Their dad held up the lifestyle section of the North Carolina Gazette. Mira and Izzie cringed. Their picture was plastered across the front along with the headline Bad Parenting! If Bill Monroe Can’t Control His Daughters, How Will He Control the State? “This is the kind of coverage I wanted you to avoid,” their dad said.
Mira felt sick as she stared at a photo of them in the costume shop shooting Silly String all over one another and the shelves. The sun shining through the family room windows reminded her that a new season was starting, and Mira couldn’t wait for it to arrive. Seeing her dad’s grim face reminded her of the scandal-heavy winter. And she was so done with winter. “We’re sorry, Dad. We had no idea there was a photographer trailing us all morning.”
“Funny how he didn’t take any pictures of us cleaning up the store.” Izzie sounded bitter. “As soon as the fight was over, we apologized and cleaned up everything! Mira even took one of the costumes to the dry cleaners. It was hardly something that should have made the news.”
“Anything less than perfect in the Monroe world is news to Grayson Reynolds.” Their dad dropped the paper on the dining table with a thud. “I know you girls didn’t set out to create a mess, but you need to pay extra attention to your behavior while we’re in this race.”
“I hate that we’re being hunted when you’re the one running,” Izzie mumbled.
“I know.” Their dad sighed. “But that is unfortunately Reynolds’s MO. He’s just waiting for one of us to screw up big-time so he can sink my campaign for good.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Mira’s mom as she put a hand on her husband’s shoulder, her favorite emerald ring flashing in the light. “Being on display is something this family knows how to handle, right, girls?”
“Shouldn’t Hayden be here for this conversation?” Mira spun her silver bracelet around and around on her wrist absentmindedly. “He was there with Kylie and she’s the one who started the whole thing.” Mira shot Izzie a look.
Their dad removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. “We already spoke to Hayden. He knows nothing like this can ever happen again. The reason we wanted to speak to you two separately is to discuss dating.” He cleared his throat.
Mira and Izzie looked at each other quizzically as their dad took a seat on the edge of the table, much to her mom’s chagrin. “Your mother, uh, aunt, and I like Kellen and Brayden very much.”
Liked, Mira wanted to say because Kellen was gone. She had spoken to him the night before, and there had been a lot of awkward silences.
“But if you are going to date, we expect you to conduct yourselves appropriately.” Their dad sounded more uncomfortable with each passing word. He looked even paler when he turned the page in the paper and there were several more photos of Mira and Izzie out with the boys. There was one of Mira and Kellen in a tight embrace on the trolley, and it looked like Kellen was trying to suck off her face. Another showed Izzie and Brayden kissing in a horse-drawn carriage. Someone had taken a series of pictures that included them cuddling under a blanket.
Mira felt queasy. Her dad had a picture of her kissing her boyfriend. The whole town could see a picture of her kissing her boyfriend. Former boyfriend, but still.
“I don’t want to have to enforce stricter curfews on the two of you, but from now on we need to know exactly where you’re going and with whom,” their dad continued. “This way we can avoid any more, uh, coverage like this.”
Izzie was flabbergasted. “You’re lojacking us because we kissed our boyfriends in public?”
Mira knew it was best not to argue. After dating a guy who was school royalty because he was the team quarterback, she was well aware of her parents’ dating protocol, but Izzie hadn’t learned it yet. Even if Grayson Reynolds weren’t out for Monroe blood, her parents wouldn’t want to see pictures of either of them making out with a boy. They were all about decorum.
“We’re not saying you can’t kiss your boyfriend.” Her mom tried to toe the line between sweet and stern, which was always tough for her. Mira knew how much her mom worried about Izzie, especially after all she’d been through. “We would just prefer you not do it in such a public setting, like a carriage ride, where you’re on display for the whole town. People in this town talk.” She clutched her pearls for strength.
“What could they have to talk about?” Izzie pushed. Mira admired Izzie’s strong principles, but her approach was not working in this situation. “We were only kissing.”
