Page 52 of Meet Me on Love Street
My mouth feels dry and my hands are shaking, and it’s taking everything in me to keep my voice calm. “Was that Miles? I saw his name on your phone.”
Sarina positively beams. “Yes! He really is the best. I’m so, so thankful you introduced us.” She moves her phone so I can’t see it and texts something else.
“Sarina, no phones at the table,” Noureen finally says. “Now, Sana, I really wish you would reconsider working in your father’s office this summer.”
Noureen keeps talking, listing all the reasons I should leave Love Street and my mother and live and work in Vaughan instead. I tune her out and think about Miles. He said he wanted to kiss me to make my prom night memorable because he’s a good friend and he knew how much the night meant to me. We never agreed to be, like, dating, or anything more than friends. So do I even have the right to be mad?
I take a big bite of my pancake. It’s still dry, so I washit down with some green tea and burn my lip. I hate this restaurant. I need to stop coming to these brunches.
I wallow in my emotions that night, which I feel fully entitled to do in this circumstance, even though Miles and I didn’t have a relationship or anything. All we had was one kiss. And maybe I can’t really be mad that he’s going out tonight with a girl that Iliterallyset him up with, can I? But he ruined my prom memories after being so sweet and attentive and adorable, and I’m sad about that.
If he’s dating Sarina, then why did he kiss me? I honestly would never have pegged Miles Desai as a player, and that’s not because he’s too awkward to have any game whatsoever. He’s just too…nice. Asking me to prom in the first place. The Lego corsage. He’s been kind when I’m down, and he even called me out when I was feeling sorry for myself. He said I was an inspiration and that I just haven’t found anyone worthy of me yet.
I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been caught up in a fantasy again. Maybe my idealistic,romanticbrain filled in the blanks and saw more in Miles than he intended. But I don’t think that’s true either, because if Miles wanted to be just friends, why would he kiss me like that? That was not a friend kiss… at least not in my experience.
Ugh. Cara is right. I am a naive child. I wish I could talk to her about this. But I’m not sure Cara wants to talk to me. I pull out my phone and draft a text.
Sana: Do you have a second? I want to apologize for what I said yesterday. I was out of line and judgmental about your relationship. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.
The text shows as read, but Cara doesn’t answer. Figures. I toss my phone on my bed and pick up Zuri. She immediately purrs and wraps herself around my neck.
At least I still have my cat.
At school the next day, I spend lunch in the art room again. It’s the only place in school where I can quiet my overthinking, and right now I really need that. I don’t have any more projects due, but I want to finish one last piece before school ends in a week.
Painting, or actually doing anything artistic, has always been my best coping method when I’m stressed. That’s why I have stacks of full sketchbooks, some that I started before my parents even split up, with doodles and abstract drawings I made when I wanted to escape. I’d started working on this piece in oils after I finished the watercolor of the woman with flower hair. It was around the time I was making the mock-up sketches for the festival proposal, so this painting is a more detailed depiction of one of the sketches I made of LOL Park. I put a huge sculpture on the path, and because this is a fantasy, added cherry blossom trees all around it. The sculpture is a big rainbow heart-shaped arch withLove Streetwritten in cursive on it. There are people in the park—some taking pictures with the sculpture, some walking on the path. The whole thing is done in a modern impressionist style, so I keep stepping back to see it from the ideal viewing distance.
I notice a text from Miles while I’m adding some yellow dandelions to the painting. All it says ishi hope your day is going well. I ignore it and mute all texts. I’m not ready to talk to him yet.
“I love this piece,” Ms. Carothers says. I hadn’t noticed her behind me. “Is this a real place?”
“Yeah. It’s for that festival I was telling you about. I wanted to get a sculpture like this… but we don’t have the funds. So this is my fantasy.”
She tilts her head at the painting. “This is supposed to be a sculpture?”
I nod and she smiles. “This is why I love your painting style, Sana.” She points to the arch on my canvas. “I thought these were flowers. Like vines growing on a pergola. You’re so skilled at allowing your observer to add their own interpretation of your art without compromising the theme.”
Ms. Carothers had a lesson recently about who makes art—the artist, but also the observer; it’s the artist’s job to ensure the observer’s interpretation still says what the artist wants to say.Huh.Now that I think about it, itdoeslook like flowers.
I smile as an idea comes to me.
“Hey, Ms. Carothers, if there was a big floral installation in a park, like what’s in my painting, do you think people would come out of their way to see it?”
She nods. “Absolutely. Floral sculptures are very popular.” She tells me about this international floral sculpture competition at an annual floral show in New York that attracts thousands. She pulls a stool over to sit next to me. “Tell me more about your vision. Maybe I can help flesh out this concept.”
After we talk for a bit and look at some pictures online, Ms. Carothers helps me sketch out an idea for a large heart-shaped floral arrangement that would be as big as thesculpture I want. She suggests that I ask my mom where we could get the frame for it. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.
“The thing is,” I start, after telling her more about the festival and the dreams I had for it—dreams that Miles always shut down, “I also want people to be able to do something, you know, tangible at the festival, something to commemorate their love. Like love locks, but better for the environment.”
Ms. Carothers thinks about it for a moment. “What about painting a mural or a mosaic that people can add to? Of…”
An idea comes to me while looking at my painting. “A tree! Maybe with tiles as leaves!” In my multimedia art class last year, my teacher showed us this project where a whole bunch of people painted small tiles, and then they got combined into a mosaic mural.
She smiles. “That could work.”
We brainstorm ideas for how to make the mural, and even sketch it out. By the time I go to my afternoon classes, I have a lot of ideas for both a flower installation and a tile mural for LOL Park.
When I get home, I go find Mom in the floral shop to tell her about the floral installation idea, and she shows me some vendors where we can rent the aperture, or frame, we’d need. She gives me an estimate of how much the whole thing would cost—and it’s within our budget.
