Dirt (The Dirt Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF

Dad
announces. His lab is back to normal and he’s much calmer. He’s
still sweeping up small flecks of glass from broken flasks off the
floor.
“You need to make sure you lock the back door from now on,”
    I instruct as I wonder whom would do this.
“I
thought I
did. Marvin
helped me get everything
back
together.” He tries to capture every speck of glass, as he looks
down with each word. Eye contact isn’t something he’s good at.
Tonight, sleeping will be difficult. I’m hoping the break-in is
an isolated incident, but the whole thing has me on edge. I’m able
to get my next assignment completed, “The Family Portrait,” Dad
and me holding a picture of my mother, done in oil, 11x14. I don’t
see how Professor Bran expected us to paint that in two nights and
then only three days for it to dry. He’s rushing us; speed painting.
I’m not pleased with my work, but I’ll have to turn it in anyway.
When
I start to fall asleep, I hear the staircase creaking.
There’s one plank that has a distinct cracking sound when you put
your weight on it. It’s loose and Dad has never fixed it. I ease out
from underneath the covers and go down the basement stairs.
Someone is down there. I can hear them moving around. Holding
my breath, I continue down the steps and turn on the lights.
Dad and I scream in unison. “What in God’s name are you
doing, Dad? You scared the crap out of me.” He’s trying to catch
his breath.
“I came down to check on things. Couldn’t sleep,” he huffs.
“After what happened last night...you had me worried. Don’t
do that again.”
“Sorry, Ashe. I think I’m going to sleep down here tonight,” he
says as he points to the worn leather recliner in the corner of the
room.
“Whatever, Dad. But keep this light on.” I turn on the desk
lamp in the corner and turn off the florescent lights. I walk back
upstairs and back to my room relieved it was only Dad. I stop in the
doorway. What if they come back and Dad is down there by
himself? So, I sleep on the sofa in the den in case he needs me.
Watching over him is my lot in life, my purpose and sometimes it
makes me feel trapped.
A part of me thinks Taylie really has it made. She’s able to do
whatever she wants, with whomever she wants, whenever she
wants. I feel tears seeping into my eyes, but I don’t know why I
have the urge to cry. Only if my mother hadn’t died, things would
have turned out so differently.
I’ve never felt so emotional about it before. In the past, I didn’t
let myself get emotional about it, about anything. I bury my feelings
because life is safer that way. It’s easier to accept responsibility, but
for the first time in my life I want something else. Something I
can’t have. Someone I can’t have.
Professor Bran stands in front of the class looking over us
reeking of boredom. He lectures on the mixing of oils today and we
turn in our assignments. Jackson painted a portrait of five cows and
a pig sitting on a couch. I have to say it’s pretty good.“It’s an
abstract.” Sarcasm reels from him. “The pig is my cousin.”
“What do you think Professor Bran will say?” I ask.
“Don’t
really
care.
These
assignments
are
ludicrous.”
Jackson’s talent is obvious, so I can understand the reason for his
frustration.
The Professor walks toward us, picks up Jackson’s portrait and
smirks with his right brow raised. He plops it back down on the
desk and turns to look at mine which is boring and uneventful.
Aesthetically speaking, it’s not done nearly as well as Jackson’s.
This project proves I’m not the best artist in the world, but I do love
to paint. Watching the Professor’s face, he gives my artwork a
quick glance.
“Perfect,”
he
says. I
can’t believe
his comment.
Jackson
wrinkles his forehead looking my way.
The professor strolls back to the front of the room, collects a
black bag from his desk and leaves.
“That fool. He wouldn’t know talent if it kicked him in the
face.”
Jackson