Leaning In: Greenwood Series Book Two by Cassie Beebe

Author:Cassie Beebe [Beebe, Cassie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-20T05:00:00+00:00

My heart sinks, and the tears flow heavier. I kick off my shoes right there by the bar, letting my jacket fall to the floor on top of them.

I go to the living room and drop to the couch, laying my tear-stained cheek against the fabric. My hand feels for the remote beneath me, tugging it free from between the couch cushions. I flip on the TV, searching the channels for a suitable distraction.

The doctors and nurses of Aunt Mel’s favorite soap opera keep my thoughts away from Bryce until my mind is numb and my tears are dry. When the third episode comes to a close, I sit up and take a deep breath.

For one intense moment, I deeply yearn for my mother. The penetrating need for her arms around me—to feel her heartbeat against my cheek as my tears dampen her shirt—pierces me, and my breath catches. I shove the thought away quickly, before my heart can get tangled in it.

I stand up to shake myself back to the present.

Idle hands. That’s the problem. Idle hands make fretful minds.

I pace across the room, searching for a solution. My homework is still on the counter, but I’m not sure I can focus on that right now. I sit down at the bar anyway and open my laptop.

The screen awakens. My unfinished application to the Art Institute of Paris stares back at me.

For a moment, I resent it. You. The catalyst for the hurt I’ve caused tonight.

But it’s not fair. The application did nothing to cause or change my feelings about Bryce, about Greenwood or the farm. It was merely a flashlight in the darkness of my uncertainty. I should thank it for that, really.

What better way to say thank you than to finish it?

With an empty, clear mind, I flock to my room and retrieve my sketchbook. I set it on the counter, flipping through to the pieces I’m most proud of, snapping photos of each with my phone.

I’m still one piece short of the application requirements when I reach the end of my sketches. I contemplate throwing in a random practice piece, just to fill in the numbers, but I know that’s my defense mechanism kicking in. I can already anticipate the excuses.

I was probably rejected because of that practice piece. It wasn’t my best work. If I had better examples to send them, I’m sure I would have gotten in.

I turn off the defense and reach for my phone, finding his name at the top of my contacts and composing a brief message.

I’m prepared to wait, to have to find something else to do with these idle hands in the meantime, but he responds in less than a minute.

I hook up my phone to the computer and upload the snapshots from my sketchbook. Lastly, I select the photo Arie sent me of the charcoal piece I gave him for the auction, the one now hanging in his office.

I look over my application one last time, double-checking all the details.

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