived their lives—and it was one of the reasons he came back to Rose Crest. Besides looking for a cure for his werewolf curse, that is. It was his dream for us to go off to college together. Leave behind curfews and the sideways glances of everyone in town. Escape the memories of his terrible father, which haunted him each time he had to walk past his old home in order to get to mine.
Katie erupted into laughter on the other side of the room. I glanced over and saw Daniel grinning in that wry way of his as he pointed at something in her painting. Obviously, he’d just made some sort of joke—but my superhearing had faded away sometime during lunch, so I didn’t know what he’d said.
But Katie was right about him: Daniel was the best. We all knew he was the shoo-in for Trenton. It didn’t matter that he should have graduated last year. He’d all but been promised a spot in Trenton by one of the admissions counselors if he graduated from HTA. The real competition was between April, Katie, and me to see who got a possible second spot at the art institute.
My odds seemed slim. I mean, April was killer with pastels, and Katie was better at acrylics than anyone else in the class. But then again, even though charcoal had always been my specialty, with Daniel’s tutelage I was really getting the hang of oils. I’d gotten two A-pluses from Barlow this semester, and he saved those only for projects he thought were truly special. And Barlow had said it himself: he wouldn’t have given me this application if he didn’t think I stood a chance.
As the shock wore off, I felt tears well in the corners of my eyes. I brushed them away. This was a happy moment, but I’d never been a fan of crying.
Daniel left Katie’s table. He smiled at me as he carried his application back to our table. Even without superpowers, I could hear Lana Hansen and Mitch Greyson whispering from the table behind us. Apparently, Mitch had an issue with a couple of Barlow’s choices for the applications. I shrugged and picked up my Trenton envelope and tucked it into my backpack for safekeeping.
CHAPTER FIVE
Helpless
FRIDAY EVENING
Our last-period class was cancelled because of the whole not-having-a-religion-teacher thing, and since I’d already spent an hour in study hall instead of gym class earlier in the day, I headed over to the market with Daniel to help out with the cleanup.
I was surprised by how little it seemed had been accomplished while we were gone, but then as we dug into it, I realized just how devastating the destruction was. Almost every window had been broken; there were gaping holes in the walls; and every single shelf and display had been emptied and most everything smashed. It seemed like it would take a week to sort through it all to find what was salvageable.
Daniel talked excitedly about our Trenton applications at first—showing his to Mr. Day and Chris, and telling me which of my paintings I should submit for my portfolio—but as the hours dragged on, he grew quiet and sullen like everyone else and just concentrated on clearing one foot of space at a time. The sun had long set and the Dumpster was overflowing when Mr. Day told us to go home for the night. I would have kept cleaning, but I was thankful for the reprieve—my back ached, and I could barely put one foot in front of the other.
Daniel and I picked up the last of the trash and went out the back door into the parking lot.
“I don’t think we can fit one more thing in this Dumpster,” Daniel said. “Let’s try the one at McCool’s.”
Day’s parking lot butted up against the lot of the new pub. I hefted my box of trash in my arms and followed him over to their Dumpster, trying all the way to will my superstrength to kick in, since the box of broken glass I carried felt more like it was full of bricks.
“You think the store will survive?” I put the box down on the asphalt when we got to the Dumpster, and stretched out my arms.