“I’m sorry,” Sadie said.
Arielle waited.
“For the painting?”
“For everything.”
Arielle folded her hands.
“Then explain everything.”
Sadie looked at the floor.
She said Arielle’s arrival had frightened her more than she had admitted.
Arielle almost laughed.
“Why would I frighten you?”
“Because you were good.”
The simplicity surprised her.
Sadie had spent years thinking of herself as Cedar Ridge’s obvious art student.
Teachers knew her.
Parents knew her.
Competitions knew her name.
Then Arielle arrived from another school with a fellowship and immediately produced work Sadie respected before she wanted to respect the person who made it.
Instead of accepting competition, Sadie searched for a reason it did not count.
The fellowship became that reason.
Then race became part of the explanation.
“Did you think I got in because I was Black?” Arielle asked.
Sadie looked down.
“Yes.”
“Before you knew my portfolio?”
“Yes.”
“Before you knew my grades?”
“Yes.”
Arielle nodded.
“And after you saw my work?”
Sadie took longer.
“I knew you were good.”
“Then why keep saying it?”
Sadie’s eyes filled.
“Because admitting you deserved everything meant admitting I’d been wrong from the beginning.”
There it was.
Arielle had heard variations of the answer from teachers, administrators, and classmates.
None mattered as much as hearing Sadie say it.
“So every time I succeeded, you found another reason it wasn’t mine.”
Sadie nodded.
“Yes.”
Arielle asked why she had poured the paint.
Sadie covered her face for several seconds.
She said the faculty ranking had made her feel humiliated.
The no-contact warning made it worse.
When she saw Arielle painting alone in the courtyard, she wanted to ruin the thing everyone was praising.
“You wanted to hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know the figure was my grandmother?”
“No.”