Page 286 of Rush

“You won’t,” she says gently. “Pour all the crap you’re feeling into it. Then let it go.”

I nod and step forward, filling the balloon with everything.

Alex.

Madison.

The media.

Broderick.

The pressure.

The expectations.

The disappointment.

Me.

I throw it with everything I have. It bursts red paint against the canvas, and for a moment—just one—it feels good.

But a balloon won’t fix me.

Riley hands me another. We throw in silence at first, then slowly loosen up until girlish giggles and screams fill the studio. Then, like a lunatic, she rushes the canvas and starts smearing paint across it with her bare hands.

She grabs mine, dragging me with her.

Eventually, we end up on the floor, staring at the ceiling, bodies splattered with paint, stomachs aching from laughter.

“This is different from your usual medium,” I say.

“I know.” She sighs. “I’m stuck.”

I turn my head toward her. “Stuck, how? Those pieces for Andrew’s aunt and mom were incredible.”

“That part’s been good. I’ve never had this much money in my life.” She hesitates. “Sorry, I don’t want to pile on you.”

“Stop that right now.” I roll onto my side. “You pile as much shit on me as you want. That’s your right as my best friend.”

She shakes her head, eyes still fixed on the ceiling.

“Riley Fisher, don’t make me tickle-torture it out of you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.” I wiggle my fingers threateningly.

“Okay, okay!” she groans. “Something’s missing.”

I sit up. Her eyes are closed tight.

“Oh?”

“I thought it would get better after the digital prints.”

“What digital prints?”

She sits up too.