Devon Hartford - Painless

Kamiko nodded. “And those faces on the koi are supposed to be Brandumb, but I don’t think he’ll notice. I had to work from memory.”

“What is it supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” Kamiko grinned, “that I’m three times more awesome than Brandumb, who is so un-evolved he hasn’t yet crawled out of the ocean with the other fishes that turned into humans a billion years ago?”

“You’re not still angry at him, are you?”

“I was when I did that one,” she smiled. “Now? Not so much.”

The rest of her paintings were equally bizarre and amazing. “Did you do all of these? It looks like six different artists painted them.”

She smiled and nodded, her eyes beaming with excitement. “I did my homework. I went through that catalog from the last show that you gave me until I had some direction, then I dove in.”

I could still remember how Kamiko’s confidence had been shattered by Brandon when he’d rejected her art, and hit on me right in front of her. For two weeks afterward, I had been afraid she’d never climb out of her funk. But her confidence was now back in full force.

“Well, they’re all awesome, Kamiko.” I handed the stack back to her. “I’m blown away.”

She took them and slid them back into the big black portfolio. “Are you going to submit anything, Sam?”

“What, to Brandon’s show?”

“Yeah.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess I’ve been too busy.”

“Considering you’re on the front cover of The Wombat, I think you probably should.”

“Do you have that show catalog of Brandon’s?”

Kamiko pulled it off the bookcase on her desk and handed it to me.

I flipped through it. The first thing I noticed was that Kamiko’s new paintings would totally fit right in. “I don’t know, Kamiko. These are all really good. I can see you did a lot of research. I don’t know if I’ll have time to come up with something before the show.”

“You’ll think of something,” she smiled.

As much as I’d improved while studying art with the help of Christos, Spiridon, Kamiko, and all my art teachers, the paintings in the catalog were probably better than I could do at the moment, especially on short notice.

“You have tons of great ideas, Sam,” Kamiko said. “I bet you’ll come up with something awesome.”

Once again, I was super grateful that all of my San Diego friends were so supportive of me. Their confidence bolstered my own.

“You’re right,” I grinned confidently, “I will.”

Madison and I were studying in the Main Library in our favorite private study room on the fifth floor, which had the best view of the ocean.

My laptop was open and my email program chimed when a new email came in. It was from the SDU Registrar’s Office. Subject: A date has been set for your appeal.

I groaned.

“What?” Madison asked, looking up from her gigantic Marketing textbook.

Not only had the subject line of the email been a spoiler for the content of the message, it had also spoiled my mood. I clicked on it to get it over with.

The message read, “A date has been assigned for you to appear before the administrative tribunal of San Diego University to discuss the grievance(s) pending against you, at which time your standing as a student at SDU will be reviewed. In addition to the initial claim of theft leveled against you by Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse (plaintiff), an additional charge of assault has been brought against you, Samantha Smith (defendant)…”

Tiffany and her stupid stolen credit card.

And my stupid slap.

I never should’ve smacked her.

According to the rest of the letter, Tiffany had gone to the SDU police to report my “attack” on her. At least the letter made it sound like my slapping her wasn’t a federal offense with the death penalty attached. But for a second, I imagined the cops showing up in their police cars with the red and blue lights flashing so they could cuff me and haul me to jail for committing Assault and Slappery.

Wow, I suddenly felt like my situation and Christos’ had been reversed. Or he was having a bad influence on me like my mom had warned. No, that was crazy because my cheating mom was crazy.

“Bad news?” Madison asked.

“Huh?”

“You look like you swallowed a poisoned pie.”

“Poisoned pie?”

“Like one of those blackbird pies with twenty four birds inside? You look like they’re flapping around in your belly right now, trying to get out,” she smirked.

“I’d rather have that than this,” I scowled.

“What is it?”

“My date for the Tiffany thing.”

“Oh,” Madison said morosely. She already knew the whole story. “I’ve told you before, give me the word, and I’ll cut a bitch.”

“Which bitch?” I snickered.

Her eyes went crazy, “Any bitch! Just give me the word!” She stood and waved her highlighter marker around like a knife. “Watch out bitches! I’m cuttin’ mad!” she shouted.

“Don’t you mean, Cuttin’ Mads?”

She sat down and giggled.

I joined her and we shared a good laugh.

As always, we sat in one of the glass walled private study rooms. I’m sure the kids studying outside who were glaring at us thought we were goofing off. Some of them probably wanted to use our study room so they could goof off.

Well, me and Mads had gotten here first.

A moment later, a random girl stood up from one of the study carrels outside and walked up to our door. She had imitation blonde hair and wore a Delta Pi Delta T shirt, which was Tiffany’s sorority.

Greatballs.

Sororiwhore opened the door to our study room and popped the gum in her mouth. She said, “Like, do you guys know when you’re going to be finished in here? Other people are wait—”

Madison jumped out of her chair, which clattered loudly behind her, and thrust her highlighter toward Sororiwhore, who was six feet away. “Stay back!” Madison hissed.

Sororiwhore flinched. Then she popped her gum and scowled, trying to play it off like she was above it all.

Madison lunged forward again, now two feet from the girl. “Back!”

I turned to Sororiwhore and said in a casual, bland voice, “Be careful what you say next. She’s Cuttin’ Mads and she’ll cut a bitch.”

Sororiwhore’s eyes goggled as she slowly withdrew from the doorframe.

The pneumatic door clicked shut gently.

Madison and I broke into laughter.

Later, Madison and I walked to our cars in the north parking lot.

“Oh my god, there’s Tiffany!” Madison pointed. “Let’s hide in the bushes and jump her!”

Tiffany was by herself and hadn’t noticed us coming toward her.

“Gag,” I groaned. “We should go the other way.”

“We have a right to walk here just like she does,” Madison growled.

“Yeah, but between Slappin’ Sam and Cuttin’ Mads,” I joked, “Tiffany is likely to get murdered.”

“I’ve got your back either way, girlfriend.” Madison fished her highlighter out of her book bag and waved it around like a knife.

“Thanks, Mads. But please sheathe your highlighter. I don’t want you drawing blood.”

“Okay,” Madison giggled and stuffed her pen in her bag as we neared Tiffany.

Tiffany’s lip curled when she saw us. “You’re still here? Shouldn’t you have gone back home to Washington by now?”

How did she know where I lived? Or was she talking about going home to see my parents because of the problems they were having? No, there was no way Tiffany could know that, was there? Unless Christos had told her? No, that was impossible.

Tiffany rolled her eyes as she passed us, “See you at the tribunal, bitch.”