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Tatum

5:53 pm

it says she’s the youngest artist in fifty something years to make it on this gallery wall

they even included a picture of her painting!

Me

5:53 pm

okay good for her i don’t care

Tatum

5:54 pm

wait

it kinda looks like you…

My chest sinks.

I raise my phone and reread Tatum’s message to make sure I read it right. Then, I press the call button.

“What do you mean it kinda looks like me?” I ask her when she picks up.

“I meaannnn…” Tatum drags out her words. “It kinda looksjustlike you, Drew. The face, the body shape, the hairline-”

“The hairline?”

“Don’t you be weirded out! I’m your best friend. I may not knowyour current favorite color or newest food obsession, but I’d recognize your hairline anywhere. That’s definitely you.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, hoping with everything in me that she forgot to put her contacts in today.

“Drew.” Tatum’s voice deadpans. “I’m one hundred percent positive this is you, girl. We’ve got to go see it!”

“Um, absolutely not.”

“Um, absolutely yes! Aren’t you at least a little curious to see what it looks like in person?”

‘I’ve seen it in person,’ I want to say. I literally modeled for it. In fact, the night I modeled for it was the night that Laine first kissed me, so I think it’s safe to say the image of that painting is ingrained in my brain. There’s no need for me to see it again when I know the sight of it will bring all the feelings back up. All the feelings I’ve spent hours drowning out in dumb animal videos on the internet.

There is no way I’m going to see it in person.

“Oh look!” Tatum’s loud voice booms through my phone speakers, and instantly, I’m reminded she’s still on the phone. “The article included the address and the name of the exhibit.”

“Cool.”

“I’m going to send it to you, and then I’m going to meet you there in an hour, okay?”

“No, I’m not-” I start to protest, but she’s already hung up.

As much as there’s no way in hell I want to go see this painting, to show my face anywhere Laine may be, there’s also no way in hell I’m letting Tatum show up on her own, free to say whatever impulsive thoughts come to her mind. I have no choice but to go.

When I type in the address of the exhibit in my navigation app, a community gallery near Holy Trinity pops up. My breathing accelerates as I click the “start navigation” button, and I almost turn off the ignition and go back inside. Back to wallowing under my covers and crying more.

But I don’t. The fear of what Tatum’s big mouth may say once she sees the painting brings me back to earth, and I release the brake and start the long drive to the gallery. ******