The Grass Is Always Greener

  “Hey.” Mira loved the way Brayden was looking at Izzie. He was completely smitten. It dawned on her that as close as she and Kellen had grown, he had never looked at her like that.

  “I thought we could go to the hardware store,” Brayden said. “We’ll get you everything you need for that Founders Day float of yours. Savannah will be floored when you show up with your own toolbox. Every Southern belle should have one, isn’t that right, Mira?” Mira couldn’t help but smile.

  “I love how your mind works,” Izzie said with a laugh.

  They were so cute together that Mira was starting to be jealous. “Have fun buying screwdrivers,” she said as they headed in the other direction. She continued on toward Emerald Arts. She had a feeling this was going to be a good day. If Selma Simmons liked her piece, then her work had to be good! This was the woman who had painted every decorative bench on Main Street. She had designed the fountain at town hall. Her work was on display in the North Carolina Museum of Art. Studying with Selma Simmons was huge, and Mira was determined to show her she was serious about her craft.

  “Hey, Mira!” Clarissa said when she walked in. “Ready for your first Selma encounter?”

  “I’m so nervous I feel like I’m going to throw up,” Mira admitted. She didn’t notice that Clarissa had company. A cute guy was standing next to her. He was about Mira’s age, and he had the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a boy and perfectly disheveled dark brown hair. Normally the guys she drooled over looked like they’d come out of a J. Crew catalog, but this one was different—his blue camo T alone showed he had a brooding thing going on. Still, it was kind of hot. “Is Selma here yet?” she asked to distract herself.

  “No, she always comes a bit late so she can make a proper entrance,” Clarissa said, sounding a hint sarcastic. “You can go on in and set up, though. Some people have been in there for an hour! And pick your seat wisely,” she warned. “Selma will make you stick with the same one for the whole semester.”

  “What is this, the third grade?” the guy asked. “Does she make us write our spelling words three times each for homework, too?” Mira couldn’t help but laugh. Who was this guy? She had never seen him around before.

  “Mira, this clown is Landon,” Clarissa said. “He’s in Selma’s class, too. More important, he’s my number one volunteer for the Art Equals Love program.”

  “The art therapy class,” Mira recalled, looking at Landon. “I hear it’s pretty cool.”

  Landon gave her a warm smile then that was anything but brooding. “Cool, it is. You should check it out. We always need more hands on deck. Most of our kids are ten and under, and let’s just say they haven’t mastered the art of art yet. They’re more into making a mess.”

  Mira laughed again. “Well, I am great at cleaning messes. Maybe I will come by.”

  He leaned on the counter, his eyes glued to hers. “I hope you do, Mira.”

  He remembered my name. “Well, I guess I should get ready. See you back there.” She could feel Landon watching her as she walked to the classroom, but she was quickly distracted by the smell of acrylic paints. To an outsider, the classroom wasn’t much to look at—cinder block walls did no room justice—but Mira loved the clotheslines that crisscrossed the room. Artwork by kids as young as four and people as old as eighty hung from them with clips. The counters lining the walls were filled with all of Mira’s favorite things—paintbrushes of every size and width, chalks, colored pencils, and jar after jar of different-colored paints. They wouldn’t be using those supplies for Selma’s class, because everyone was required to bring their own, but just being surrounded by the artists’ tools was comforting. The room was mostly full, and Mira realized that if she didn’t grab one of the few remaining easels fast, she’d be stuck in the first row.

  “Mira!” Charlotte waved frantically from the center of the room. “Thank the Lord you’re here!” Mira hurried over. “This was one of the last empty rows, and I’ve been beating people back with my bag to keep this seat free.” Her blue eyes were as bright as her sweater, which had a yellow flower pinned to the chest pocket. “Someone said the seat you pick today is the one you have for the whole semester.”

  “I heard.” Mira placed her new art bag on the seat next to her easel. “Clarissa told me when I walked in.” Clarissa made her think of Landon and those lashes of his. She blushed. “Hey, did you see the hot guy out front?” she whispered, afraid to be overheard. Charlotte immediately looked interested. “He—”

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Charlotte squeaked and Mira turned around. Landon was standing behind her, and he looked even cuter than he had a few minutes ago. His dark eyes locked on hers. That smile could melt a Hershey’s Bar. “Do you have room for one more in this row?”

