Текст книги "The Weight of Rain"
Автор книги: Mariah Dietz
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
“LO, COME check these out.” I pause and take a step back to the open office door and peer into where Kash is sitting beside King and Summer. “Come here. Remember the pictures and video I was telling you about? Summer’s showing me the edits. I want you to check these out.” Both King and Kash are turned to face me, but Summer’s eyes remain on the screen as I slowly approach them.
“Summer’s crazy good.” Kash rolls closer to the desk and points to an image on the screen. “Show her what you did to this one.”
Two images appear on the screen side by side. The image on the right has a background that has been muted while Kash’s skin is brighter, enhanced. My eyes slowly trace over the differences between the two images, noting far more differences than I’m sure she thinks I can. The one on the left showcases a scar that’s been erased on the image on the right, and though his muscles are larger in the enhanced image, the definition isn’t as beautiful, and the shadows and curve along his spine are missing.
“Crazy, right?” Kash’s question stops my comparison, and I move my attention to him and force a nod which feels too slow.
“Yeah,” I quietly agree, trying to sound more persuasive.
King’s eyes meet mine. They’re narrowed with question and doubt, like he knows I’m lying.
“That’s a really great picture. You have to let me know when you have an event. I’d like to come see one.”
“Come back to the shop. We’re going to be working on a new trick. It will make you question physics when you see this shit.”
“Yeah, you should totally come out to the shop,” Summer adds, turning to look at me.
I nod a few times, my neck feeling just as forced and awkward as before, when I meet her eyes. “That would be cool.”
“You can even get on and ride, if you want.” Her voice rises with suggestion.
“Absolutely! I can’t believe I’ve been such an ass. If you want to, Lo, you can totally come check it out. Ride around with us.”
I casually lift a shoulder. “Mercedes and I went on a path out back a few weeks ago, but I think I’m better being a spectator. The whole balancing thing has never been something I’ve excelled at.”
“You’re going to be my new project! You’re going to love it, Lo. We’ll get you comfortable and then let you experience some really sick shit that will make you fall so in love with it, you may forget your art.” Summer’s eyes flare with Kash’s proclamation.
“I don’t know how great of a nanny I’ll be in a full body cast,” I tease while taking a few steps back toward the hall.
“Don’t worry. You’ll start off on the little track, work your way up.” Kash’s voice is calm and measured, his attention back on the computer screen as he flips to the next picture. “But seriously, I want your opinion on more of these pictures. I was thinking of having you do some sort of black and white drawing or painting. I don’t want it super clean. You know that sketch you had of all the hands? I want something like that with the harsh angles, all straight lines that still somehow seemed … I don’t know how to explain it…” He turns in his seat to look at me, his brows furrowed, seeking an explanation or designation. “It was like harsh lines, but you could still see curves and almost a softness even though it wasn’t.”
I shouldn’t be enjoying his description and appreciation of my work nearly as much as I am, but his lack of knowledge and technical jargon makes his accolade seem far more superior than those from my professors that often feel recycled and overused. Kash smiles and shakes his head. “I don’t know how you do it.” He turns back to the screen, but King’s and Summer’s eyes are both on me, sparking a familiar sense of unease that has me taking another step back.
“You doodle?” My jaw clenches at Summer’s inquiry. This is one of the questions I have always loathed, more so when it comes from another person who likes the arts. It’s as though they’re looking for validation to see if I’m good enough at what I do to be considered an artist when really, who sets that criteria?
“I study art.”
Kash’s eyes move from the screen to my face, his eyebrows drawn. “You live it.” He turns toward Summer so I can’t see his expression. “Seriously, her art is amazing. I think she could make a really cool logo graphic to replace the current one we’re working with.”
“I thought you were going to have the team in Switzerland work on that?” Summer’s discomfort with involving me is evident in the softness of her voice.
“I don’t know. I can’t get her work out of my head. I want her to paint every wall in this house.”
Summer’s eyes flash to mine and her lips purse ever so slightly. “If you want to meet up, we can go over the branding materials. I can be pretty flexible with my schedule since I know you have like four jobs.”
My head shakes as I work to suppress my concerns of Summer thinking of me as competition for Kash, finding her fear almost humorous. “Why don’t you guys discuss the other option first? I’m truly flattered, but I don’t do marketing and logos. I don’t even—”
“Stop selling yourself short. Meet with Summer. You guys can go have coffee or go to dinner or whatever, on me. Summer can fill you in on what we’re gearing toward, and I want you to show her some of your work so she can see how good you are.”
