Ernie is in our room, which I didn’t expect. I mean, everyone is at rec. “Why aren’t you up the hill?” I ask. And then I see it.

He’s on the floor hunched over a big sheet of heavy paper covered with the most intricate pattern of fractal whirls I’ve ever seen. His canvas is probably three feet by four, and he has pushed our desk chairs up onto the beds to make room. The outlines of each curling swirl fill the sheet, inked in dramatic black, and more delicate lines within each reveals arcs, bubbles, and more swirls. About 90 percent of them have been filled in with color, each tiny part given depth from multiple hues. It’s like the most intense paint by number I’ve ever seen.

“I’m trying to finish my art project for Monday.” His eyes don’t leave the canvas. “I spent too long on getting the outlines just right, but I don’t want to hurry the light pockets.” Light pockets? I love it. And it’s not paint by number—he made this. I can’t believe it came from Ernie. It makes me wonder why the hell he ends up a curator instead of an artist.

“This is too good for art class! This should be in an art show.”

He looks up to see if I’m teasing, and it’s clear I am not. His eyes brighten. “I win ribbons at the Syracuse State fair every year. Summer before senior year, I won the grand prize and got the Ontario County scholarship, which I can use for college at Cooper Union in New York this fall.” (I’m awful. I don’t even know where home is for him. Why don’t I listen to people?)

“I had no idea.” I kneel next to him to look more closely.

“Course not. Nobody really cares about that here. I’m just the ‘Gale warning’ guy.” He doesn’t sound sad or outraged as I would, just resigned. Which is worse. “I’m not actually that clumsy, just distracted. I’m in my head a lot.”

“If that means you can do this—then distracted is a small price to pay.”

“Tell it to the tractor I crashed.” He chuckles, and I nudge him with my shoulder. Unlike Vin Weasel, he doesn’t recoil. Either the rumor is still stuck among Gordo’s friends, or Ernie just doesn’t mind. He should’ve been born in my day.

“I’m your roommate—why haven’t you shown me this?”