“Predictable,” Fang whispered. “Pretty pastel-colored paintings of landscapes, flowers, and ballerinas.”

Those two were so completely zoned into the pictures that we tiptoed right by them. They didn’t even notice. What was it that Angel was so hypnotized by? I casually glanced at the placard to get the artist’s name. Mary Cassatt. I saw picture after picture by this painter of beautiful mothers with beautiful children. All soft, warm, comforting.

And I saw a tiny, tiny tear roll down Angel’s cheek.

* * *

Of all places to run into Gazzy and Iggy: the gallery where the canvases were big and the colors were wild, angry, free, and — well, explosive. The security person informed me it was called the “abstract expressionism” space.

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked. “Thought you’d be in the armory.”

“Well, it’s the easiest place for me to describe what I’m seeing to Iggy,” Gazzy explained.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Fang said, pointing to a painting made up of random splatters and lines. “Seems like the hardest place to be describing stuff. ’Cause there are no … actual … pictures here.”

“I can detect color fields, remember?” Iggy reminded us. “And then Gazzy just makes up the rest. What he thinks the picture represents.”

“Yeah, like that one over there?” The Gasman gestured to a composition that looped and splashed around two yellow circles. “It says Untitled #5, but I call it Happy Breakfast: Take two gigundous sunny-side up eggs, stomp on the yolks, then dance around a little bit with an open bottle of ketchup in one hand and a can of motor oil in the other.” Iggy nodded like it made complete sense.

It was sweet of Gazzy to interpret, but God, did I wish Iggy could see with his own two eyes.

“Okay, everyone, time to report,” I announced.

I still didn’t have answers to my own questions, but one of the good things about being the leader is you can sometimes get away with not doing your own assignments. “Who wants to go first?”

Nudge, the eternal good sport, volunteered. “In the garment gallery we learned about corsets. ugh! Max, did you know that they could squeeze people to death?” Hmm, I should’ve restricted undergarments from the assignment. “I also learned that Angel can’t stand to look at any pictures with bad stuff in them, like devils or people or animals getting killed. Including dragons,” she went on. “And, um, about myself, I learned I like the photography the best. Imagination is great and all, but I like real people more.”

“A-plus, Nudge. Extra credit for that surprising insight on Angel.” Angel gave me a look like I was being mean. She was probably right. “Gazzy?”