Page 42 of Stealing for Keeps
I move toward them and stack them in a tidy pile. “You can work here if you want.”
“Is that where you usually draw?”
I nod. “Yeah, but it’s no big deal.”
She drops her bag onto the carpet and then sits, crossing her legs as she starts to pull out her art supplies. “It’s okay. I usually sit on the floor while I paint.”
I stare at her, looking all cozy in the small space between my bed and the wall. Claire has this way of always seeming like she fits in wherever she goes.
“Don’t worry. I have a small tarp I can put down so I don’t get anything on the carpet.”
The carpet was the least of my worries, but my mom will be thankful.
We’ve barely gotten started when Wyatt comes storming into my room. I left the door half-open per Mom’s request, but now I’m wondering how we’ll ever get anything done.This house isn’t exactly quiet, and someone is always invading my space unless I have the door closed and locked.
“What are you guys doing?” Wyatt asks, running in and jumping on my bed. He peers down at Claire like she’s the most fascinating thing. I can’t say that I really blame him there.
“Working on an art project,” she answers, not seeming at all bothered by him. He has that effect on people, for a few minutes anyway.
“What’s that?” he asks, pointing to her paper.
“Well, this is going to be a painting of the supply closet in the PE room at the high school.”
His little face scrunches up as he stares down at the mostly blank paper. “It doesn’t look like a closet.”
She laughs lightly. “No, it doesn’t. Not yet, but it will.”
He grins at her and then moves to sit next to her on the floor. “Can I try? I bet I could paint something better than that.”
“Wyatt.” I shake my head at him. “Don’t be rude.”
“Sorry.” He dips his head.
“It’s fine.” She grabs a blank page and hands it over to him.
“Really? Austin never lets me touch his art supplies.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s because you use my pencils to make slingshots.”
He looks the tiniest bit guilty.
“Well, you can’t hurt anything here.”
I notice she hands him the widest brush instead of one of the small, precision ones. I tip my head to her in thanks.
It takes my little brother less than five minutes to finish his masterpiece.
“It’s very good,” she tells him. “That looks just like theswings at the elementary school. Glad to know it hasn’t changed.”
“Thanks.” He beams.
“You should take it to show your class,” she suggests.
“I don’t think so.” His tiny head shakes rapidly.
“Why not?” I ask. Back in Arizona, he was always taking shit in for show-and-tell. One time, he took in a scorpion he captured in a jar without any of us knowing. Mom got called to the office. It was a whole thing.
“They’ll think it’s dumb.”