“We can go next week.”
I turn to Summer, reading her indecision, envy, anger, and defeat even though she doesn’t hesitate to extend the invitation. It makes me feel guilty and reminds me just how tightly knit this group is. “Yeah. No problem.” I hope she’s putting it out till next week to allow enough time to think of a good excuse to cancel, or at lease postpone, until Kash changes his mind.
“Look at these,” Kash says, oblivious to our exchange.
I approach the desk again, standing a foot from King’s shoulder because he’s the closest one to the door. Kash clicks to the next image. It’s an image of him upside down, holding his bike in place with just a single hand. The shot is amazing, capturing movement and the adrenaline rush he was feeling, but the finished photo has been softened so that it almost looks like a blurred thought.
“Is it an illusion?”
King shifts, looking over his shoulder at me. His lips nearly draw my full attention as they part. He grips the back of a chair, and I glance over to see the familiar scar that runs along the knuckle of his index finger. “This is supposed to look like a dream sequence.” I process his words seconds after they’re spoken because I’m realizing the scent I have been catching while doing laundry is his.
“That’s a cool concept. I doubt many people can do … that,” I finish lamely, pointing to the monitor.
“Don’t worry, Lo, we’ll have you doing some awesome shit by summer. Just you wait.” Kash’s grin stretches from ear to ear as he looks back at me. “Wait until you see this next one. It’s my favorite.”
The bike is midair and he’s parallel to it, as if doing a pushup off the handlebars. It makes my eyes grow wider with disbelief. “That’s amazing.”
“Get your sketchpad, Lo,” Kash says, his attention remaining on the screen. “We’ll hammer this shit out now.”
“I have to get going actually, but if you send me some of your favorite pictures, I can try to create something.”
“Cool, okay, I’ll text you then,” Kash says, still lost in thought. I doubt he’ll remember this conversation tomorrow based upon his attention.
“Sounds good. Um, Mercedes is working on a report in the dining room, I made her a deal that if she finished it tonight instead of waiting until Friday, I’d ride bikes with her tomorrow.”
Kash’s attention is torn from the screen, his lips turned up in a grin. “You’re getting on a bike tomorrow?”
“Well, that depends on Mercedes, but yeah, it looks that way.”
“We have that fucking meeting tomorrow with Spencer,” Kash groans.
King shrugs, his attention shifting to me for a split second before moving away again, like he can’t be bothered with looking at me—he’s been doing this a lot lately. “I’m sure we can move it.”
Kash grips his baseball hat and lifts the bill, leaving it raised as he scratches his forehead. “We can’t. We’ve canceled on him the last three times. He’ll start taking it personally if we do it again.”
“I’ll be here,” Summer volunteers. “I can show her around.”
“You guys know I’m planning to just coast around the perimeter, right? None of that…” I lift my hand to indicate the screen still showing the impossible move. I notice the corner of King’s lips tip upward before he moves so I can’t see his face.
“That’s okay. It’ll get you warmed up so you’re ready to start doing shit like this soon enough,” Kash says, pushing his chair back.
I raise my eyebrows but don’t argue. I know what it’s like to believe everyone should be as passionate about what you love as you are, but I’m sure like me, he realizes that is often untrue.
“See you guys later.” I wave as I take a step back, watching each of their reactions to my departure: King looks indifferent, his face still hidden as he looks to the monitor, though his shoulders look tight. Kash looks slightly disappointed by the news, his eyes on me as he smiles warmly. Summer looks relieved, her posture becoming more relaxed as she takes a fleeting look in my direction.
I turn and try not to think about any of their expressions as I make my way down the long driveway.
“YOU AREN’T still looking for the Knight residence, are you?” I turn and notice the owner of the lime green house, the one who gave me directions my first day, out in his front yard. It stalls my steps when he takes a few in my direction.
“No, your directions were really good. Thank you for that.”
He nods a few times, stopping when he nears the edge of his yard. “I’m glad. That family could use someone like you.”
His comment catches me off guard. Someone like me? How does he have any idea who I am? Or if I can offer the family any benefit?
“I’ve known the family for years,” he continues, reading the confusion on my face. “You’re what they’ve been needing.”
“As long as they don’t need to eat.”