  “You can have my seat,” Charlotte flirted, not realizing she was giving up her own easel.

  He grinned. “You might need it. How about this one?” he pointed to the seat next to Mira that Mira had just placed her bag on. The girls nodded so quickly they looked like bobble-heads. Mira took her bag off the chair for him.

  “Is that him?” Charlotte mouthed when Landon turned to set up. Mira nodded and Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. “You know, the seat you take now is the one you keep for the whole class,” Charlotte reminded him.

  Landon glanced at Mira. “Yeah, I think I heard that.”

  Did that mean he wanted to sit next to her? How was she supposed to impress Selma Simmons when Landon was oozing hotness next to her? Okay, she had to calm down. He was cute, but this was nothing to freak out about. She liked Kellen. Kellen, she thought as Landon continued to sneak glances her way while he unpacked. “Uh, Charlotte, this is Landon. Landon, this is Mira. I mean, Charlotte,” she said, mixing up the introductions.

  “Landon,” Charlotte repeated as if in a trance. “Welcome aboard row three! You’re lucky that seat was open. Some guy tried to take it earlier and I sent him packing. He smelled like paint thinner.” She laughed giddily, and Mira shot her a look.

  “That could give you a nasty headache.” Landon pinned an abstract painting to his easel. It was a swirl of blue and gold with flecks of red thrown in. Not Mira’s style, but it was mesmerizing. “I’m better-smelling company,” he said, looking at Mira. “I hope.”

  “You are!” Mira said out loud, then wished she hadn’t.

  Charlotte clicked her tongue and glanced from Mira to Landon. If Charlotte hadn’t noticed it before, Mira sensed she was seeing it now. Mira thought Landon was cute, and Landon seemed to have a thing for her, too, if she did say so herself. It was altogether flattering, heart-pumping, and nerve-racking at the same time. She liked Landon—no, Kellen! It didn’t matter that they were over and living in different states. It would be wrong to move on so quickly. Wouldn’t it?

  Charlotte smiled mischievously at Mira, then she glanced at Landon’s easel. “Wow, Landon. That’s so existential. Did you paint that at school? Where do you go, anyway?” She tried to sound casual, but Mira started to squirm.

  “St. Barnard’s Prep.” That was an all-boys school on the other side of Emerald Cove. “What about you guys?” He seemed to direct the question at Mira.

  Mira forced herself to break eye contact and stared at the paintbrushes she’d just dropped into a cup on her easel tray. “Emerald Prep.”

  “Ah, the Fighting Cardinals,” Landon said. “Your school needs a cooler mascot.”

  “What’s wrong with cardinals?” Mira demanded.

  Landon’s dark eyes held hers. “Nothing, but they’re not exactly known for being fighters. I never could have gone to a school with a bird on my basketball jersey. Now, the St. Barnard Bears. That sounds fierce, don’t you think?”

  He flashed her another charming smile, and Mira felt slightly overcome by all the paint fumes. Yeah, that’s what it was. The paint fumes. She pulled out her own painting and pinned it to the easel. Kellen’s face stared back at her.

  Landon leaned over. He smelled like a mix of clean
laundry and sawdust. Definitely better than paint thinner. “Was that your submission?” he asked. She managed a nod. “Who is that? You and your boyfriend or something?”

  Or something. “Yes, I mean, no. It’s complicated.” She was growing flustered.

  “They broke up because he just moved to Detroit,” Charlotte offered, and Mira gave her a look.

  Landon’s mouth twitched slightly. “Oh, well, sorry about that. The painting is nice, though. I’m just surprised you chose a beach scene.” Mira looked at him questioningly. “You know, because Selma hates them.”

  “Hates?” Mira began to feel ill.

  Landon sat on his stool and leaned forward. “She said it in the North Carolina Journal last month. Didn’t you read up on her?”

  No. “But this was the piece that got me into this class,” Mira told them. She had to sit down. “Her assistant called and told me she liked it.”

