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Kind of like now, except with a whole room watching. Wonderful.
“Some of their observations will be useful. Some you’ll disagree with. You’ll need to listen long enough to figure out which is which.”
Nicole dropped her gaze and eased her thumbnail out of the side of her finger.
She hadn’t liked hearing about the figures, even though she’d been ready to point out the arm herself. Apparently, knowing something was wrong didn’t make it any more fun to hear somebody else say it.
“I’ll probably take some of it personally,” she admitted.
Dr. Adams almost smiled. “Most people do.”
“But I want to get better. I can see things that aren’t working, and sometimes I don’t know how to fix them.” Nicole glanced at the painting again. “That’s part of why I want to be here.”
Dr. Adams reached for the application on her desk.
Nicole sat still while she looked it over. There couldn’t possibly be anything on that page the woman hadn’t read already, but Nicole managed to keep that to herself.
“All right. I have a place for you in the program.”
Nicole’s fingers tightened in her lap.
“I’m sorry—what?”
Dr. Adams smiled. “You’re in, Ms. Wright.”
“Oh.”
She’d been ready for more questions. She could have talked about the other paintings, explained why she’d brought them, promised to work harder. Now she couldn’t seem to get past that one ridiculous syllable.
“Oh,” she said again, and laughed, pressing a hand to her chest. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.”
Nicole nodded, blinking fast as Dr. Adams gathered the forms into a stack. She needed to pay attention. The woman was telling her something about paperwork, and Nicole could barely hear it over you’re in.
“My office will coordinate the transfer with your advisor. Finish your current courses, and we’ll work out your spring schedule once everything is processed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And bring this painting back when classes begin.”
“The children?”
“I’d like you to keep working on it.”
“I can do that.”
Dr. Adams stood and offered her hand. Nicole rose, smoothing her skirt before she took it. “Welcome to the program, Ms. Wright.”
This time, Nicole let herself hear every word. “Thank you.” She gathered her portfolio and her canvases and made it all the way to the hallway before she started crying. “Oh, come on,” she whispered, juggling everything into one arm so she could carefully dab under her eye. She had spent too much time on her makeup to cry it off before she even left the building. Then she laughed, which didn’t help.
Somewhere down the hall, a student was arguing that the lettering on a poster needed to be bigger. Another voice insisted it was already too big. Nicole glanced toward the open classroom door as she passed, catching a glimpse of paper spread across two pushed-together tables and a girl standing over it with both hands buried in her hair.
Next semester, she’d have work on one of those tables, assignments to complain about, and things she’d have to try again because they hadn’t turned out the way she wanted. She was looking forward to all of it.
Nicole backed through the front doors with her purse slipping off her shoulder and a smile she couldn’t have done a damn thing about if she’d tried. Outside, a breeze lifted her barrel curls, and she tipped her face into it while she shrugged the strap back up. Across the quad, students were cutting through the grass under the huge sycamores, ignoring the paved paths as usual. Someone had dragged a folding table halfway into the walkway and covered it with navy-and-gold shirts, forcing everyone coming down the steps to squeeze past a girl calling out prices.
Nicole didn’t even mind the traffic. She hitched the whole stack up against her hip and headed toward the pay phones under the covered walkway.