He laughs, resting his hand on his thigh covered in worn denim. “It’s not their stomachs that need fed; it’s their souls.”
I feel like I’m fourteen years old, caught with the indecision of making an inappropriate joke or asking if he’s crazy. I strike out both options, knowing that neither is going to make me look like I’m a positive influence on the family, and try to stop looking so alarmed. Smiling would be good, but trying to hold back how bizarre I find this man is difficult enough.
His lips slide slowly up his face, pronouncing defined laugh lines that look well used. “Have a good day.” He dips his chin, as if granting me the escape I’ve been searching for. I return the gesture and continue, my pace slightly quicker as I wonder who this man is and if he truly knows the family.
The bus ride home goes too fast. I’m lost in a trance of tipped up lips, shadowed eyes, and a scar that stretches across several knuckles. My materials are tossed in my bag haphazardly to not miss getting off at my stop, and on the way down the aisle, I pass each passenger, seeing only their hands in an attempt to bury the image I’ve been working to create.
MY PHONE buzzes just after 9:30 p.m. as I’m sketching a face I haven’t drawn before: Summer. I’m not sure why I’m drawing her, but I welcome the fact that it’s not King. I release a heavy sigh as I reach for my phone, anticipating seeing a message from Kenzie. Instead, it’s a picture message from Mercedes holding up a paper with a picture of a bike and a giant grin.
I’m now convinced I need to draw all night because tomorrow at this time, I’m going to be in a full body cast.
“HEY, LAUREN! Ready for your first ride in the shop?” I look to Summer as I enter the kitchen, still in the midst of taking off my coat and setting my bag down. She’s standing beside Parker and a guy I’ve met on a few occasions named Dustin.
“Thanks for the invite, but I have to see where Mercedes is first.”
“Squirt’s already in there,” Dustin calls.
I’m grateful they’re too far away to hear the loud sigh that accompanies my steps off the porch following their wake. The last thing I want to do is go into the shop. Actually, the last thing I want to do is go in there and ride a bike. Deals with ten-year-olds should never be made.
“We have to take it easy on her. She’s a Mary.” Summer’s light brown eyes are taunting me, waiting for me to initiate in some sort of verbal fight that I don’t doubt she’d consider making physical.
“You’ve never been on a bike?” Parker’s surprise is evident with his tone. “Like ever?”
“I rode a few weeks ago, but before that it had been a while,” I explain, purposefully trailing behind them in hopes that they’ll exclude me from conversation.
Parker seems to realize the gap and stops until I’m beside him, then slides an arm around my shoulders. I know the gesture is meant to be friendly and inclusive, but it pulls my hair and makes the idea of doing this even less inviting when I know they’re all going to be paying attention to me.
The shop is huge, likely as many square feet as the house. It’s difficult for me to focus on any one object because there are so many things in the space that make my heart race with unease.
“Let’s get you a helmet first.” Summer moves to a cabinet against the wall and opens two doors, exposing shelves of helmets. “You kind of have a big head, so let’s try this one.”
No one laughs or comments on her words that strike me as an insult but sound almost factual, making me feel self-conscious as I reach out to accept it. Sadly, it fits like a glove.
“Lo!” Mercedes’ tires stop inches from me, making my heart slam against my chest. “I’m so excited for you to finally try it!”
“You should probably start off with just getting comfortable on the bike again. Find your footing and timing,” Parker says, placing a hand back on my shoulder.
“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to scare you.” Summer looks away as she fastens her helmet in place, which only makes her taunt that much more annoying. If you’re going to deliver an insult, at least have the decency to serve it with eye contact.
My palms are itchy with sweat as I climb onto the bike Parker and Dustin picked out for me. It’s black and has a sequence of numbers and letters along both sides that mean nothing to me. The seat feels too small; in fact, everything about this bike feels too small, making me once again feel all too aware of my size.
“Alright, this is easy. You’ll remember everything with a few spins around the place,” Parker assures me.
I notice Summer watching me as she mounts her bike, and then it’s me watching her as she rides to the edge of a steep ramp and disappears for a second before becoming airborne on the opposite side. It causes an ugly feeling of envy to swirl around in my gut.
My feet push forward and the bike wavers almost violently as I begin, but it quickly becomes steadier, almost easy as I continue. The air in the shop is held at a temperature far cooler than the house, but it doesn’t take long before it feels too warm and I stop to remove my sweater.