  “Her assistant?” Charlotte took a seat, too. “Selma didn’t call you herself?”

  “No. Why? Did she call you guys?” Landon and Charlotte both nodded. Mira felt the color drain from her face.

  “Forget what I said,” Landon backpedaled. “If you got in on this painting, then she must have changed her mind about beach scenes.”

  Or… “Do you think I got in because of my dad?” Mira asked Charlotte worriedly.

  “No way!” Charlotte insisted. “Selma Simmons is above that sort of stuff.”

  “Who’s your dad?” Landon looked amused.

  “Mira is Senator Monroe’s daughter,” Charlotte explained and Mira blushed.

  Landon didn’t say anything. Most people didn’t know what to say when she told them her last name. They either thought it was really cool or they made a comment about how much they hated her dad. Landon didn’t appear to think either. She felt her phone vibrate, and she was happy to look down at the text for a distraction.

  ZOE’S CELL: Sorry didn’t answer UR txt. Lots of shoots. Promise 2 finish UR head shots soon. XO Z

  Mira tried not to look disappointed. She had tried Zoe twice about seeing the pictures she’d taken that day in the pool house. She didn’t want to let modeling be yet another project she let fall away. Still, Zoe was doing the head shots for free, and from what she’d heard, they normally cost a fortune.

  “Psst. You might want to lose your cell phone for the next hour,” Landon whispered.

  Mira was so focused on responding to Zoe, though, that she ignored him. That’s why she didn’t notice that Selma Simmons had arrived until someone took the phone right out of her hand. Mira looked up, surprised.

  “I see someone didn’t read the course outline.” Selma pursed her lips. She looked exactly like the picture Mira had found online. Short, white-blond bob, thick black glasses, and brown eyes that looked anything but happy at the moment. “If you had, you would know I don’t allow cell phones. Your only focus should be on what I am teaching you.”

  Mira struggled to find her Southern charm. “I am so sorry, Ms. Simmons.”

  “Selma,” the teacher corrected. “This isn’t preschool. You’re an adult, or close to it, and I expect to treat you as such.” Her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. “Unless you don’t think you deserve to be treated as an adult. What is your name?”

  Mira flashed a friendly smile. “Mirabelle Monroe.”

  “Mirabelle Monroe!” Selma gave a short laugh. “I forgot I let you in here. Why am I not surprised the esteemed senator’s daughter thinks she is exempt from rules?”

  Mira paled. “Oh, no, ma’am, I didn’t…”

  Selma walked over to Charlotte’s easel. They had been told to bring their submission projects in for the first class, and Selma was wasting no time critiquing them. “Ah, Charlotte Richards. I would recognize your style anywhere,” she said in a pleasing tone. She took one of Charlotte’s elaborate charcoal drawings off the easel and held it up to the class. “See this? Some call it a sketch, but I call it art. Anyone can paint a beach.” Mira knew that comment was meant for her. “Design is a different medium entirely. Look at the lines in this gown,” Selma continued. “What is this dress designed for, Charlotte?”

  “The Crystal Ball,” Charlotte said. “I’m designing my own dress.”

  “Lovely.” Selma stepped around Mira and took Landon’s painting next. “This is incredibly unique work, too, wouldn’t you agree, class?” People in every row murmured their praise. Anything to appeal to Selma. “See how—what is your name?”

  “Landon Archer,” he said, eyeing Mira.

  “Landon. Yes, I remember because your work is exploring the very heart of post-modern art,” Selma told him. The closer Mira looked at Landon’s painting the more she noticed how many different mediums he’d used to get those colors. Instead of on a canvas, he had painted on an old piece of wood planking and had used metallic paint, along with some sort of gritty, almost sandy material in places. She liked the way the light created different colors in the paint when Selma held it at various angles. “Art can be anything you make of it, and that’s what I want to teach you in this class. Stop with the beach scenes you can find at Target for ten dollars framed.” Mira winced. “Think outside the box and I will work with you in ways you’ve never imagined. But if you show me something like this—” She took Mira’s painting off the easel and held it up. “You aren’t giving me much to work with.”

