Page 65 of The Breakup Artists

“Good.”

She shoots me an accusatory look. “Good?”

“You’re being honest.” I gesture at the canvas. “That’s all you need to do.”

“How’s this for honesty? I’m fairly certain I want to hit you with this brush.”

I laugh. “Okay, tell me... what’s intimidating about the canvas?”

“I don’t know; it’s blank?” She gestures at it.

“And that’s scary?”

“It’s notscary. It’s...” She huffs. “It’s all on me. It feels like performance pressure.”

“So you’d rather I told you what to do?” I say, making a veiled point about her boyfriend, her friends, and even her parents that I hope might spark something.

“Wow. Dick move. I’d rather youtaughtme, which is what you said you were going to do in the beginning.”

“Right. But I can’t teach you until you’ve at least tried to do it yourself. And anyone who claims they can wants you to do their version of art, not yours.”

We stare at each other, the silence between us thick with her frustration.

“Fine. Whatever.” She drags her paintbrush across the canvas in a few fast strokes. “There, a pool. Happy?”

“Are you?”

“Oh my god. Is this your talent? Driving people crazy?”

I smile. “Maybe. But that’s definitely not what I’m trying to do here.”

She rolls her eyes and looks at the canvas. After a minute of brooding, her shoulders drop. She glances at the pool and back again, dipping her paintbrush in some green. And this time when she places it on the canvas, she appears to actually be trying. She could have gotten up and walked away, but she didn’t, and I admire her for that.

We’re like this for a while, Ella needing to look at the pool less and less, until she forgets about the visual and is fully immersed in her colors. She abandons the idea of painting a rectangle with blue squiggles in it and instead brushes blues, greens, and whites over the entire canvas, creating a lighter patch of water through the center that gets darker toward the sides. Suddenly I realize what it is she’s doing.

“You’re painting what water looks like when you’re submerged in it, aren’t you?” I ask, and now I’m looking at her differently.

“Yes, yes, I am.” Her frustration is gone and there’s an uptick in tone like she feels seen. “And what it feels like.”

“Wow. I’m... well, I’m impressed.”

She laughs. “I mean, it’s obviously not very good but—”

“I disagree. I think the perspective is actually great.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “And here I thought you weren’t the type to blow smoke.”

“I’m not,” I say and look at her so she can see I mean it. “It’s not the technicality of it. You’re a beginner. It’s the feeling. You captured something of the peace of being submerged, and you did it on your first try.”

She looks momentarily downward, then back up at me like she’s hesitant to believe it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And if this is what you do with a blank canvas... damn, you might change the world.” I can almost hear Tiny clapping and saying,Take a bow, Holden.Only I’m not using a line; I (August) actually mean what I’m saying.

Ella tries to contain a smile but fails. “God, you’re the worst. Why do you always have to say the right thing?”

Now I’m smiling, too. “You might be the first person to ever say that to me.” I lift my water bottle to my lips.

“Unlikely. I bet girls tell you that all the time. Speaking of which, why don’t you have a girlfriend?”