Elaine Marie Alphin
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But Graeme is not at all what Charles expected, and soon the two teen prodigies are drawn into a clash of wills that threatens to destroy them both.
get you into the building and into your studio itself. But Fm afraid these keys aren't impossible to copy. To keep your materials safe, you should probably get an additional lock." Already done. The weight of the hasp lock dragged awkwardly in my pack on the way here. I take the floor plan and key and start to stand up. "We're very pleased to have you as part of the Whitman family, Charles," Mr. Brooks intones, and I sink back into my chair. Family? Who's he kidding? One reason most kids are
thought it was romantic. I don't know what she thought I just looked into her blue-black eyes and talked, and she smiled up at me like what I was saying was special. We went out a few more times and ate lunch together every day in front of all the other kids in the cafeteria. She really seemed to want them to see her with me. The kids smiled at us, secretive, unfriendly smiles, but I ignored them. I just loved being with her. Then I painted her from memory, and I knew I had to show her the
tightly. "Charles ... what about all the others?" I have to strain to hear him. "Aren't they mirrors in their own way? Who isn't a reflection of what the world around him expects, in the end? There's nothing ... unnatural about it" The wolf pack is made up of mirrors, wanting everyone else to be nothing but a mirror, too. But an artist (and aren't we all artists?) should be something more. I grope for words to explain. "Where does a reflection start? Who begins it? There has to be a source that
blood still rimming the nails, close around his. And I sleep. 15 "Very nice, Mr. Weston. I'm truly pleased that patience paid off." Mr. Wallace smiles smugly at the arrangement of dead flowers on my canvas. A cut-glass vase, half hill of water, with a scattering of cut flowers on the table in front of it, a pair of shears dropped beside them, and a collection of purple and white buds against a ferny background. "Excellent perspective, and a luminous quality to the light through the glass and
before I lose my nerve. When I turn the handle of 207 and pull the door open, music swirls into the hall, exuberant red-gold chords dancing from the piano. Heads turn in the hallway, but the faces aren't glaring at me for letting the noise out Instead, they light up at the joy in the rippled notes. I step into a room cluttered with stacks of sheet music and bulging notebooks and stray CDs and even a dusty sweatshirt wadded up against the baffled cork walls, and ease the door shut behind me. The