“Ready to try the small ramp?” I turn to Dustin with my eyebrows rising, making my helmet slide up.
“That’s not a good idea. This is her first day back on a bike, and look at the shoes she’s wearing.” I don’t know whether I want to thank Parker or refute his words because they make Summer and Dustin both laugh.
“She’ll be fine.” Summer makes eye contact with me, her chin tilted and eyes narrowed with calculation. “Unless you’re not up for it.” And apparently challenging.
I realize as I’m moving toward the ramp that I should have conceded to Summer. She’s likely seeing this as me accepting a challenge much larger than this moment. Something that says I want to compete for Kashton since it’s obvious she has feelings for him and is concerned about my relationship with him. I send a curse to my older brother and Kenzie for always making me feel like I need to prove myself, and then push my weight forward, triggering the bicycle’s mechanisms to roll down the incline.
“Remember, just don’t squeeze the brakes too hard!” Parker’s advice is the last thing I consciously think of. The air whips across my face, and the exhilaration seems to fast forward the entire event until my shin painfully knocks against the pedal and I land on the other side, where I tentatively squeeze the brakes to a stop. The shop erupts in cheers and whistles that echo with the high ceilings.
“You have to do it again! The first time goes so fast, you don’t get to appreciate it!” Dustin’s words are so true it’s almost frightening to know that I have just experienced something they know so well.
“You were made for this shit!” Parker calls, riding along the outer rim to join me. “That was perfection! You looked like a natural.”
My eyes feel too wide as I follow him to where Dustin and Summer are standing at the beginning of the small ramp, their bikes lined up like a voting panel with Mercedes behind them.
“What’s going on?” We all turn toward the entrance to see King. I first notice that he’s wearing board shorts even though it’s nearly freezing outside. Then I see his grimace, which is becoming more prominent as he approaches us.
“Uncle King, she’s a natural. You have to check this out.”
King’s eyes don’t even move in her direction. They’re fixed on me, and then they slowly turn to Summer. “Did you guys take a stupid pill this morning? What were you thinking? When do we allow someone who doesn’t know how to ride, to go down a ramp? Does that not sound like a liability risk?”
Parker shuffles his feet, and Summer’s face turns downward with shame. I feel my own heat with embarrassment. “Sorry, King. This was my fault. I should have stopped this,” Parker says.
“You’re damn right you should have. All of you know better. I don’t have time for this kind of stupid shit…” His words become inaudible as he turns, pressing a thumb and forefinger to the slight bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.
I want to look to the others for direction, feeling like I’ve just been caught in a very compromising position. However, I don’t know any of them well enough to feel comfortable with doing so. So I stand still as a statue and wait.
“How did things go with Spencer?” Dustin doesn’t seem nearly as concerned with King’s obvious disapproval.
“I don’t know. Kash went without me.”
“To Spencer’s?” Summer’s voice is filled with confusion, and it’s obvious King doesn’t appreciate it as he turns back to face us, his eyes wide with a new challenge.
I try to make my movements as slow as I can and turn to see Mercedes. She’s watching the scene play out like a sitcom. Her eyes move to mine, feeling my stare, and her lips purse slightly. “Uncle King, Lo and I are going to take some bikes out on the trails. Want to come?”
I feel my eyes go wide with horror. This is a terrible idea for so many reasons. My attention stays on Mercedes in favor of seeing her over the revulsion I’m sure to see on King’s face. I’m waiting for him to tell her what a horrible idea this is but am distracted by Dustin discussing something with words and expressions that don’t make sense.
“Lo.” My neck snaps to face Mercedes again, my eyebrows raised with question. “Let’s go.” They climb even higher when I turn to the door and see King leading a bike outside.
I’d rather try my luck with the ramp again.
I wheel the bike outside, clipping my shin twice with a pedal, but thankfully both times the contact is only enough to cause a slight wince as I follow Mercedes to the side of the shop.
“Where do you want to go, monkey?” King asks, swinging a leg over his bike.
“Can we go into town?”
“Not today.”
“You just don’t want to wear a helmet,” she fires, her chin tilted with accusation.
“Not if I don’t have to.” His tone is brazen, like he’s not trying to show off but is unabashed to answer the question honestly.
“Want to go on a trail in the back, then?”
“That’s what I was thinking. Why don’t you lead? I’ll take the back.”
