The Artist and Me Read Online Free PDF Page A

with the way I dress?”
    She laughed. “It’d be easier to say what isn’t wrong.”
    I just looked at her. Silence was the easiest way to handle my sister. Eventually she’d make her way to her point.
    She exhaled, approaching the closet and yanking out a hanger. On it was a Polo shirt. “This is not cool.” She pulled out a pair of khakis. “This is not cool.” She proceeded to rip my entire wardrobe apart.
     
    * * * *
     
    “Hold on. You organized the pillage of my closet?” I asked Krista the next day when we were at the Diner for lunch.
    She rolled her eyes. “Pillage is such a strong word.” She sipped her coffee. “I merely asked her to help out.” She was wearing a white sundress and cradling the cup of coffee lovingly. She practically lived for black gold, just like my mom and I. Comically, Mike couldn’t stand the stuff. Patterns? It just might be. Inwardly, I wondered if Mom and Dad were on and off again once upon a time.
    “Who said I needed help?” I was being targeted for ‘cool guy’ training when all I really wanted was to be me. I was a writer. I used big words and talked in Shakespeare-esque textures. Why was she suddenly wanting me to change?
    She sighed, crossing her arms and biting her bottom lip. “Lucas, I love you and all your little quirks. Believe me, I do.” She paused, calculating and taking a long drag of her coffee. “I just want you to be happy.”
    I laughed. “I am happy.” I knew what she meant.
    “You know what I mean,” she answered, leaning back against the booth behind her and picking up one of the fries from her plate. She bit off the end, watching me watching her.
    I sighed. “Look, Krista, I know you’re trying to help, but it’s okay. I’m okay,” I implored, smiling at her. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know?” I grinned. “I’m a big boy, remember?”
    She rolled her eyes, tossing a French fry at me, but I dodged it. She laughed.
    “Whoa, what did I miss?” Mike asked, grinning as he bounded back from the restroom at the onslaught of the Epic Battle of Fries.
    Krista smiled. “Nothing, Mikey.” She kissed his cheek and winked at me.
    I shook my head. For some reason, I knew the conversation wasn’t over.

Chapter Four
     
     
     
    Lucas
     
    Saturday I woke up to Mike throwing a pair of blue jeans and a white T-shirt on me. “Get dressed.”
    The next thirty minutes were a blur of getting dressed, eating with my mom and Mike at the sunny breakfast table then hopping in Mike’s white compact car to hit the pavement hard. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going or even why. We just drove, one of his hands on the wheel and the other fiddling with the radio dial, trying to find a station. “Man, we must’ve hit a dead spot.”
    We were driving north, into the wild brush of Georgia soil, and I was at a loss as to where we could be going. He popped open the glove compartment, fishing around and grabbing a CD. Its cover was black and red, but I didn’t have time to notice any more before he slid the CD in and forced the case back into the cramped compartment. The first track seemed like a soft rock ballad—an oxymoron in itself.
    “Do you plan on telling me where we’re going any time soon?” I questioned, pulling my cell from my pocket to check the time. It was eleven-twenty-three. He’d woken me at nine-o-six. We’d left my house at ten-sixteen. We’d been driving for over an hour.
    He laughed. “Nope.” He glanced over at me, a slow smile forming on his lips. “It shouldn’t be much farther,” he insisted, but I merely sighed, looking out of the window. Trees danced in the wind, following our trek up the map. It was nowhere I recognized. To be fair, though, I mostly stayed in town unless we went to see a movie or to grab a pizza.
    Time was a mental game. I became increasingly interested in our destination and the moments began dragging. Feet turned to miles as seconds to minutes. The scenery blended together to be