Orfyn

 

 

All great parties have a theme. The only one I could think of comes from the creepy stories Sister Mo told us about Jamaica: full-moon parties, duppies, and voodoo. She always spoke in this apocalyptic lilt, and when a nun tells you that you really do need to watch out for zombies, you’d better believe her.

I knew just the place to hold ours. The Darwinians set up a studio for me in the school’s old art classroom, and they filled it with all the supplies I could ever wish for: oils, brushes, pencils, canvases, easels, spotlights. I prefer walls instead of canvas, so I’ve never painted there. Until now.

The music will be reggae, of course, but instead of the expected Bob Marley, I chose stuff they’ve probably never heard of, like The Abyssinians and Toots & the Maytals. The cooks got into it and agreed to make jerk chicken, fried plantains, and coconut tarts.

I’m headed to the kitchen to check on things when I spot Jules in the dining hall. She must have just gotten here, since she’s only taken one bite out of her burger.

She smiles and pats the seat next to her. “Keep me company while I’m eating.”

Jules has never made me feel like I don’t belong here—other than telling everyone she hates street art. But I don’t think she believed me, so we’ve been getting along.

“How’s the party planning going?” she asks.

“Great. It’s going to rock.”

“I knew Stryker chose the right person. Anything I can do to help?”

This is the first time anyone’s offered, which I guess is okay. They’re all really busy. “I’m still trying to figure out the drinks. I want to make something special.”

“Let me take care of it.”

I notice the book lying next to her: Capitalism and Freedom. “It’ll get in the way of your work.”

“Sarah has given me a ton of stuff to learn, but they always say, ‘If you want something done, ask a busy person to do it.’”

“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.” I mean it; she is nice. And she’s cute, if you like the kind of girl you see cheerleading at football games. I reach over and touch her arm, like I’m thanking her. And … nothing. The electricity between us is about the same level as when I open a refrigerator, unlike what I felt with Lake.

“The theme is Jamaican Beach Party,” I explain.

Jules claps excitedly. “I love it! I have the perfect outfit.”

“I hadn’t thought about having everyone dress up. Great idea. I’ll let the others know.” I’m really glad I ran into Jules.

“So how’s everything going with your Mentor? Bat, is it?” She leans forward, and I get the feeling she’s not just being polite. She really cares.

“Everything’s good.” I still haven’t seen Bat’s work, because we keep getting distracted with his stories behind the masterpieces on his wall. The guy knows more about art than I knew there was to know.

“Is he what you expected?”

I have to laugh. “Not exactly. But he’s okay.”

“What are you working on?”

Good question. We haven’t done anything but hang out and talk. When are we going to get started? I don’t want Jules to think I’m a slacker. “We’re brainstorming right now.”

“Measure twice, cut once, right?” She chuckles.

I don’t have a clue what she means. “Yeah, right.”

“I can’t wait to hear about the great work you’re going to create. Keep me updated, okay?”

I will, once I know what Bat and I are up to. “Sure. I still have a lot to do to get ready for the party. I’d better get going.”

“Me, too.” She picks up her plate. “See you at the party.”

“Hey, I feel bad. We were talking so much you never got the chance to eat.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t that hungry.”

I watch as she dumps the burger in the trash. Sister Mo would have had a thing or two to say about that.

 

 

Anna shows up fifteen minutes before the party is supposed to start, which is hilarious since she’d dissed it.

“Hey,” she says, without a smile. Her interpretation of beach-party-wear is skin-tight leather pants and a black T-shirt with a skull that has blood dripping out of its eye sockets. She actually looks pretty cool.

“You’re early. I’m still finishing up.”

“Pretend I’m invisible. Everybody does.”

I chuckle, even though I’m not sure she meant to be funny. I set a blank canvas on an easel so anyone who wants to can try painting. To get things started, I sketch a stick figure holding a brush with the words “Paint Me.” No need to show off.

Anna strolls the room, inspecting my work. On three of the walls, I painted a dense jungle. The trick is to have the light hit all of the leaves from the same direction, or no one will buy the illusion, as Bat told me. My final touch was to point a couple of spotlights at the walls, making the room feel hot and tropical.

Anna brushes her fingertips against the fourth wall where I’d painted a beach with ultramarine-blue surf. I added a few palm trees and beachgoers, including Sister Mo in her nun’s habit looking for shells. “Who’s this?”

“Don’t! It’s not dry.”

“Sorrrrrry.” She breaks into a grin that gives me the creeps. “I know you’re the famous street artist. Is Bat one, too?”

I’m not admitting anything to her, and I’m not really sure what kind of stuff Bat paints. “You said you’re from California.”

