Where You End Read Free Page B

me to the exit. Fear hits me in neck-breaking waves. I have only a few seconds to think before the next swell of panic rolls over me. What time is it? What if somebody knows? How long have they been waiting? Should I confess? What are they going to do to me? Did I mention I had a decent shot at art school?
    There is a line of visitors waiting to see the next show, and, either way, it’s time for me to go home. A lady in uniform walks in to take out the trash. I have to move, but I’m frozen in that chair. The lady doesn’t see me. I think she’s listening to music. Maybe I can just stay and listen to the voice again. Maybe if I watch the stars enough times, I won’t feel so scared. This is, after all, what they mean when they say “the great scheme of things.”
    A hand rests on my shoulder, and I let out a small shriek.
    â€œSorry,” the girl behind me says.
    â€œNo, no. I’ m sorry,” I say, laughing a little, as I take in the very first sketch of this stranger. She’s probably my age, maybe a little bit older. Her hair is black and thick. She drops her smile.
    â€œSo … we don’t have a lot of time,” she says, as her head nods toward the door.
    Her voice is husky but young, like she’s getting over a sore throat. There’s a strange rhythm to it, like English may not quite be her first language. I stay silent and in my chair. Her voice lowers to a whisper.
    â€œI saw what you did,” she says.
    Now I want to run. More than I did when I pushed the sculpture, when my body did the escaping for me. This feels nothing like a dream. Every surface is flooding; there’s an ocean in my fingers, my belly, my hair. Since getting up doesn’t seem like a real option, I turn around to face the front and think, but she jumps over the chairs to sit right next to me.
    â€œDo you know how much that thing is worth?” she says. I keep quiet. I get the feeling these aren’t questions I’m actually expected to answer.
    â€œIt’s a Picasso,” she says, shaking her head and looking for my face. “It must be millions.”
    She takes a breath and looks ahead, settling back into her chair. We’re just sitting there, the two of us. Whoever she is, whoever I am. Two minutes ago, total strangers, and now she knows my biggest secret and, worst of all, I know she knows it. My phone vibrates. It’s so quiet in the dome that we can both hear it. I leave it in my bag and let it ring a few times. I don’t want this girl to touch anything else in my life.
    â€œGo ahead,” she says. “You can get it. I’ll wait. Just try to make it quick, ’cause the next group is coming in soon.”
    I get the feeling I’m following orders, but I reach for the phone anyway. It’s my mom, telling me I’m half an hour late for the bus and everyone is freaking out. Once she calms down, I reassure her I’ll be at the bus soon. I’m sure someone called her, probably Adam or Ms. D or the school counselor. I have two other missed calls, but I’m not going to check who it is right now. I silence the thing and bury it back in my bag.
    â€œI gotta go,” I say, avoiding the girl’s face.
    â€œWe have to talk before you go,” she says.
    â€œI’m late,” I say.
    â€œRight. You have to go back to Sterling.”
    Now I look at her. She knows the name of my school; she saw me push the sculpture; she obviously followed me in here.
    â€œLook,” she says, “I saw you push the Picasso, but I don’ t think anybody else saw.”
    I can’t tell if this is supposed to make me feel better.
    â€œWhat do you want?” I say, trying to keep my tone as even as possible.
    â€œI don’t know yet,” she says, “but I’ll figure it out.”
    She’s rubbing her necklace; a gold fish. A fish made of gold.
    â€œI don’t know what you saw,” I say, “but I