Page 107 of Mac Meyers Needs Me

“But then you’ll have pit stains.”

“It’s not my art show. And you're the one who will be doing all the talking.” She takes my hand. “Come on.”

I follow her down the hall and we slip into the gender-neutral bathroom. We trade dresses and she uses the hand drier on mine while I pull hers over my head.

I smooth the navy fabric over my hips. My legs are longer, so it only reaches mid-thigh. “How do I look?”

“You’re smoking.” She gives me two thumbs-up—Cammie style—then reaches for my hand. “It's time for you to meet your fans.”

CHAPTER 38

MAC

Brody, Chase, and I scour the parking lots near the gallery for a spot, but they’re all full. We finally find one, but then we have to walk halfway across campus. “If I’d known parking was going to be such an issue, I would have just suggested we walk from your apartment.”

“Right. Maybe there’s more than one on-campus thing happening tonight,” Chase replies.

“I'll message Gage and let him know we’re running a little behind.” I’m a bag of nerves. I'm desperate to see Fee, but I’m nervous about what our talk will look like later. I miss her. I love her. I shouldn’t have hidden the truth and I really hope she can forgive me.

“Don’t worry, I’m already on it.” Brody frowns at his phone. “He’s running late, anyway. He said he’ll explain later, but to go in without him.”

“Sister stuff?” I ask.

“I think so?” Brody shrugs.

We round the corner of the fine arts building and come to an abrupt halt. A line snakes along the front of the gallery.

“Holy shit,” Chase mutters.

“They’re here for Fee.” I grin as I take in the groups holding her posters.

“She’s legit.” Brody tucks a hand in his pocket as he surveys the gallery with the very cool window sign proclaiming the Tilton University Art Show.

“Too legit to quit,” I agree.

“Oh my God, you didn’t,” Chase snorts, then elbows me. “Look at her in there. Way to make a splash.”

We can see Fee through the window, her installation taking up the space behind her, partly obscured by the growing group of students, all waiting to get their posters signed. Cammie, Enid and Tally flank her. Roman and Lexi, along with a few other Terror players who came to support Fee, Connor and Tristan, assist with crowd control. We join the line and wait our turn, my hands growing damp as we get closer to the door. The entire time I watch Fee through the window, greeting her fans, posing for photos, a wide, awe-filled smile on her gorgeous face.

Finally, they let us into the gallery. I grip the bouquet of flowers and try not to sweat through my suit.

“You got this.” Chase pats me on the back.

Brody gives me a thumbs-up. I can’t read the subtext, but I don’t think it’s the same as when Cammie does it. As we get closer to Fee’s installation, we can finally see the entire piece.

“Dude,” Brody says. “That is…wow.”

“That’s the perfect descriptor,” Chase deadpans.

“Fuck you, bro,” Brody grumbles.

“Holy crap.” In some ways, it echoes of the art on my bedroom wall, but it merges the darkness of her Ouvre Obsession art and the pieces I’ve seen her working on in the studio. The right side of the installation is a compilation of her Ouvre art: monochromatic moody snapshots with bursts of color. The large canvas next to it starts in shades of black and purple, the left side of the figure slowly shifting to full color until it becomes a vibrant neon rainbow that dissipates like grains of sand. On the right are more of her snapshots, bright and vivid, with tiny hints of darkness threaded through.

“She made you look good.” Chase grins.

“Definitely a few embellishments,” Brody needles.

The canvases tell a story, her past, present and future laid out for everyone to see.