“I know.” Their dad sounded funny. “We just don’t want people to get the wrong idea about you girls.” He loosened his shirt collar as if it were choking him. Mira felt like she was going to overheat. This conversation was getting embarrassing.
“You need to set an example for Connor. And for all the girls your age, really, who see you standing beside your father at rallies,” her mom said hastily. “Show that you’re good, Southern girls who respect their parents’ wishes. Your joint sweet sixteen is going to be a great example of that.” She looked at the clock. “I think we’ve kept you long enough. Mira’s art class starts in an hour, and she can’t be late for her first day.”
Selma Simmons’s assistant had called just a few days ago to say Mira had been accepted. Charlotte had gotten in, too, which made Mira think things were looking up—with or without Kellen.
“Knock Selma dead, Pea,” her dad said as Mira’s mom hugged each of them, being careful not to wrinkle her tailored shirtdress. “You girls enjoy your Saturday afternoon. Just remember what we said, okay?”
Izzie only made it halfway down the block before she exploded. “Be careful where you kiss your boyfriend?” She startled a kid riding by on his bike. “Who says stuff like that?”
Mira stuffed her hands into her coat and shrugged. “Don’t look so outraged. Most parents around here would say the same thing. One time Taylor kissed me at an Emerald Prep auction event, and my mother almost died. Parents in EC are not big on public shows of affection unless they are family ones.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” Izzie reapplied lip balm. Mira couldn’t get her to wear lip gloss yet, but at least Izzie had learned to moisturize.
“It’s just the way it’s always been,” Mira explained. “I’ve had to watch what I said, who I talked to, and what I wore in public since I was five. I don’t even notice anymore.”
“Well, I hate it,” Izzie said. “Grams always trusted my judgment. She let me figure things out with boys and friends on my own.”
“Well, my mom and dad are way more involved than that.” Mira self-consciously patted her bag to make sure her art supplies were tucked inside. She was a little nervous about meeting Selma Simmons for the first time. “That’s just how they are.”
Izzie stared straight ahead as if she had a specific destination in mind. “I haven’t had parents in a long time.” Mira couldn’t help but think how sad that statement was. “And I’ve never had a media watchdog before. I didn’t know the press was something I was going to have to deal with for the rest of my life.” Before Mira could think of a good reply, she saw Brayden walking toward them, and Izzie’s face brightened considerably.
“How’d you know where I was?” she asked as he leaned in for a kiss.
“I called your house and your aunt said you were headed into town by foot, so I thought I’d meet you.” He slipped his hand easily into hers. “Hey, Mira.”
“Hey.” Mira loved the way Brayden was looking at Izzie. He was completely smitten. It dawned on her that as close as she and Kellen had grown, he had never looked at her like that.
“I thought we could go to the hardware store,” Brayden said. “We’ll get you everything you need for that Founders Day float of yours. Savannah will be floored when you show up with your own toolbox. Every Southern belle should have one, isn’t that right, Mira?” Mira couldn’t help but smile.
“I love how your mind works,” Izzie said with a laugh.
They were so cute together that Mira was starting to be jealous. “Have fun buying screwdrivers,” she said as they headed in the other direction. She continued on toward Emerald Arts. She had a feeling this was going to be a good day. If Selma Simmons liked her piece, then her work had to be good! This was the woman who had painted every decorative bench on Main Street. She had designed the fountain at town hall. Her work was on display in the North Carolina Museum of Art. Studying with Selma Simmons was huge, and Mira was determined to show her she was serious about her craft.
“Hey, Mira!” Clarissa said when she walked in. “Ready for your first Selma encounter?”
“I’m so nervous I feel like I’m going to throw up,” Mira admitted. She didn’t notice that Clarissa had company. A cute guy was standing next to her. He was about Mira’s age, and he had the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a boy and perfectly disheveled dark brown hair. Normally the guys she drooled over looked like they’d come out of a J. Crew catalog, but this one was different—his blue camo T alone showed he had a brooding thing going on. Still, it was kind of hot. “Is Selma here yet?” she asked to distract herself.
