“Great,” I said with a nod. “So you picked a new dad for me, and I’m back on high alert to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“I’ve never asked you to do that.”

“Sure. But if I hadn’t stepped in to stop that monster, you never would’ve had the guts to kick him out.”

That was a low blow, and I knew it. We never spoke of the night my father left, but the events that led up to his departure still loomed over us like dark shadows. Mom closed her eyes again, and I saw something seeping from beneath her long lashes.

Dr. Brinkley would’ve been disappointed in me. The past was permanent, etched in stone, something that couldn’t be changed. It wasn’t fair to bring it up when we were fighting. I took a deep breath and focused on a spot on the wall behind my mom. It was easier than watching her cry.

“Did you guys at least talk through the practical stuff before you eloped?” I said. “Are we moving?”

Mom sniffed and reached for a napkin to dab at her eyes as she shook her head. “No. Not right away, at least. Rob will move here and put his house on the market, and we figured we can all look for something that suits us sometime before summer.”

“‘All?’”

“Of course. Rob and I want the three of you to feel like it’s your home, too.”

I stifled a groan. I forgot this meant I’d have siblings. No, wait. Step-siblings. At least they wouldn’t be around much. Jessica graduated from Westgate last year and seemed nice enough, but Dexter was in his first year of law school and, if I remembered correctly, completely full of himself.

“Fantastic.” I didn’t bother to hide my sarcasm.

“Talia.” There was a note of warning in her voice, and I gave her my full attention. “I realize this will be an adjustment, but I expect you to at least try.”

Try. I wanted to rage at her, to tell her that’s all I’d been doing for the last five years, trying to find some semblance of normalcy. But I knew she wouldn’t get it. I sighed. “Fine.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. “Not everything is about you, Talia.”

“Yeah, I’m not three, Mom. I know that.” I slammed my books shut and began shoving things into my backpack.

“Are you done with your homework?” she asked as I yanked the zipper shut.

“Mostly.”

She nodded once. “I’d like you to get ready for dinner. Rob’s taking us to Chaussons to celebrate.”

I didn’t say anything but slung my backpack over my shoulder and started to leave the room.

“Please don’t be angry, honey,” she said, stopping me. “I promise this is a good thing.”

I nodded to let her know I understood. And I wasn’t upset, not really. She was right; Dr. Griffin wasn’t at all like my dad. But on top of wondering if this was a smart move for her, it felt like everything was changing all at once. Jake had a new go-to girl, and it wasn't going to be just my mom and me anymore. I couldn’t help feeling like I was being left out of something.

Chapter Eight

The following afternoon, Mr. Collins, my art teacher, stopped me as I started to follow my classmates out the door.

“Talia, a word, please.”

If it had been any other teacher, I would’ve been annoyed at not being able to rush out after last period. But I liked Mr. Collins, so I spared him my usual irritated protests. I adjusted my backpack and turned. “What’s up?”

He walked around to the front of his desk and leaned against it. “I imagine you’ve heard Misty Templeton has been placed on academic probation?”

I nodded. Of course I had. Ally had posted the senior’s plagiarism scandal on her blog and mentioned it a bunch of times over winter break. It was as though she’d been delighted to see her brother’s ex-girlfriend fail miserably.

“And I’m guessing you know she was supposed to design the collateral for Chicago.” I nodded again, and he grabbed an owl-shaped stress ball from his desk and toyed with it. “Mrs. Riley asked to see my top students’ portfolios,” he said. “She was rather impressed with your work.”

I blinked, surprised. Mrs. Riley was the Drama Club director and a formidable woman, and since she handpicked all the people involved in the theater productions — cast, crew, orchestra, and design — it was a big deal to get a compliment from her. She was tough and no-nonsense¸ with a philosophy that she was preparing us for the real world, and she didn’t believe in coddling any of the students. When Bianca missed callbacks because her psycho ex-boyfriend gave her a concussion, Riley refused to reschedule her slot. So, yeah, Riley had a reputation for being kind of ruthless, but if she ever offered positive feedback or a kind word of encouragement, we all knew it was genuine.

“Wow,” I managed to say. “Thanks.”

“And she’s interested in seeing your ideas for Chicago collateral.”

“Wait.” I couldn’t have heard him correctly. “What?”

He put the owl back on his desk and took off his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose. “There’s no pressure, of course. The design she picks goes on flyers, posters, programs, and the cast and crew shirts.” He gave me an encouraging smile. “I’ve seen what you’ve done for Zack and Keith’s band,” he said. “Chicago should be easy for you.”

“Yeah, but those were just flyers,” I said in protest. “I mean, people put them up and tear them down a couple of days later. They’re not, like, posters that people would look at for a long time.”

“There’s really not much difference, you know. Once your art’s out there, it lives as part of the public space.”

“I’m not so worried about people seeing my work as much as I am about coming up with something Mrs. Riley actually likes.”

He crossed his arms and fixed me with an unwavering stare, as though he wanted to make sure I had his full attention. “Elizabeth Riley is one person, Talia, and she has no more influence on your future as an artist or anything else than she does on who will be the next president of the United States.” I started to say something, but he stopped me, saying, “I know the Drama Club reveres her like a goddess, but you’re better than that. Don’t give her more power than she has.”

I nodded, surprised at his words. I’d always thought teachers were good friends who totally got along, but Mr. Collins seemed, I don’t know. Annoyed? Whatever it was, it was obvious he didn’t like her that much.

He put his glasses back on and walked me to the door. “Go home and sleep on it,” he said. “Let me know tomorrow. I told her I’d mention it to you, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it, okay?”

I bobbed my head again. “Yeah, okay.”

“It’ll be good practice for you, though, if you’re thinking of becoming a commercial artist,” he said with a knowing look. “She’s a tough client and not easy to get along with, but you’ll face people worse than her in the real world, too.”

I smiled. There was a reason Mr. Collins was my favorite teacher. He didn’t mince words. He told it like it was.

“I’ll let you know,” I said before I stepped into the hall. I strolled to my locker and retrieved my navy peacoat, only half aware of my surroundings as I thought about my conversation with Mr. Collins. My attention snapped into focus as I almost rammed into a group of junior girls congregated in the middle of the hall, and I mumbled “Sorry” in response to their haughty stares.

A few yards ahead of me, Jake closed his locker and turned toward the parking lots. I hurried to catch up to him.

“Hey,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder.

He turned and smiled. “There you are. You weren’t at your locker. I figured you’d be at your car.”

“Collins kept me after.” I hitched my backpack up on my shoulder and put my arm through the other loop. “Mrs. Riley wanted to know if I’d design the posters and stuff for Chicago.”