Page 149 of Rules

But I don’t hear the rest because I see them. Brook’s paintings. I don’t need anybody to tell me they’re hers because I just know. I see them, but really, I seeher.

I’m sure my mouth is hanging open, but I don’t care one bit.

Turning around slowly, I take in every single one of them. I don’t know shit about art, but these… these are beautiful.

“This is…” I gape at the paintings. The pages of her precious books glued to canvas and vivid images painted over them. So many colors, so many emotions.

“Amazing isn’t she?” Mrs. Brown chuckles behind me.

I nod absentmindedly but don’t look away. Silhouettes of people, mostly girls—on a swing, little girls holding hands on the field, a crying profile, hiding, a couple kissing, and is that... a party? A girl looking at a guy who’s looking at…

“Is that… me?” I ask, coming closer and finding more of them.

Painting upon painting upon painting of me. Not knowing what to say, what to think, what tofeel, I just stare at them.

Happy, confused, pensive, irritated… she captured it all. There is even one painting of me playing hockey. Mid-swing, determination to score the goal written all over my face. Determination I haven’t felt since Jeanette’s accident.

“Those are her latest paintings.”

She knew. “Is that why you called me in here?” I can’t help myself but ask. “To show me her work?”

“Nonsense.” She waves me away, pulling out the tissue paper. “I just needed a young, muscled man to help me pack all of these.”

“What are you going to do with them?” I ask, looking around. The idea of wrapping these up and sending them somewhere upsets me more than I want to admit.

“She wanted me to sell them.”

“You talk to Brook?” My heart starts beating harder. If she’s talking to her than she must know where Brook…

“Not anymore. She asked me to do that before she left town.”

The hope I was feeling only seconds ago deflates.

“Now, are you going to help me or just stand there?”

Sighing in defeat, I look at the paintings. One last trace of Brook that will soon be gone. Erased like her very existence.

As I scan the paintings, I stop on the one of the couple, eyes narrowing as I observe it more carefully.

“Do you have to send them all?” I turn around and catch one of her silver brows rising in question.

“Did you have something in mind?”

I point at the painting. “I want this one.”

* * *

“This looks good, Max.”

I turn around in my chair to face Jeanette. She’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed, a little black furball nestled in her lap, snoozing. I still couldn’t believe Andrew got her a freaking dog. And even less that our mom let Jeanette keep it. In the house, at that.

I guess part of it is because she feels guilty. Guilty she missed the signs that something was wrong with Jeanette, not once but twice. Guilty she ignored her fucked-up marriage, drowning her sorrows in shopping and day drinking. Ignored Dad’s cheating until it all fell apart, and like a wrecking ball, pulled us all down with it.

“You think so?”

With everything that has been going on, I fell behind on my studying, and since the person who usually helped me is MIA, I had to bug Jeanette. Coach is pissed at me as it is. We barely managed to pull through the first playoff game, and if my grades slip again, he really will bench me. Something I can’t risk.

Seeing Brook’s paintings, seeing myself through her eyes, has awoken something in me that was asleep for a while. Looking at them, I knew she’d be disappointed if I let my team down. If I let myself down after everything we’ve worked for.

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