  Mira had had enough. She didn’t care who this woman was. She had no right to pick on her. “You must like something about my work, Selma. I got into this class with this submission.” Charlotte’s jaw dropped, but Mira held steady. Izzie would have done the same in this situation. “And the beach is just my background. I concentrated mostly on the portrait.”

  “You have talent—there is no denying that,” Selma said, “but if the portrait is what you’re proud of, then you have a ways to go. Your faces are flat and the colors muted. And why are they floating? It’s as if you ripped off Jack Vettriano without any of the whimsy.”

  Mira tried not to cry. Twenty-two pairs of eyes were watching her.

  Selma took off her glasses, as if the strain of staring at Mira’s painting was enough to give her a headache. She seemed to be waiting for a response.

  “I…” Mira didn’t know what to say. Selma Simmons, North Carolina’s most famous painter and her new teacher, hated her. And this was their first class.

  “Selma?” Landon raised his hand. “Wouldn’t you say that beach scenes are some of the hardest to master because of their simplicity?”

  “I guess it could be argued…” Selma started to say.

  “You said so in your bio on your website,” Landon reminded her. “In the part where you talk about how you started out painting beach scenes.” Landon winked at Mira when Selma wasn’t looking.

  Charlotte dug her fingers into Mira’s arm. Landon was defending her.

  Selma gave him a weak smile. “I’m glad you did your homework, Landon.” She pinned Mira’s work back to her easel and walked away. “Now, who has something to show me that would be classified as an ode to the Renaissance?”

  Mira looked shyly at Landon. “Thank you for going to bat for me,” she whispered.

  The smile that lit up his face made Mira weak in the knees. “Anytime.”

  Eleven

  Izzie saw Savannah before she could hear her. Dressed head to toe in green, she looked like an oversize elf barking orders from atop a ladder in her backyard.

  As Izzie neared, Savannah was yelling so loud she sounded like she had a megaphone. (She didn’t.) “Lea! There is a huge hole on the left side of the float! You need more glitter. What? We’re out of glitter? Millie, go to Emerald Arts and get more!”

  Izzie stopped at the bottom of the ladder and folded her arms. “Hi, Savannah,” she said calmly. Savannah was so startled she practically fell off.

  “Izzie! Hey! I didn’t know you were, uh, here.” As Savannah quickly descended the ladder, Izzie noticed even her shoes were covered with glitter. “We were
wondering where you were.” She turned to the two dozen Butterflies scattered around her enormous backyard. “Hey, y’all! Look who finally showed up!”

  The Butterflies looked like they had been working for a while. Half the girls were gluing green sparkles to the plywood covering the back of the Founders Day float, which was on a large flatbed truck. The other half were by the pool working on what would be the street-fair booth that looked like an old mine. Mira and some of the girls were painting signs that said emeralds spotted in these here parts! and watch out for falling rocks! Both would grace the tent covering their booth.

  Izzie was thrilled to see their club working so hard—she just wished she had been invited to pitch in, too. “The e-mail I got from you last night said we were meeting at the school today,” she told Savannah. “If I hadn’t called Mira, I wouldn’t have known you moved locations.”

  Savannah took an interest in her green nails. “Really? I could have sworn you were on that e-mail about the switch! My mother said it was silly for us to have to go all the way to school when she was willing to host and provide refreshments.”

  “School’s only a ten-minute walk from your house.” Both girls turned and looked at Brayden. He had been standing next to Izzie the entire time, but Savannah’s latest approach to dealing with the fact that he had dumped her was to act like he didn’t exist.

  Savannah looked at Izzie, and only Izzie. “My backyard is the perfect staging area. We’re going to be working around the clock the next few weeks and we can leave our supplies here. Besides, everyone loves my backyard.” Izzie resisted making a comment. It was nice. The gardeners were working around them cleaning out flower beds and planting flowers. The patio furniture had been uncovered, throw pillows were on the chairs, and in the distance a covered canopy was being built by the pool. “I called Mrs. Fitz and she was fine with it. She’s stopping by to see our progress and to meet Zoe.”

  “Zoe.” Izzie only knew one Zoe in EC. She and Brayden exchanged glances.