I feel my nose crinkle with this prospect, not wanting to be in the middle. “Why don’t I go last? That way you guys can go at your own speed.”
“Because I know what I’m doing.”
“Exactly.”
“Didn’t you make this your deal? These are the terms.”
It was of course. However, I thought it would entail spending the afternoon going in continuous circles while watching Mercedes ride. Never had I considered the idea of King being here. I had known before making the deal that the two were supposed to be gone today. A retort seems futile at this point, so I get back on the bike, my fears of falling and breaking my arms a distant memory replaced by how ridiculous I look on this bike and how much more embarrassing it will be to break both of my arms in front of King.
Several minutes later, I’m impressed by how well I’m keeping up with Mercedes. Though the trail is mostly packed from obvious use, it’s narrow with roots, stumps, and rocks protruding like masked men at a corn maze, they hold my attention a little too long.
“Put more weight on your toes.”
My bike swerves as I attempt to look behind me to verify if King’s directions are intended for me.
“Don’t look back! Watch where you’re going!” he instructs, his voice raised.
“I didn’t know if you were talking to me.”
“Mercedes knows how to ride. You don’t. Of course I’m talking to you.”
I’m considering ten ways to flip him off when he breaks my train of thought. “It’s easier to maintain your balance and use your muscles more efficiently when your weight is forward. Try standing a little to get the feel of what I’m saying. Then you can sit back down and you’ll understand.”
Stand up! Is he kidding? His directions only confirm he’s watching me too closely, making his stare feel that much heavier. My knuckles turn white, straining to hold tighter to the handlebars as I slowly move to stand.
The bike shifts and my body jolts before becoming rigid, my knees and elbows both locking.
“There, feel that?”
“What? Terror?”
King’s laugh nearly gets lost amongst my adrenaline rush and the breeze, but the hushed sound makes my muscles slowly retract. Before I can contemplate the fact, Mercedes’ bike lifts off the ground, her front and back tire each going a different direction. I’m not sure if my scream is vocalized or simply in my head as I drop back to my seat and stomp on the pedals to get to her.
Before I can swing my leg off to dismount the bike, King is beside her, his knees buried in the mossy undergrowth and hands working to carefully withdraw the bike.
In a hurried rush I realize there’s no kickstand and set my bike down, rush over, and take the bike from him. Mercedes is trying to conceal her cries, which are muffled in the crook of her arm, making that maternal itch become more prominent. I take a second to scan over her body, searching for blood or gashes before kneeling beside her and running a hand down her back.
“Mercedes, I need to know where it hurts, monkey.” King’s voice is steady, but his eyes reveal he’s shaken as they continuously move over her, wide with concern.
“Everywhere.” Her reply makes him move forward.
“I need you to roll over for me.”
Slowly, Mercedes shifts onto her back, her sweatshirt rising, exposing her stomach up past her belly button and revealing the area is clear of any abrasions. King reaches forward and slowly peels her arm back, exposing blood that’s smeared around her chin and neck.
“Alright, Mercedes, you know the drill. I need you to tell me if anything hurts worse than a bruise.”
I consider this analogy for a second, thinking back to how painful some of the bruises I’ve endured have been. A bone bruise is easily at the top of my worst pain experiences, but then again, unless you’re raised with horses, your chances of ever having been kicked by one are rare.
“I don’t know. I hurt everywhere.” Both of her hands move up and down, emphasizing her point. King seems relieved by the fact, however, and reaches forward to inspect where the blood is coming from.
“Looks like you’re going to match Lo,” he says, moving her chin slightly to examine a gash along her jaw. The comment makes my breath stall and my hand travel up to feel where the skin is grooved with a scar I got from climbing a fence when I was twelve.
King gets to his feet and easily lifts Mercedes, cradling her in his arms. “Can you stay here with the bikes? I’ll get her in the house and be right back.”
“Yeah, go. I’ll bring them back up.”
“No, just stay put. It’s going to get dark and it’s slick out. Summer can help get her changed.”
Against my better judgment, I nod.
Where I grew up, you can see a few miles in all directions. Sure, there are hills and vegetation and such, so you can’t actually see a person a mile away, but you can still see what’s going on around you. But here in the woods, it’s like being in a jungle. I’m surrounded by thick greenery that is so beautiful, yet so intimidating, holding the slight threat of so many possible creatures and predators. I wish I had at least thought to bring my cell phone with me. I may not get reception wherever I currently am, but at least it would offer me a little bit of light. I look up at the darkened branches, searching the sky for an idea of what time it might be, and idly wonder how things are going with Mercedes.
