The Fire Artist by Whitney Daisy

Author:Whitney, Daisy [Whitney, Daisy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2014-10-13T22:00:00+00:00

20

An Example of

Figured it out? Color me intrigued. Did you find another air artist who’ll knock you out with lightning? Say it ain’t so. Have I been replaced so easily??? But seriously, if you have, that’s awesome. Do tell, do tell.

Xoxo, Elise

Are you crazy?? No way would I ever ever ever find another Dr. Frankenstein. You’re my one and only. But … shhh … I found another way … you know … THAT way … 1001 Arabian Nights way … He’s beautiful too.

Love, me

The next morning, I grab my backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and pull my long hair into a high ponytail.

I lock my room, practically bounce down the stairs, and meet Gem outside to head to practice with her. Gem is wearing silver flats today. They are covered in silver sequins. Her black hair is clipped back in a cascade of barrettes with bugs on them—a stylized ladybug, an elongated spider, even an ant.

“Cool hair bling.”

“Cool ponytail.”

“Right. It’s such a talent. My amazing ponytail-making ability,” I say drily as we hit the streets. I root around for a pen in the front pocket of my backpack. I find my favorite blue one, the one I jammed in there this morning when I woke up with it in my hand, and shout, “Gotcha, blue pen!”

“Chipper this morning, are we?” Gem raises an eyebrow as we stop at a red light.

“Maybe,” I say in the exact kind of tone someone would use if she were starting to like someone and wasn’t sure how to tell her friend yet. Instead, I finish off a doodle I started on my thigh last night when I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept replaying the moments at the diner, Taj’s hand on my chest, how his skin feels—well, radiant—against mine. I study the drawing, a kaleidoscope of ink and flesh, and I see patterned swirls and whorls bending and weaving, as if I were looking through a lens to see a psychedelic image. I wasn’t in the mood to mark up a too-school-for-cool model or sketch random thought bubbles in a magazine, so I took to my own flesh as a canvas. It’s my most elaborate body graffiti ever.

I cap the pen and drop it into my backpack as the light turns green.

Gem points to my leg. “That, my friend, is certifiably awesome.”

“Certifiable something, that’s for sure.”

“I totally want you to do one on me.”

“You do?” No one has ever asked me to draw on them before.

“Hell, yeah!”

“I thought you were waiting till you retired from the Leagues.”

“For an official tattoo. But you can do a temporary one. Can you do a badass flower? Like maybe a daisy with a scowl on its face?”

I laugh at the image. Gem has a little bit of Angel in her, and a little bit of Ferdinand the bull too. She plays backup for Mariska each night onstage, but what she’d really rather be doing is gardening. Making flowers. Growing sunflowers and pansies and daisies, her favorite.

“Could you

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