Page 160 of Rivals
“Yeah, I did say that. It’s still impressive.” He’s right. This guy is our biggest competition based on everything else we’ve seen.
When we leave the art garden, we check on our other pieces that are put off to the side for people to view. They all looked good, and another glass of champagne sounds nice right now.
Professor Tate approaches us, and I grab Lachlan’s hand. “Lachlan, Revna,” she says, glancing down at our clasped hands. I almost let go, feeling like I’m eighteen, caught in the broom closet during the school day. Lachlan holds me tighter, refusing to let go. The broom closet thing never happened, but still.
“Hi, Professor Tate. It’s nice to see you.”
“You as well,” she says and looks at me. I smile and hold out my hand because that’s what Lachlan did. She shakes it, and we all stand there in an awkward silence that kind of makes my skin crawl. “I see the team method worked out for you both.” Lachlan chuckles and pulls me into his side.
“It did. So I believe a thank you is in order, Professor Tate.”
“Well, good, I’m happy for you both. You’re not in school anymore. You can call me Lydia.” She takes a sip of her champagne and levels her professor stare at me. “I knew you both were talented. That was obvious. But together, you both are truly one of a kind. There’s been a lot of talk about some of your pieces, especially the one from Italy. I looked at it myself. It’s unexpected but still classic. The technique was flawless. I hope you both are very proud of yourselves.”
I smile and nod awkwardly. I have no idea what to do in these situations. It’s hard enough when it’s a stranger, but when it’s someone you know? I clam up and feel like I should start twitching because my brain is malfunctioning. Most artists aren’t good with compliments, and it makes you feel weird. It took a lot of courage to put it out there for others to see, but imposter syndrome is its own beast. Compliments don’t mesh well with it.
“Thank you. That one was definitely a challenge for us. We saw a lot of beautiful places in Italy, and it certainly inspired it.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear it. I thought you both would enjoy that trip. Your last piece was breathtaking. I know I’m no judge, but you are the top contestant in my eyes. Is it fair to say you both are not simply telling a story, you’re telling yours?” she asks.
I knew this would come. I knew the questions would be asked. Yet, I hadn’t thought about how I wanted to answer them.
Lachlan squeezes my hip, giving me the courage to speak up. He’s standing behind me, supporting me like he promised he would. “Yes, it’s our story. A messy one, but we call it our Sistine Chapel.”
Professor Tate nods and studies us both as if we are statues on display. “It’s beautiful, and it’s raw. Bravo.”
“Thank you,” Lachlan says.
“Well, I’m going to talk to a few other people. It was nice to catch up with both of you. Congratulations again, you did some fantastic work. You never know, it might just change the world. Good art can do that, you know?”
My eyes shoot up for Lachlan’s, and he waves goodbye. “Do you think that’s true?” I ask him.
“What? That good art can change the world? Hell yeah, I believe that’s true. Now, can our art change the world? I don’t know about that, but the statement is true. Art changed me, and it changed you, too, right?” I nod. “Well, I guess there’s your answer.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you could all gather in the main patio,” a woman over the speakers says.
“Looks like it’s time.” He holds his hand out, and I take it, tangling our fingers together. His warm palm keeps me calm while we walk to our fate. “Whatever happens, happens. We will be all right. We’ve done what we needed to do.”
“I love you, Lach,” I say, looking up at him. He lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles.
“I love you too, baby,” he whispers across my skin.
“Thank you all for coming. I would like to give the remaining contestants a round of applause for their magnificent work. It has been a joy to see it come together. As of now, the judges are viewing the pieces and will return shortly. As many of you know, this is the final round. The winner and their five pieces will be featured in the Modern Museum of Art. They will also receive a feature online and, by default, numerous articles about it…” My ears close as blood rushes through them, and I can’t hear a word the lady says. I only hear my heartbeat like my ear is against Lachlan’s chest.
I keep telling myself that whatever happens, it will all be ok. There is nothing I can do to change it, and there is nothing I can do to help our chances. It’s done. I was relieved when we finished the last piece. It felt like I could finally close the book on my past. It was a page I had needed to turn for a long time, but I never had the strength. Even though I’ve gained that courage, I’m still scared shitless. It means that a new chapter begins.
The future is unknown for a reason. If we walked around knowing what was in store for us, I have a feeling it would all be chaos. It doesn’t make it any less scary. I know I have Lachlan now. We will figure it out together, but it’s always in the back of my mind, wondering if I’ll regress. Maybe I won’t take care of myself the way I need to one day. Then I’ll fall into an episode, buy drugs, and have to start all over again. There are so many what-ifs.
But I guess that’s life. It’s full of ‘what ifs’ because you don’t know. So when the announcement is made, I’ll go from there. We will go from there. “Together or not at all,” he whispers in my ear, tickling the hairs on my neck.
I shake my head, and he smiles at me. “I’m glad you’re confident,” I whisper back.
“It’s not confidence, Revna, it’s trust. I know this will all work out, and this competition will be another page in our book. I have you now. I don’t need anything else.”
“I don’t either,” I say back.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the judges said it came down to two wonderful pieces. It had to be separated by a tiebreaker. The winner of the MoMA exhibit is Elisabeth Whitmore & Oscar Coleson with the Roman warrior.” People clap politely, and they are beckoned to the stage. My heart sinks in disappointment. But I’m not angry or upset. It’s just…what it is.
“Are you ok?” Lachlan asks. I nod, watching Elisabeth and Oscar. “Are you sure, little bird? We can leave now.”
