The Future is Bright

Summer’s art was no longer confined to the secret pages of her journal, or the vibrant, yet often ink-stained, canvas of her bedroom. It had, much to her bewildered delight, spilled out into the world. The local community art fair, a usually sleepy affair that attracted more prize-winning jam jars than actual art enthusiasts, had somehow, miraculously, decided to feature her work. It had started innocently enough. Alex, in one of his typically grand, if slightly misguided, gestures, had submitted a few of her sketches to the fair committee. He’d claimed it was to “show those art snobs what real talent looked like,” and Summer had spent weeks oscillating between mortified embarrassment and a tiny, flickering ember of hope.

Now, that ember was a full-blown bonfire of anxiety. The fair was today, and the centerpiece of her exhibit was a series of caricatures she’d drawn, not of April’s usual victim-fodder, but of the everyday absurdities of school life. There was Mr. Henderson, the history teacher, perpetually looking like he’d just swallowed a particularly sour lemon, his chalk dust halo a permanent fixture. There was Brenda from accounting, whose stapler seemed to possess a life of its own, often launching itself across her desk with alarming ferocity. And, of course, there were the subtle, yet undeniably accurate, depictions of April and her gaggle of sycophants, their exaggerated poses and vacant stares rendered with a mischievous wink that only Summer could truly appreciate.

“You look like you’re about to spontaneously combust,” Alex said, nudging her gently as they approached the bustling fairgrounds. He was wearing a t-shirt that read “I’m not arguing, I’m just explaining why I’m right,” a sentiment that perfectly encapsulated his approach to most things.