I move back to the path and find a long feather. My fingers brush the fine barbs lining the right side which are nearly completely matted with mud. Some separate into new clumps, while others remain sticking out at flawed angles from the weight of the rain and dirt. It never ceases to amaze me how beautiful such a tiny detail is.
This feather is now useless and undoubtedly flawed, but the quill is sharp, ending in a fine point that I run across the ground, which is soft from all of the rain we’ve been having. It leaves a vague line that I appreciate. I like that I’m making such a slight indent, one you have to search for. I lean closer, my knees growing damp with the residual wetness that moss always seems to hold, and I draw.
I NOTICE the cast of the bright yellow lights before I register the rumble of the truck’s engine. My fingers slowly release the tight pressure around the feather and I straighten, brushing my free hand that has become stiff from being cold and supporting my weight, and take a step back.
The passenger door opens first, followed by the driver’s side. Parker and King head over to me, their profiles darkened by the light of the cab.
“Were you writing an SOS in the dirt?” Parker’s tone is light, teasing. I feel that uncomfortable energy creeping through me, filling me with doubt. I never question that art is a profession, a necessity, a legitimately respected craft. I do, however, doubt that I’m deserving of those things. Even with the awards and recognition I’ve earned over the years, these familiar insecurities still crawl through me. I know I’m good. I just don’t know that I’m good enough.
His comment has my nerves and thoughts stumbling, delaying me from taking the few steps to distort the image with a couple of carefully placed prints of my ballet flats.
“Wh … How … Shit, you’re good!” Parker rattles. His shoulder brushes against mine as he stares down at the image. “She drew Mercedes, dude. Check this out.”
King carefully steps up to the image, coming to the top of her head where her hair is blowing in an invisible breeze. His gaze remains down as he steps around the drawing to my other side. Without saying anything, he pulls out his phone and holds it forward, taking a series of photographs.
“It doesn’t capture it. I need Summer,” he says, frustration deepening his voice.
“It’s too faint. She wouldn’t be able to get anything much better,” I assure him. He looks over at me, his eyes intense with focus. “I thought you didn’t know anything about photography?”
“Just random bits from a high school elective, which believe me, isn’t saying much.”
“You’re like the musicians that play all instruments,” Parker says, pulling out his phone and capturing a few images as well.
“Hardly.” My eyebrows jog up and down a single time with the thought. “There are so many different types of art; it would blow your mind to see them all. Just the different kinds of painting and drawing techniques can fill several books.”
“Feathers are covered in parasites and bacteria. I thought being a farm kid, you’d know that.” My attention flickers to King; his is on my hands.
“Parasites?”
“Viruses too.”
Talk about the tempting fruit. It slips from my fingers before I consciously think of releasing it. It falls gracelessly to my feet where the already muddied barbs become covered with a new coat.
“It’s the lice and mites you really have to worry about.” King tilts his head, giving me a clearer view of his raised eyebrows that are assuming I’ve already contracted one or both and is telling me it was my own fault.
“It’s obviously been out here a while. Bugs like that have to feed off of something,” I counter.
“Parasites you mean.” His eyes follow me.
“Whatever.”
His eyebrows go up even higher, bemused by my disgust that I’m trying to mask with ambivalence.
“You go to school for art though, right?” Parker’s question punctuates the silent exchange of threats and dares that King and I are locked in. I wonder if he just knows King well enough to ignore his behavior. I give King one last hard look and nod absently while voicing a confirmation to Parker, and then turn to the abandoned bikes. My footfalls echo in the silence of their thoughts and undoubted revenge King is masterminding.
“How’s Mercedes?” I lift the bike I had been using and wheel it toward where the guys are standing, Parker with his phone still out and King staring at the picture I drew. I’m tempted to cross over it. Though I received the accolades I had been searching for, I now question the sincerity.
“I sent this shit to Kash. He’s going to freak out,” Parker says, still staring at his phone.
“He’s already seen her work. He knows how good she is.” King’s statement makes it impossible for me to look over at him.
“Yeah, but this is in the dirt! Who can make a freaking picture with dirt and a feather!”
