The Painting

Tables were overturned and there was food everywhere in the cafeteria. 1

"Kevin!" the blond-haired, thirteen year-old boy turned his head to the ear-piercing yell. Mrs. Beasly's short, quick steps stopped when they arrived in the messy cafeteria. She let out a high-pitched squeal, and Kevin cringed. "Kevin Taylor! I am appalled that such a fine, young boy should do this!"2

"I am sorry, Mrs. Beasly, but I don't know what you're talking about," Kevin said replied softly, knowing that now was not the time to speak back to this overweight middle school principal. He had often thought about how awful it would be, for her to take over the school, and sit on all the innocent children that disobeyed her. 3

"What do you mean, you don't know what I am talking about?" she retorted, "This—this mess? My very own, highly trusted son told me. You started the food fight." Kevin stared at her, his mouth gaping.4

"Me? Mrs. Beasly, I didn't start it, honest!" Kevin defended himself. How could she blame him? "Jason," he thought. Jason was Mrs. Beasly's "highly trusted son." In one word, a bully. But no one would believe him. Jason was a teacher's pet.5

"Young man, you are in way over your head. I will phone your parents while you clean this mess up!" Mrs. Beasly walked briskly out of the cafeteria. Kevin sighed. He picked up one chair, then another. He never would have thought so much could happen in a week. 6

Kevin was just wiping down the walls when a car screeched to a stop, two car doors slammed, and he heard an unmistakable gruff man's voice speaking to Mrs. Beasly.7

"Uh-oh," thought Kevin. Nowhere to hide. Soon, a middle-aged man wearing a brown leather jacket and a woman whose cheeks were rosy red rushed into the cafeteria with Mrs. Beasly right on their heels. "Hi, Dad," muttered Kevin.8

"Son, we need to talk," Dad said, "into the car." He pointed at the door. Kevin dropped the rag and hurried out to the red van. Once they were all in the car, Kevin's mother began to whimper. His father became teary-eyed too.9

"Mom—Dad. This wasn't my fault. Jason started it and blamed me. You don't need to cry about it," Kevin tried to comfort them.10

Dad said, "That's not what we want to talk to you about. Do you want to tell him, Honey?"11

"No, I couldn't bear to. You tell him, Peter," replied Mother. This must be serious. Mom never called Dad Peter, always Sugar or Honey or all this mushy stuff, so this must be really serious.12

"Dad took a deep breath. "Kevin, your sister died." Kevin didn't know what to do. He knew his Dad was not joking. But his Sarah? The one he confided in, the one who was his only companion? His only sibling? His best friend? No. Not his Sarah. This seemed impossible. Kevin looked out the window, trying to take it like a man, but his vision soon became blurry and his eyes began to swell up. It felt as if his life was now meaningless.13

"How?" was all Kevin managed to say. He looked at his dad, realizing that he was choked up too.14

"She was coming home from a date with Tom, and they were just about to turn into the driveway, when a drunk driver came from the wrong side of the road and hit the passenger side. Sarah died instantly, and Tom is in a coma. That's the good news. She didn't suffer," replied Dad. How could Dad be thinking of good news at a time like this? There are times to be optimistic and times to be pessimistic. This was definitely not a time to be optimistic. 15

The next day, as they were packing up Sarah's room, Kevin ran across some colored pencils and a sketch pad in a drawer with a note attached to them. It read, "Kevin, these are for you, as I know that there is an amazing artist in there somewhere. I love you, Kevin, and use these to draw whatever comes to your mind. Your sis, Sarah." Kevin cried. His mom came up behind him and read the note too. She began to weep. Kevin's dad was home too, because he had gotten permission to be off work for two weeks. Dad wrapped his arms around his family, and bowed his head, praying silently. The phone rang, interrupting their thoughts. Mom wiped her eyes and blew her nose and rushed to get to the phone in time. As she answered, Dad sat down on Sarah's bed and pulled Kevin to sit down next to him. 16

"Bud, we need to move on with life. I know this has been hard, but we need to move on," Dad began, "we can't live like this forever. I think you should enter the Winter Art Competition in Grand Rapids. I think that may help."17

"Dad, I'd be competing against some of the best middle school artists in Michigan. That's impossible to think that I--," Kevin stopped. His sister's death was impossible, but she was gone for real. "That's a good idea," Kevin said, "Hey, Dad? What were your last words to her? To Sarah?"18

