Chapter 33 Riley

CHAPTER 33

Riley

I SPENT MOST of the night staring at the ceiling and crying, and now I have a horrible headache that pounds against my skull when I drag myself out of bed. Unfortunately, it was impossible to sleep in this unfamiliar hotel bed, so when I hear roosters crowing just after 5:50 a.m., I take it as a sign to give up trying.

I pull out a sketchbook and pencil and lean back against the headboard. Most everything feels outside my control, but is there any way I can fix things with Colton? I'm not sure what he overheard, but there's plenty for him to be upset about. I wish I'd told him more; maybe then he'd understand.

Almost subconsciously, my hand moves the pencil across the paper, the soft scratching sounds accompanied by birdcalls and the hush of the wind pressing against the windowpanes.

On the page, the prairie sky is clear and goes on forever and ever. All that space to fill with hopes and dreams. A figure emerges in the foreground. Her hands are stretched out by her sides, the blades of grass tickling her palms. Her bonneted head is tipped up to the sky, and her skirts billow in the breeze that sends the field rippling around her. She is adrift in a prairie-grass sea.

My hand stills.

I am her.

She is me.

There's a soft knock on my door.

"Come in."

Mom eases the door open and steps inside. "Couldn't sleep?"

I shrug.

"I couldn't either. Can I sit?"

Pulling my legs up to my chest, I make room for her at the end of my bed. She straightens the comforter and then sits, her hand resting on my toes.

Mom sighs. "I've been doing a lot of thinking after our conversation last night. And I realize that your dad and I should have gone about all this differently." She lifts her hand and swirls it around. "We really thought that it would be less disruptive to you if we held off telling you about the move until the end of the school year."

"How long have you known?" I ask, my voice coming out dry and raspy over the lump in my throat.

"Only since April. It seemed like such a long shot back when we applied in October. Then things got busy with the holidays. And there were such long periods of silence throughout the interview process, Dad and I didn't think we'd get one job offer, let alone two." Mom shrugged. "When we accepted the positions, we didn't think it would be that big a deal for you. You've always been up for an adventure, and it's only a year until you start college. In a way, it's like a practice run."

It's not quite an apology, but at least she realizes they messed up. I suppose it's a start. Still, it's completely unfair that no one asked for my opinion.

"I had plans, Mom. Nebraska wasn't part of them." My eyes well with tears but I blink them back.

"I know. And believe it or not, Dad and I considered what this move would mean for you. We knew you'd have to change a lot of your plans. But even with in-state tuition, it would have cost more than we can afford to send you to college in California. Now both you and your brother will be able to go for free and we won't have to worry about trying to pay the mortgage, homeowner's insurance, and tuition bill."

I open my mouth to speak but Mom doesn't give me a chance. "Not having to work a job to put yourself through school or take out student loans is a huge advantage. Plus," she says, glancing down at my sketchbook, "I hear the Alden art department has lots of great classes."

"They do?"

Mom nods. "Maybe we could schedule a tour after we settle in? See what options they have for a double major?"

My head snaps up. "Really?"

Some of the weight drops from my chest, making it easier to breathe. I wish we'd had this conversation before, but at least we're having it now. "I'd like that," I say.

"As for the whole summer school thing, I'm going to call the district office on Monday to see if there's anything we can do about the graduation requirements. Having to take three summer school classes is a lot. I really don't see why your oceanography class can't count as earth science or why your Intro to Shakespeare class doesn't count as an English course. It may be a bit more complicated trying to get your first-aid class to count toward health ed, but I'll see what I can do."

"That would be great." She opens her arms for a hug and I lean in. "Thanks, Mom."

"I love you," she whispers. When she pulls me in tight, something crinkles in her pocket.

"Oh," she says, dropping her arms. "I almost forgot. I think you'll be needing this." She fishes a wrinkled, folded-up piece of paper out of her pocket and hands it to me. "You should apply."

It's the artist-in-residence application I tossed in the trash last night during our fight.

"I dunno," I say, smoothing it out. "I'm just a—"

"Talented artist waiting to be discovered? Maybe it's a long shot, but you won't know unless you try. What's the worst they can say?"

"No," I mumble.

"Exactly." Mom squeezes my hand. "But no means you tried, and it's so much better than ‘what if.' Plus, there's always a chance they'll say yes."

She has a point.

"It says I need to submit some sample sketches and a design plan. I don't have enough material in my sketchbook to work with."

Mom glances at her watch. "The wagons aren't scheduled to leave until two…Think you have enough time to work on it now?"

It only takes me a moment to pull on a pair of not-yet-broken-in jeans, a plain cotton scoop-neck tee, and the soft flannel shirt with silver threading throughout the navy blue and pink plaid. I slip on a pair of socks and slide my feet into my new hiking boots, slightly more comfortable to wear after a few days on the trail.

Pencils. Charcoal. Pastels. Sketchbook. Once I've gathered all my art supplies, I toss them in my backpack along with some snacks.

Mom waves goodbye from the couch, a coffee table book splayed open on her lap. No one else is awake yet, so thankfully, the rubber soles of my boots are quiet as I tiptoe my way to the door. I race down the stairs and push open the front door. Down the porch steps and to the right, I duck behind the hotel. It's light enough to see, but the sky is still an icy, pale blue and Fort Bellows is cast in various shades of browns and grays.

Now that I'm outside, I take a deep breath. The air is cool and fresh, with a hint of dew and damp earth. Birds chatter above me. I'm not feeling inspired by the fort, but I know I'll find what I need out on the prairie. I make my way toward Fort Bellow's side gate, where the wagon train rolled in yesterday.

Only yesterday? It seems like a lifetime ago.

It doesn't look secured, but when I push against it, the door doesn't budge. I try pulling it inward, but no luck. The gate is probably locked to keep people out until the ticket office opens for the day. Trying to slip out the employee entrance is too risky. I rack my brain, trying to remember if I saw another exit while Colton and I were wandering around. My heart squeezes when I remember the cold, hard, and hurt look in his eyes after he overheard the fight with Mom, so different from the warm, soft, and hopeful look when we kissed.

I want to make things right, but I'm not sure how. Somehow I'll find a way.

A donkey braying snags my attention. The corral.

Right after we checked on Chance, Colton showed me the fenced area where the animals are allowed to roam and graze during the day. If I can get inside the barn, I can get to the corral, and then I can get to the prairie, where there's plenty of space to think and create for a few hours. At least until it's time for the excursion to head out again.