“I spent last spring break with my grandparents. They live in The Bronx. Can you believe it?”

I’ve always thought The Bronx would be a nice place to grow up, but I’ve only painted there three, maybe four times. What are the chances?

She raises her multi-perforated eyebrow. “I saw how you were looking at Lake. I wonder what she’d think of your secret.”

“It’s not a secret,” I say, as if I could care less that I’ll be the outcast if the others find out.

“Nice try. What’s it worth for me to keep my mouth shut?”

“I grew up in an orphanage. I don’t own anything.”

“Then you’ll owe me.”

“Owe you what?” I say through clenched teeth.

“I’ll let you know when the right opportunity comes along.”

That’s when the others show up for the party. I check out their faces, but no one is acting like they overheard Anna blackmailing me.

My attention zooms to Lake. The light blue shirt tied at her waist makes her eyes pop. My heart does a backflip.

“It feels like I’m at the beach!” she says with a huge smile.

Mission accomplished.

“Isn’t Orfyn’s style unique?” Anna’s eyes send the message loud and clear that she wants me to squirm. I can either let her ruin my party, or I can ignore her. Not a tough choice.

“Nice job, Art.” Stryker is wearing a suit the exact same shade as Mr. Blue’s, which is the best outfit here. I’d bet Mr. Blue would wear a suit even on the beach.

Marty—who I wasn’t sure would come—is wearing this hilarious shirt with monkeys swinging from palm tree to palm tree. “I love Jamaica,” he says.

“Never been.”

“Great jerk chicken.”

“We have some over there.”

He smiles for the first time since I’ve met him. “Cool.”

Jules looks great. She’s wearing a Hawaiian print dress and a crimson flower in her hair that looks real. How did she get something like that here?

Jules says, “I made a special drink for everyone. They’re over here, labeled with your names, but I made enough so you can try the others, too.” She invented some great ones, like a Black Hole for Physics—a mix of all the sodas she could find—and a Starry Night for me—grape soda, vanilla ice cream and pop rocks.

“This is almost perfect,” Stryker says while turning a three-sixty.

I brace myself for what he thinks isn’t perfect.

“Alex, care to do the honors?”

Alex has on a black hoodie that’s got to be hot. He pulls a small metal box from his hoodie’s pocket and walks around the room, watching the gadget. He points to the smoke detector on the ceiling. Then he hands Stryker a coil of wire. Stryker easily reaches the ceiling and winds the wire around the detector.

“That’s the dummy,” Alex tells us in a whisper. “It’s a guitar string.” He reaches in his hoodie’s pocket again, pulls out a larger metal box, and gives it to Stryker. Stryker pushes up one of the ceiling tiles, slides the box on top of the tile, then eases it back into place. Alex holds up the first box and pushes the orange button, which lights up. “We are now in stealth mode, people.”

Stryker fist-bumps him. “My man.”

“What is that thing?” I ask.

“It’s a soundwave-canceling re-transmitter. It’s a great example of destructive interference.”

I look at him blankly.

“It messes with their bug.”

“Someone bugged my studio?”

“Assume that any place we have access to is being monitored,” Stryker says. “Except your bathroom.” He gives Lake a knowing look and she nods.

Anna places her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You’re so easy to approach,” Marty answers. He laughs, and Anna slugs him in the arm.

Marty knew about it, too? I know I’m the new guy, but it would’ve been nice if one of them had clued me in.

“Alex, where did you get the parts?” Jules asks.

I’d been wondering the same thing. Art supplies are one thing, but it’s not like we can just have anti-listening-device equipment delivered to our fake boarding school.

Alex shrugs. “I’m pretty good at repurposing household electronics.”

“Q.” Marty nods in approval.

“You’re all so immature,” Anna says. “This is a party. They don’t care.”

“It would be nice if you were right,” Stryker says, then turns to me. “Art, what exciting things do you have planned for us?”

“Thanks for asking, Peace. I set up this easel so everyone can take a turn at painting.”

“Talk about a wild time,” Stryker says, dryly.

“I’ve never painted on canvas before.” Lake goes over and starts examining the different brushes.

Sorry, Stryker. Point: Orfyn.

Lake is soon absorbed in swirling all shades of colors onto the canvas. I never imagined her as an abstract girl. She sets down the brush and touches her fingers to the wet paint. Within seconds, she’s using her entire hand. My jaw literally drops. Then, she touches the canvas with both hands! I think I’m in love.

“I have a better idea,” Anna says, breaking me out of my Lake trance. “How about we play One True Thing? Let’s start with Orfyn.”