When We Were Strangers by Alex Richards

Author:Alex Richards
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2021-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Emotionally, I’m a worn-out chew toy when I walk into class twenty minutes later. And it doesn’t help that all eyes instantly glue onto me, full of puppy-dog woe and compassion. Before I’m even able to dump my stuff on my usual loveseat, Violet’s beside me, squealing, surrounding me with her swan-like arms.

“I thought about you all weekend. Let’s exchange numbers—I can’t believe we haven’t already.”

“We’re all so sorry to hear about your daddy,” Suze adds. “Here you are, coming in to class, day in and day out, and going through this.”

Sten nods. “We had no idea. I mean, we heard about Victor Parker’s death—his firm handles our taxes, so they sent out an email. But we didn’t know your dad personally or that you were his daughter.”

I wince. My most tragic life experience, emailed out in a newsletter.

Their delicate intentions crawl over my skin like spiders. Not one of them mentions the Nell-induced elephant in the room, but they must be thinking it, right? Desperate to know if my dad had a thing with his receptionist? Or, I don’t know. Maybe they know already. Maybe it was an attachment on the email Sten and Peter received; they’re just too polite to say it.

“I’m sorry about Friday,” I say after a minute. “And for lying to you guys.”

“You didn’t lie.” Ada frowns. “It’s called compartmentalizing.”

“It’s your business,” Peter says, eyes heavy. “We only wanted you to know we’re here for you.”

“If there’s anything at all we can do . . .”

“I feel like I missed something. Is Evie not okay?”

We all look over at Henri, who said it. His French accent is so deadpan, I’m honestly not sure if he’s kidding. Actually, I am sure. And he’s not. Everyone else seems incensed, appalled by his insensitivity. But. I don’t know. It makes me laugh. I mean, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Henri: a beacon of sympathy. Pretty soon Violet and Declan are giggling too. Then Suze and Peter, even Beth, until it’s run its course and we all refocus on Georgy.

“On that note,” she says, “let’s get to it. After gallery hopping on Friday, you were supposed to complete your own interpretations. Let’s see what you came up with.”

Henri surprises no one by volunteering to go first. The lights dim, and the screen fills with still life photographs of fruit and flowers, eerily identical to their oil-painted counterparts. They’re good, technically, but nothing special. Georgy suggests finding more creative still life objects and lowering the camera’s ISO speed. Then there’s Ada’s ethereal portraits of Ed, really taking Georgy’s “interpretive dance” directive to a whole new level.

We reach the end of the submissions, and Georgy smiles at me. “Do you want to show anything, Evie? You don’t have to.”

“I didn’t really do the assignment. But—” My fingers still shake, no matter how many times I hand Georgy my thumb drive. “I took a bunch of random pictures this weekend.”

Thumbnails pop up on the screen. Most of my Sunday was spent walking, exploring new hiking trails.

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