Page 2 of Calculated Risk
But one thing I’ve learned from Isla, is she doesn't ask for help unless it's serious.
Me:On my way.
The campus art gallery is in the Winters Building, a converted mansion that houses the art department. I've been here exactly once, freshman year, for a required university culture event.
It made me uncomfortable, so I never went back there. All that art, all those feelings on display, that’s not my type of thing. Give me a spreadsheet any day.
Isla meets me at the entrance. She's with Sebastian, which means this is serious enough that she called in backup. Which also means she knows there is a chance I’m going to say no to whatever they are about to ask me.
There’s a complexity to this moment that I can’t quite name. Something about the way past and present collide, the way carefully maintained boundaries start to blur when you least expect it.
"Thanks for coming." She leads me inside quickly. "It's bad, Marcus."
"What happened?" I ask looking at them both. I’ve known Sebastain long enough to know he wouldn’t have just called me for nothing.
"Lilah's senior thesis show. Someone destroyed it."
We walk through the gallery. I've never paid attention to Lilah's work, that would require paying attention to Lilah, which I've been carefully not doing, but even I can see the devastation.
I’m hyperaware of my body in space, of the distance between us, of every small movement and what it might signify. It’s exhausting, this constant monitoring, but it’s also become second nature.
Paintings slashed. Sculptures broken. An installation that looks like it was ripped apart deliberately. Paint splattered across the walls and in the middle of it all, sitting on the floor surrounded by destroyed art, is Lilah Rodriguez.
She's wearing paint-stained overalls over a black tank top. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Her face is streaked with tears and what looks like charcoal.
She's the most beautiful disaster I've ever seen.
And I hate that I notice.
"Fuck," I say quietly.
"Yeah." Sebastian crosses his arms. "The gallery director called campus security. They're treating it as vandalism, but whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. This is personal, no other piece was touched."
With all the art work in here, they would have to know which pieces were hers, there is no way this is by chance.
"When did it happen?"
"Last night, sometime between eleven when Lilah left and seven this morning when she came back." Isla crouches next to Lilah. "Security footage was wiped. No witnesses. Nothing."
Lilah finally looks up. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her expression somewhere between devastated and furious.
When she sees me, something flickers across her face. Recognition. Then something else I can't identify, but the tone which comes is not friendly.
"What's he doing here?" Her voice is hoarse. Well that wasn’t the words I was expecting from her.
"Marcus helps people," Isla says gently. "He's good at solving problems?—"
"I don't need him." Lilah stands abruptly. "I don't need the great Marcus Chen swooping in to fix things with his perfect logic and his perfect plans."
"Lilah—" Isla tries to speak but is cut off, and I can’t stop smiling with how angry she is with me, for what? I have no idea.
"No. I'm serious. Everyone on this campus runs to Marcus when shit goes wrong. 'Oh, Marcus will know what to do. Marcus always has the answer.' Well, I don't want his help."
The details come into sharp focus in that hyperaware way that happens when emotions run high. The particular quality of the light. The ambient sounds that normally fade into background noise. The temperature of the air against my skin.
The venom in her voice surprises me. We've barely interacted in three years, I've made sure of that so what the fuck is up with the attitude?
"Your entire thesis was destroyed," I point out calmly. "Your senior show is in two weeks. You need help whether you want it or not." She wants to be bitchy with me and not tell me why, she won’t be getting the nice me.