"I told her to have a good time," he replied, "how about you?"19

"I told her I loved her, right before we went to our classes. She told me to have a good day." Kevin sighed. Mom walked into the room. 20

"That was Mrs. Beasly. She said that Kevin is suspended for two weeks. He has to take one test at the end of the first week, determining whether he can enter any winter competitions," Mom announced.21

"That woman makes me mad," Dad said, "and so does her son. At least you get to take a test!" Kevin groaned.22

"But I will have no idea what they have been studying, and there is no way for me to know! There's no way I can pass that test! And if I don't pass, I can't enter the Winter Art Competition!" he exclaimed.23

"Oh, no. Well, I guess we can't do anything about it. We could go visit Tom, though," said Dad. They all agreed and visited him.24

A week later, Kevin sat in the suspension room, flipping his pencil around his thumb. He thought the test was difficult, as he was only an average student studying, though he didn’t ever take school very seriously, and without it, his grades would drop down to “C’s” and “D’s.” He scribbled down his last answer, reviewed the test a little, and stood up. He handed the pivotal test to his teacher and returned to his seat. He glanced at the others around him. He was among the first to be finished. One boy sat chewing his pencil, another sat tapping his fingers against the wooden desks. After what seemed like eternity, the last student turned in their test and the monitor handed back the first two tests to the pupils that had finished.25

“She must have been grading them while the others were finishing,” Kevin pondered. He glanced fearfully at the bold, red numbers. Fifty-eight. Kevin set his head down on the desk in dismay. He needed a 61% to pass and enter the Winter Art Competition. It was all over. He had let his sister down. He stood up, not caring whether he was dismissed or not, and headed for the door. Somehow he got out without anyone noticing, and as soon as he was out of the building, he began sprinting home. He reached his front yard and tripped over a root, falling to the ground, his test and pencils setting across the grass. It began to drizzle, then to pour hard. His test got soaked to the point where everything was indistinguishable. He was sprawled on the ground sobbing with misery until his father saw him and gently, but quickly picked him up and carried him inside, holding the test in his hand. No questions need be asked, not only by Kevin’s face, but by the myriad of red stains all over the test. Dad held Kevin tightly and rocked him gently back and forth until Kevin’s sobs ceased, and only his tear-streaked face showed his suffering. Dad carried him up to his room and set him down on his soft bed. He took off his shoes and soothed Kevin. Soon, Kevin was fast asleep. 26

The next day, the Taylors received a phone call. Kevin had been locked up in his room all day and had not left for breakfast or lunch, and his parents were worried. Then came the phone call. 27

“Kevin! It’s for you!” Mom yelled in excitement upstairs.28

“I don’t want it!” replied Kevin.29

“I think you do! Someone has an apology!” she shouted up. Kevin slowly descended the stairs. He reached for the phone.30

“Hello?” he said.31

“Hi, this is Mrs. Beasly. I wanted to apologize about my mistake. We recently discovered that you did not start the food fight. To my shame, Jason did. He will take an even worse suspension than you for blaming it on you. How can I make it up to you, besides letting you get your grades up and not just zeros?” Kevin was dumbfounded, but he quickly regained his composure.32

“If you really want to make it up to me, you will allow me to enter the Winter Art Competition in Grand Rapids,” replied Kevin.33

“Deal!” said Mrs. Beasly quickly, “but you do realize that that is tomorrow, right?”34

“Of course! I will start now. Goodbye, Mrs. Beasly,” Kevin said hurriedly. They hung up and Kevin skipped up the stairs two at a time. He wondered what he should draw, but he soon knew just what. He kept it a surprise for everyone, even his parents.35

Finally, the big day came. The judges were about to announce the winner.36

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the judge announced, “we are proud to announce our winners of the annual Grand Rapids Winter Art Competition. For third place, we have Amy Stewart with a painting titled, ‘The Poor Boy.’” Everyone cheered and she bowed as they gave her several roses. “For second place, Tom Wilson with a sketch titled, ‘A Day at the Race.’” The plaudits came even louder than for Amy, and Tom grinned shyly. “And our honored first place, we proudly announce is being awarded to—” Kevin held his breath, “Kevin Taylor with a painting named, “Sarah.” Kevin beamed more than he’d ever beamed before, and he felt Sarah, right there, next to him, beaming right along with him. That was the proudest moment of his life.37

“With dreams,” he thought, “all things are possible.”38