Page 20 of Considering Us

“No, in the Coolidge White House. Briefly. Someone sent him a black bear. Two lion cubs, too.”

“See, you’re all set for class today,” I said, trying to keep things light despite the heaviness I felt.

...

Ward Connelly and his crew were working on their creation up on scaffolds under a giant canopy, presumably putting the final touches on their work, given that the unveiling was the next day. Rockwood security was stationed by the installation and its equipment twenty-four hours a day, as Andrea was concerned thatThe Underground Stallionwould send an intrepid photographer to the scene to get a sneak peek.

“Don’t we have an actual student newspaper?” I had asked her. “All I ever hear about or see is the underground paper.”

“Yes, but they’re way too timid and weak. And their advisor left last year, so they are a bit rudderless at the moment. Oh, it was Cora! You know, Kyle’s ex-wife. I think she was so distracted by her emotional affair or whatever you want to call it with Ryland that she didn’t do much advising. But you never heard that from me.”

I was working with the facilities team to set up tables and chairs and get everything ready for the event the next day. It was grueling work, but it was the kind of thing I had spent my DC semester so many years ago watching people do and helping when they would let me, and it’s what had ultimately drawn meinto the culinary world. It was my first love when it came to cooking and all that came with it, so there was something that felt good and nostalgic about the plans and the tasks. As I was pushing a podium into place, I noticed a teenage girl watching me from a distance, standing alone.Adrienne.

“Hi, Adrienne! Your hair looks different. I like the pink.” Her dark, almost black, hair was shiny and straight and hung halfway down her back, but now she had a thick, bright pink streak running down the right side. Not a look I would have chosen for myself, but for a sixteen-year-old girl who had been kicked out of multiple schools and who seemed to hate her parents? Perhaps perfect.

“My roommate helped me with it,” she said.

“How’s everything going?” I asked. “We haven’t talked since that focus group.”

“Pretty good,” she said. “I like it better here than at the other schools. I mean, school kinda sucks, but I like my history teacher. Mr. Holling. He’s funny.”

Of course. “Heisfunny. I always found if I had one teacher I liked, it made all the difference, and I could tolerate the others.”

“Yeah, something like that. So, what are you doing here?” she asked, gesturing at the tent and everything that was under it.

“Getting ready for the unveiling of the artwork tomorrow,” I said, thinking back to my meeting with Ward and his mention of his daughter. I studied Adrienne’s face without making it seem intentional. It was tough to tell. Maybe. I thought back to what she had told me about the money being her mother’s. It would make sense.

“Oh yeah, The Stallion,” she said, shrugging.

“I thought the name of it was a secret?” I posed, wondering how she may have heard about it.

“My stupid English teacher told us,” she mumbled. “He’s one of the teachers I need to try to tolerate.”

“Mr. Dennis, I presume?” Typical of Ryland to tell a class of students privileged information. He probably wanted to try to make himself look cool and important to a bunch of sixteen-year-olds.

“Yep, the one and only,” she grumbled. “Can I ask you a favor? It’s a weird one.”

I had visions of Adrienne asking me to intercede with her father on some issue or something horrible like that. I could just hear it;“Since you know him so well…”The last thing I needed to do was interact with Bentley Preston right then. My life was complicated enough. And what could Adrienne even want me to talk to him about? A tattoo? A piercing? Some kind of outlandish trip? I shuddered. “Okay, what can I help you with?” I held my breath.

“I want to learn how to cook.”

Oh.“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m addicted to the Food Network, to the cooking shows on Netflix, you know,Sugar Rushand things like that. All kinds of YouTube content. And I want to try to do it myself. I always liked your food. Would you be able to help me? I can probably pay you. I just need to tell my parents it’s for something else. Because, well, you know.”

I certainly did, and there was no way in hell I was going to accept another dime from the Prestons either. “No money needed,” I said. “But yes, I’d love to work with you. Why don’t you come by next week when you don’t have class? We’ll make a schedule.” As odd as it seemed to spend time with Adrienne, part of me felt like it was penance for what I had put her through. Her mother was awful, but no kid deserved to walk in on what she had.

“Okay, good,” she said. “I’ll see you later.” She started to walk away before I stopped her.

“I have a weird question for you now, Adrienne.”

“Sure.”

“Do you actually know Ward Connelly? The artist of The Stallion?”

She looked pensive. “I mean, I know of him. But I don’t know him personally.”

“You’ve never talked to him.”

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