You Know Me Well by David Levithan Page B

say it’s not your cup of tea? If that’s the case I’d be thrilled to introduce you to some of our other artists’ work.”
    “I’m here to see Kate’s work.”
    He stops dabbing and sets the napkin next to my tightrope painting. Practically on my tightrope painting.
    “Of course,” he says. “And here it is.”
    His gesture toward the table may as well be the unveiling of my heart. The stripping off of my clothes.
    I might as well be singing her a love song.
    She walks toward them and I feel myself step backwards, away from the sight of her looking at my paintings. They are not fierce. They are not wow. They are crude representations of the possibility of love, and they were meant to remain secret. I didn’t know it before, but I know it now. I mean constellations ? How trite. I don’t even know their names. I’m always confusing Cassiopeia with Perseus and they really look nothing alike.
    My stomach drops. My hands tremble. I don’t know how I got into the UCLA art program. I don’t know how Violet—or anyone else—will find these paintings anything but amateurish.
    “Open your eyes,” Mark hisses. “You are acting really weird.”
    I didn’t even realize they were closed, but now I’m seeing pink again, and when I brave a glance at Violet I think I may see her smiling, but I’m not sure because the door chimes and a woman swishes in.
    “Audra, you’re back!” Brad croons. “Look who showed up? It’s Kate Cleary!”
    Audra’s hair is styled in a severe ponytail. Her eyeliner is catlike and everything she’s wearing is covered in fringe. She faces me, stoic.
    “Look, Kate, didn’t I tell you she’d be thrilled? Here are the paintings, and they are even better in person!”
    Violet steps aside to let Audra take her place before the table, where she studies them one by one and then gives a single nod before pulling her phone from her pocket.
    “I knew you would just adore them!”
    “The show’s tomorrow night,” Audra says. “What are you thinking about price?”
    She’s looking at her phone, but when no one else answers I assume this question is meant for me.
    “Oh,” I say. “I hadn’t even thought about it.”
    “Please tell me they’re for sale. I can’t waste my time with artwork that isn’t for commerce.”
    “No, that’s fine,” I say. “We can sell them. I just don’t know how much I should charge.”
    Brad says, “Well, each of the Lin Chin crane boxes is three thousand, but—”
    Audra snorts.
    “Precisely,” he continues. “And Nic’s are eight hundred a drawing, though we agree they should all be sold to the same buyer. Breaking up that sequence would be worse than breaking up that couple! Anyone who disagrees is a homewrecker . Tabitha’s Word-That-Rhymes-With-Shunt pieces are each a grand, a steal considering that they’re high-concept and made of LED lights. Form meets function and all that. But Kate’s not exactly in Tabitha’s league.”
    Audra rolls her eyes.
    Even though they asked me to be a part of this show, I feel like they don’t want me in it. And that makes me want to back out, but how can I, now, when it would seem like it’s all about the money? I know that I’m no Jenny Holzer; I’m no Banksy. Nothing I’m doing is revolutionary. But are my paintings really worth so much less than lit-up slang for genitalia?
    “Four hundred is the most we can ask for a virtual unknown,” Audra says. “And even that is a stretch.”
    Against my will, my eyes begin to burn. I’m blinking fast, trying to keep the tears away. This whole idea was so stupid, and I am angry at Lehna, angry at myself, angry that after all the moments I dreamed up it’s now —when I am utterly humiliated—that Violet has entered my life.
    “As her manager—” Mark begins, trying to save me.
    “I’d like to buy them.”
    Audra and Brad freeze. Their heads tilt in synchronized intrigue.
    “All of them,” Violet says. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t buy