Page 37 of No Way Home
“Really?” Magnolia asked like it was the revelation of the century. “Why am I just learning this?”
“Of course, I draw,” I said with apfft. “I’m an architecture major. I have to sketch floor plans all the time—and I’m just average.”
“He’s not average,” Dad said like it was incomprehensible that his offspring would be average at anything.
“I am,” I said through gritted teeth.
“He’s just being modest,” Mom said to Magnolia. “I’ll show you.” She hopped up and darted out of the room.
“Busted.” Sophie clicked her tongue triumphantly.
Crap.
Sophie had a sixth sense for BS. She could spot it from a mile away and always called it out with a smile that saidgotcha. Just like she was doing right now.
Magnolia gave her a confused sideways glance.
I shot up out of my seat and took off after Mom.
“Mo-om?” My voice cracked. “Mom!”
Where had she gone? I ran down the hall to my parents’ room. But she wasn’t there. I ran the other way, toward my room. Empty.
“You’ll see what I mean,” Mom bragged. Which meant she was back in the dining room. I sprinted down the hall and rounded the corner just in time to see Mom laying a stack of my drawings in front of Magnolia.
“Mom!” I stopped at the table, chest heaving. “You can’t just go around showing my art to whoever you want.”
She scowled. “Of course, I can. That’s what moms do.”
It was too late anyway. Magnolia was sorting through the evidence, eyes glued to the pages, not saying a word.
“Oh, I love that one,” Sophie pointed to one I’d done of her and me at dusk in one of our favorite fields, watching fireflies dance above the tall grass. She glanced up at me. “Remember that night? We took the horses out for a ride, andwe just happened to see a million lightning bugs gathered in one field.”
I grunted, heart racing, studying Magnolia’s expression. I could see the wheels turning. Spinning actually. Her eyes were taking in every detail as she nibbled her bottom lip to death.
“Those aren’t very good,” I said. “They were just practice.”
But if Magnolia heard, she didn’t let on. Just flipped to the next picture?—
And stopped dead.
It was one of my mom, standing in a meadow of wildflowers, her fingers brushing over the tips of the petals, wearing one of her sundresses, eyes closed, smiling as the sun warmed her lightly freckled face.
It was the same style as the pictures I’d done of Magnolia.
I was so screwed.
“I have the final version of that one hanging in my room,” Mom said. “He made it for me for Mother’s Day his freshman year of college.”
Magnolia’s thumb brushed over the bottom corner of the paper reverently. “These are…really beautiful.” Finally, she lifted her gaze. I widened my eyes, begging. She glanced back down, studying the picture again.
Sophie shook her head.Somebody has some explaining to do, she mouthed. But then she zipped her lips and threw away the key. Thankfully. Sophie could keep a secret better than anyone I knew.
The question was, could Magnolia? No…
WouldMagnolia?
Chapter Eleven
