“You have a point,” I admit.

Rose’s laugh rings bright like the sun. “Good. I like to be right. They have to make a decision on who gets into the program really soon, so—”

“How soon?”

“By tomorrow night.”

“What?”

“Don’t freak out,” Rose insists, and waves to her brother, who nods back. “All you have to do is go by their office before then with your real portfolio. My mom told Isaac to drive us, and he said he could if we do it now.”

“Now?” The word catches in my throat. Isaac strides across the grass toward us. His smile is teasing, and the wink he gives me says he knows what it feels like to be neatly trapped into doing something by his sister.

“If I’m going take Meri to Liberty Tower we have to get going. I have to meet Dad at his office later, and you know how he is about being late.”

“If that’s the case then maybe I should just—”

“No backing out.” Rose grabs my arm and pulls me off the picnic table. “We can drop by your house for you to change clothes and download any files you need for your portfolio, then head over there. They said it wouldn’t take long, so you should be back home in no time. And maybe you’ll see or hear something inspiring to you when you’re there. Like your mom did.”

The mention of my mother gets me moving, just as Rose knew it would. We climb into the new black sedan Isaac’s dad gave him earlier in the month. Isaac had wanted a sports car. Instead, he got the same model his father drove, but with bright gold wheels. Isaac mutes the National News Screen on the dash and cranks the music. Rose yells at him from the back seat to slow down.

“Not all of us drive like turtles. Right, Meri?” Isaac yells over the wailing of guitars, drums, and bass.

The trip to my house takes a matter of minutes. I jump out of the car and turn to Rose, who is starting to climb out. “You don’t need to come in. I’ll be out in a flash.” I turn and hurry toward the brick bungalow before Rose can follow.

It takes me just a few minutes to change from my school uniform into a pair of black pants decorated with large yellow and orange and white flowers and a white top. I tuck in the shirt, tie the belt, and slip on a pair of yellow high-top sneakers, knowing full well Rose will complain about my wardrobe choice the minute I get to the car. But when I tie an orange scarf around my neck and look in the mirror, I actually smile at the reflection. While I still see the fatigue beneath the makeup, for the first time in forever I see something other than the hurt I’ve felt since my mother’s accident. I see me.

With a nod, I head to Mom’s studio to transfer the few finished portfolio projects from her computer to my tablet. While I wait for the computer to boot, I glance around the sunlit room at the paintings scattered throughout the space. A large painting created just before I was born shows a gold-and-silver city stretching toward the sky. Sitting behind it—a lake of brilliant blue. Another from a year ago hangs near the hallway door and depicts a blue cobblestone path winding through a park filled with children of all ages. After I pull up the files I need, I step to a corner of the room where a group of small, unframed canvases leans against the base of the wall—out of sight so my father won’t have to see them if he decides to open the door and step inside. These are the pieces she worked on during the months leading up to the accident.