“No, she always comes a bit late so she can make a proper entrance,” Clarissa said, sounding a hint sarcastic. “You can go on in and set up, though. Some people have been in there for an hour! And pick your seat wisely,” she warned. “Selma will make you stick with the same one for the whole semester.”
“What is this, the third grade?” the guy asked. “Does she make us write our spelling words three times each for homework, too?” Mira couldn’t help but laugh. Who was this guy? She had never seen him around before.
“Mira, this clown is Landon,” Clarissa said. “He’s in Selma’s class, too. More important, he’s my number one volunteer for the Art Equals Love program.”
“The art therapy class,” Mira recalled, looking at Landon. “I hear it’s pretty cool.”
Landon gave her a warm smile then that was anything but brooding. “Cool, it is. You should check it out. We always need more hands on deck. Most of our kids are ten and under, and let’s just say they haven’t mastered the art of art yet. They’re more into making a mess.”
Mira laughed again. “Well, I am great at cleaning messes. Maybe I will come by.”
He leaned on the counter, his eyes glued to hers. “I hope you do, Mira.”
He remembered my name. “Well, I guess I should get ready. See you back there.” She could feel Landon watching her as she walked to the classroom, but she was quickly distracted by the smell of acrylic paints. To an outsider, the classroom wasn’t much to look at—cinder block walls did no room justice—but Mira loved the clotheslines that crisscrossed the room. Artwork by kids as young as four and people as old as eighty hung from them with clips. The counters lining the walls were filled with all of Mira’s favorite things—paintbrushes of every size and width, chalks, colored pencils, and jar after jar of different-colored paints. They wouldn’t be using those supplies for Selma’s class, because everyone was required to bring their own, but just being surrounded by the artists’ tools was comforting. The room was mostly full, and Mira realized that if she didn’t grab one of the few remaining easels fast, she’d be stuck in the first row.
“Mira!” Charlotte waved frantically from the center of the room. “Thank the Lord you’re here!” Mira hurried over. “This was one of the last empty rows, and I’ve been beating people back with my bag to keep this seat free.” Her blue eyes were as bright as her sweater, which had a yellow flower pinned to the chest pocket. “Someone said the seat you pick today is the one you have for the whole semester.”
“I heard.” Mira placed her new art bag on the seat next to her easel. “Clarissa told me when I walked in.” Clarissa made her think of Landon and those lashes of his. She blushed. “Hey, did you see the hot guy out front?” she whispered, afraid to be overheard. Charlotte immediately looked interested. “He—”
Charlotte squeaked and Mira turned around. Landon was standing behind her, and he looked even cuter than he had a few minutes ago. His dark eyes locked on hers. That smile could melt a Hershey’s Bar. “Do you have room for one more in this row?”
“You can have my seat,” Charlotte flirted, not realizing she was giving up her own easel.
He grinned. “You might need it. How about this one?” he pointed to the seat next to Mira that Mira had just placed her bag on. The girls nodded so quickly they looked like bobble-heads. Mira took her bag off the chair for him.
“Is that him?” Charlotte mouthed when Landon turned to set up. Mira nodded and Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. “You know, the seat you take now is the one you keep for the whole class,” Charlotte reminded him.
Landon glanced at Mira. “Yeah, I think I heard that.”
Did that mean he wanted to sit next to her? How was she supposed to impress Selma Simmons when Landon was oozing hotness next to her? Okay, she had to calm down. He was cute, but this was nothing to freak out about. She liked Kellen. Kellen, she thought as Landon continued to sneak glances her way while he unpacked. “Uh, Charlotte, this is Landon. Landon, this is Mira. I mean, Charlotte,” she said, mixing up the introductions.
“Landon,” Charlotte repeated as if in a trance. “Welcome aboard row three! You’re lucky that seat was open. Some guy tried to take it earlier and I sent him packing. He smelled like paint thinner.” She laughed giddily, and Mira shot her a look.
“That could give you a nasty headache.” Landon pinned an abstract painting to his easel. It was a swirl of blue and gold with flecks of red thrown in. Not Mira’s style, but it was mesmerizing. “I’m better-smelling company,” he said, looking at Mira. “I hope.”
