“We’re very sorry. We had really high hopes for you,” she said. “We still do. And we want you to reapply again next year. Perhaps take this year to think about what I said, and try and find your unique perspective and voice.”

“I don’t understand what you mean? I thought I had a voice, I thought I had a . . .” I tapered off. “What is a voice? Can you at least tell me what I have to do to get it?” I could hear the desperation in my voice now, and I hated it.

“A voice isn’t something you can explain, and I can’t tell you how to get one either. But it’s the thing that distinguishes a good painter from an artist.”

“And my worked lacked that?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Lori! Lori! Lori!” The banging on the door got louder.

“I’ve got to go,” I said quickly.

“I understand.” Imogen sounded sympathetic now. “I’m sure we’ll speak again.”

“Yes. No . . . sure . . . I . . . good-bye.” I put the phone down and felt my body move as Zac pushed at the door so hard that I jerked forward.

I stood up and swung the door open. “What?! What?! What?!” I screamed at him. “Can’t you see I’m busy? Can’t you see I needed a moment! Can’t you!!” I lost it. I could feel it all slipping away and as much as I wanted to reel it in, I couldn’t. The bottle was going to burst open and everything was going to explode out.

“Lori!” my mother yelled and rushed toward me.

“Lori, Lori,” Zac repeated urgently as he flapped his hands in the air.

“See what you’ve done!” My mother moved to Zac, but he swatted at her.

“Sorry . . . I . . .”

“You should be sorry. You should.” My mother tried to pull Zac into a bear hug, but he pushed her away. “Look what you’ve done, Lori!” She shook her head disapprovingly, as if I was the bad guy, and this made me furious. All the rage and sadness and frustration I’d been lugging around for so long, built inside me, like a growing tornado. Swirling, spinning, kicking up dust until . . . touch down. It collided with the ground, the bungee cord snapped, and the bloody bottle burst open.

“You know what . . .” I shouted back. “All I needed was two minutes to myself. Two! And I can’t ever get that. Is that too much to ask from you?” I pushed past my mother and rushed for the front door. Zac ran after me, and my mother pulled him back by his shirt.

“I was doing my exercises,” she called after me, trying to control the now-hysterical Zac.

“You’re always doing something, Mom,” I spat.

“Well, I’m very busy. I am running a company, and I’m trying to break into the market here, and I am trying to build my personal br—”