CHAPTER 4

A Closer Look

“There it is,” Dr. Wim said as she put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Tiled Lunch Counter, by Ralph Goings. It’s just overwhelming in person, isn’t it? It dwarfs the poster we have at home — Clementine, what’s wrong?”

Clementine stood at the velvet rope in front of the painting and stared at the canvas. “I don’t understand,” she said, almost under her breath. “I was so sure.”

“So sure of what, dear?” Dr. Wim said. She gave Clementine a quizzical look.

“Um … ,” Clementine said. She pulled away from her mother. “Nothing. Never mind.”

She paced toward the benches in the center of the gallery. She’d been certain — those two people on the Big Lawn had been carrying that painting. She was sure of it. She’d seen it. Well, she’d seen a little bit of it, at least. But the little bit she’d seen had definitely been part of that painting.

“What’s up, Clementine?” Wilson said as he sat down next to her. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Nothing,” Clementine said, shaking her head and forcing a smile. There was no reason to worry her friends. “Sorry I was late today. I looked all over for you guys, but it was a madhouse. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Wilson started to reply, but Clementine tuned him out, still focused on the painting. She could have been wrong, really. After all, she wasn’t the expert her mother was, and clearly the painting wasn’t missing.

If I could just get a closer look, Clementine thought, maybe I’ll see something — something wrong.

She stood up and walked back to the Goings painting.

“Clementine?” Wilson called after her. “What are you doing?”

“Why is she being so weird?” Amal asked.

“Beats me,” Raining said, shrugging his shoulders. Clementine’s odd behavior wasn’t exactly a new phenomenon.

Clementine stepped up to the velvet rope, right next to her mother, and stared hard at the corner of the painting, where the blue and white tiles seemed to shine. That was the magic of Photorealism.

“Darling, I have to get to my office,” Dr. Wim said. “I’ll see you at home later, okay?”

“Okay,” Clementine said, barely hearing her mom and hardly noticing the kiss on the cheek she left her with. She was too intent on getting a closer look at the painting.

“If I could just get a closer look,” Clementine whispered to herself, leaning over the velvet rope. She leaned so far, in fact, that the rope pulled on the posts holding it up, knocking them down with a tremendous clang!

“Watch what you’re doing!” bellowed the security guard standing nearby. He was a big man with a wide, grumpy-looking face. Clementine didn’t remember seeing him before at the museum, but he looked familiar somehow, just the same. “Back up from the painting please!”

“I’m sorry,” Clementine said. She struggled to lift the posts. Raining ran over to help her, but the security guard shooed them both away. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to get a closer look.”

“Oh, I suppose you think you’re entitled to a closer look than every other guest at the museum, huh?” the security guard said as he fixed the velvet rope.

“No!” Clementine protested. “It’s just that —” She hesitated. She couldn’t say out loud that she’d seen the very same painting on the Lawn a couple of hours ago. She’d sound crazy. “I wanted to see the brushstrokes. I’m a-an artist.”

“Ooh,” the security guard said, rolling his eyes mockingly. His voice was thick with sarcasm. “An artist. Well, then. Why don’t I arrange a special tour for you?”

“Really?” Clementine said.

“No, not really!” the guard snapped. “Now back off!”

Clementine stood there for a moment with her mouth hanging open, but she knew if she continued to argue, she’d be in tears. So she turned her back on the guard, her friends, and Tiled Lunch Counter and ran from the gallery.