“You are!” Mira said out loud, then wished she hadn’t.
Charlotte clicked her tongue and glanced from Mira to Landon. If Charlotte hadn’t noticed it before, Mira sensed she was seeing it now. Mira thought Landon was cute, and Landon seemed to have a thing for her, too, if she did say so herself. It was altogether flattering, heart-pumping, and nerve-racking at the same time. She liked Landon—no, Kellen! It didn’t matter that they were over and living in different states. It would be wrong to move on so quickly. Wouldn’t it?
Charlotte smiled mischievously at Mira, then she glanced at Landon’s easel. “Wow, Landon. That’s so existential. Did you paint that at school? Where do you go, anyway?” She tried to sound casual, but Mira started to squirm.
“St. Barnard’s Prep.” That was an all-boys school on the other side of Emerald Cove. “What about you guys?” He seemed to direct the question at Mira.
Mira forced herself to break eye contact and stared at the paintbrushes she’d just dropped into a cup on her easel tray. “Emerald Prep.”
“Ah, the Fighting Cardinals,” Landon said. “Your school needs a cooler mascot.”
“What’s wrong with cardinals?” Mira demanded.
Landon’s dark eyes held hers. “Nothing, but they’re not exactly known for being fighters. I never could have gone to a school with a bird on my basketball jersey. Now, the St. Barnard Bears. That sounds fierce, don’t you think?”
He flashed her another charming smile, and Mira felt slightly overcome by all the paint fumes. Yeah, that’s what it was. The paint fumes. She pulled out her own painting and pinned it to the easel. Kellen’s face stared back at her.
Landon leaned over. He smelled like a mix of clean laundry and sawdust. Definitely better than paint thinner. “Was that your submission?” he asked. She managed a nod. “Who is that? You and your boyfriend or something?”
Or something. “Yes, I mean, no. It’s complicated.” She was growing flustered.
“They broke up because he just moved to Detroit,” Charlotte offered, and Mira gave her a look.
Landon’s mouth twitched slightly. “Oh, well, sorry about that. The painting is nice, though. I’m just surprised you chose a beach scene.” Mira looked at him questioningly. “You know, because Selma hates them.”
“Hates?” Mira began to feel ill.
Landon sat on his stool and leaned forward. “She said it in the North Carolina Journal last month. Didn’t you read up on her?”
No. “But this was the piece that got me into this class,” Mira told them. She had to sit down. “Her assistant called and told me she liked it.”
“Her assistant?” Charlotte took a seat, too. “Selma didn’t call you herself?”
“No. Why? Did she call you guys?” Landon and Charlotte both nodded. Mira felt the color drain from her face.
“Forget what I said,” Landon backpedaled. “If you got in on this painting, then she must have changed her mind about beach scenes.”
Or… “Do you think I got in because of my dad?” Mira asked Charlotte worriedly.
“No way!” Charlotte insisted. “Selma Simmons is above that sort of stuff.”
“Who’s your dad?” Landon looked amused.
“Mira is Senator Monroe’s daughter,” Charlotte explained and Mira blushed.
Landon didn’t say anything. Most people didn’t know what to say when she told them her last name. They either thought it was really cool or they made a comment about how much they hated her dad. Landon didn’t appear to think either. She felt her phone vibrate, and she was happy to look down at the text for a distraction.
Mira tried not to look disappointed. She had tried Zoe twice about seeing the pictures she’d taken that day in the pool house. She didn’t want to let modeling be yet another project she let fall away. Still, Zoe was doing the head shots for free, and from what she’d heard, they normally cost a fortune.
“Psst. You might want to lose your cell phone for the next hour,” Landon whispered.
Mira was so focused on responding to Zoe, though, that she ignored him. That’s why she didn’t notice that Selma Simmons had arrived until someone took the phone right out of her hand. Mira looked up, surprised.
