Page 3 of Light Up My Life

“Hello,” Mr. Moreno said to me coolly. “Would you please ask your parents to trim the shrubs? They’ve crossed the property line.” He nodded toward the waist-high bushes that formed a physical barrier between our properties.

“I’ll tell them right away,” I said with a fake-friendly smile. “We know how you like to mess with our things.”

Ryan locked eyes with me for a moment before he and his dad went back into their oversized house.

My moms always told me not to let the Morenos get to me. To ignore them. Take the higher road. But sometimes, I just couldn’t help myself.

Chapter 2

“Ugh,” I groaned, gripping my stomach. “I ate way too much.”

“Then you did Thanksgiving right,” Fiona, my best friend, said.

I collapsed onto her bed. After I’d celebrated Thanksgiving with my family, I’d come to eat dessert with hers, a tradition we’d started in elementary school.

On the ceiling above her bed was an art piece she’d painted called Lava Lamp—all blobby hot-pink balls that appeared to be in motion against a black background. Staring at it was making me feel even more sick.

“What’s your inspiration?” she asked.

“Not that,” I said, gesturing toward the painting.

“Um, that’s everyone’s inspiration.”

“It’s making me dizzy.”

“No, seriously,” she said.

I knew what she was asking. Mr. Cole, our art teacher, had given us our big assignment that would be due after winter break. The assignment was a single word—inspiration. Which pretty much meant we could create whatever we wanted. Anything could inspire a person. It was the easiest assignment to date.

“Christmas,” I said.

“Christmas?” Fiona asked.

I nodded, smiling. “I’m going to pick one of my family’s Christmas decorations to replicate on a smaller scale. Probably mixed media with paint and plastic and such on canvas.”

“Okay, then,” Fiona said.

“You don’t like that idea?”

“I mean, it’s a little … generic.” Fiona was never mean, but she was always blunt, honest.

I sat up. “Inspiration is subjective. And in my opinion, Christmas decorations are the most inspirational thing ever. Without them, Christmas wouldn’t be as magical. Plus, you heard about the competition?”

“Of course I did. Mrs. O’Leary just had to go and make Christmas even more work this year.”

“I think you mean more magical, but okay.”

“Some of us don’t live for the lights.”

“How are we even friends?” I teased.

“I ask myself that every day.” She plopped down beside me and hooked her arm through mine, her assurance that she was joking.

“What about you?” I asked. “What’s your inspiration?”

“Kind of the opposite of yours,” she said.

“The opposite? You’re doing a summer theme? A beach painting? Melting sand?”