“I see someone didn’t read the course outline.” Selma pursed her lips. She looked exactly like the picture Mira had found online. Short, white-blond bob, thick black glasses, and brown eyes that looked anything but happy at the moment. “If you had, you would know I don’t allow cell phones. Your only focus should be on what I am teaching you.”
Mira struggled to find her Southern charm. “I am so sorry, Ms. Simmons.”
“Selma,” the teacher corrected. “This isn’t preschool. You’re an adult, or close to it, and I expect to treat you as such.” Her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. “Unless you don’t think you deserve to be treated as an adult. What is your name?”
Mira flashed a friendly smile. “Mirabelle Monroe.”
“Mirabelle Monroe!” Selma gave a short laugh. “I forgot I let you in here. Why am I not surprised the esteemed senator’s daughter thinks she is exempt from rules?”
Mira paled. “Oh, no, ma’am, I didn’t…”
Selma walked over to Charlotte’s easel. They had been told to bring their submission projects in for the first class, and Selma was wasting no time critiquing them. “Ah, Charlotte Richards. I would recognize your style anywhere,” she said in a pleasing tone. She took one of Charlotte’s elaborate charcoal drawings off the easel and held it up to the class. “See this? Some call it a sketch, but I call it art. Anyone can paint a beach.” Mira knew that comment was meant for her. “Design is a different medium entirely. Look at the lines in this gown,” Selma continued. “What is this dress designed for, Charlotte?”
“The Crystal Ball,” Charlotte said. “I’m designing my own dress.”
“Lovely.” Selma stepped around Mira and took Landon’s painting next. “This is incredibly unique work, too, wouldn’t you agree, class?” People in every row murmured their praise. Anything to appeal to Selma. “See how—what is your name?”
“Landon Archer,” he said, eyeing Mira.
“Landon. Yes, I remember because your work is exploring the very heart of post-modern art,” Selma told him. The closer Mira looked at Landon’s painting the more she noticed how many different mediums he’d used to get those colors. Instead of on a canvas, he had painted on an old piece of wood planking and had used metallic paint, along with some sort of gritty, almost sandy material in places. She liked the way the light created different colors in the paint when Selma held it at various angles. “Art can be anything you make of it, and that’s what I want to teach you in this class. Stop with the beach scenes you can find at Target for ten dollars framed.” Mira winced. “Think outside the box and I will work with you in ways you’ve never imagined. But if you show me something like this—” She took Mira’s painting off the easel and held it up. “You aren’t giving me much to work with.”
Mira had had enough. She didn’t care who this woman was. She had no right to pick on her. “You must like something about my work, Selma. I got into this class with this submission.” Charlotte’s jaw dropped, but Mira held steady. Izzie would have done the same in this situation. “And the beach is just my background. I concentrated mostly on the portrait.”
“You have talent—there is no denying that,” Selma said, “but if the portrait is what you’re proud of, then you have a ways to go. Your faces are flat and the colors muted. And why are they floating? It’s as if you ripped off Jack Vettriano without any of the whimsy.”
Mira tried not to cry. Twenty-two pairs of eyes were watching her.
Selma took off her glasses, as if the strain of staring at Mira’s painting was enough to give her a headache. She seemed to be waiting for a response.
“I…” Mira didn’t know what to say. Selma Simmons, North Carolina’s most famous painter and her new teacher, hated her. And this was their first class.
“Selma?” Landon raised his hand. “Wouldn’t you say that beach scenes are some of the hardest to master because of their simplicity?”
“I guess it could be argued…” Selma started to say.
“You said so in your bio on your website,” Landon reminded her. “In the part where you talk about how you started out painting beach scenes.” Landon winked at Mira when Selma wasn’t looking.
Charlotte dug her fingers into Mira’s arm. Landon was defending her.
Selma gave him a weak smile. “I’m glad you did your homework, Landon.” She pinned Mira’s work back to her easel and walked away. “Now, who has something to show me that would be classified as an ode to the Renaissance?”
Mira looked shyly at Landon. “Thank you for going to bat for me,” she whispered.
The smile that lit up his face made Mira weak in the knees. “Anytime.”