CHAPTER 12

For two weeks, Luna and I didn’t really talk about our art adventure in Mexico or the hour of power, or David and Viola. We were still best friends who walked to school together and hung out all the time, but neither of us brought up our secret lives as art explorers. It was almost as if we didn’t want to face the fact that all of our amazing adventures were over.

Then one day, our art teacher announced that our class was going on a field trip to the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena, a town very close to our school.

I hadn’t ever been to that art museum.

On the day of the trip, a guide took us through all the rooms, pointing out one beautiful painting after another. We passed a still life of fruits. A landscape of a river and leafy trees. A group of ballerinas in fluffy skirts. And a portrait of a woman with the longest neck you’ve ever seen.

“And now,” our tour guide said, “we come to one of our museum’s most prized pieces: Diego Rivera’s famous painting The Flower Vendor (Girl with Lilies).”

Luna and I looked up, and there she was on the wall. Antonia, her braids tied with a purple ribbon, holding her huge bunch of calla lilies.

“That painting is so boring,” Cooper Starr said, crossing his arms. “It’s just a girl with braids sitting there with—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Cooper,” I blurted out. Before I knew what was happening, I had walked up to the wall and stood in front of the painting.

“There’s a lot to see in this,” I said. “You might not see it at first. Art doesn’t work that way. You have to really look at it and soak it up. And think about the painting, with your heart and your brain. Don’t you wonder who this girl is? And why she’s carrying so many flowers?”

“No,” said Cooper. “Why would I care about that?”

“Cooper Starr!” our art teacher said. “I’ve warned you all morning. Now I’m done warning you. You obviously don’t know how to behave in a museum, so go back to the bus and wait there until we’re done.”

“But there’s nothing to do there, and it smells like salami sandwiches,” he whined. “And the bus driver has this hairy mole on his cheek.”

“Have fun staring at it,” I said to him. “We’ll be staring at beautiful art.”

After he was led off, Luna and I asked our teacher if we could spend one more minute looking at the Diego Rivera painting.

“Of course.” She smiled. “I’m happy you love this painting as much as I do.”

When we were alone, Luna and I looked at the painting closely.

“Do you see that?” I said, pointing to a little spot on one of the flowers.

“See what?” Luna asked. “I just see flowers.”

“Look again,” I said. “Right there, in the center of the flowers.”

“Oh, I see it,” Luna said. “At least I think I do.”

“Luna, I think it’s moving. I bet it’s Viola, waving at us from inside the painting.”

Luna squinted hard.

We moved closer to get a better look.

“Excuse me, kids,” the guard said, tapping us on the shoulders. “You can’t get that close to the paintings. Sorry, you have to step back.”

When we had backed up, we looked at the painting again. The spot was gone.

“I saw it,” I said. “It was her, saying hello.”

“Maybe,” Luna said. “Or maybe it was just our eyes wishing it was her. I hope Viola and David are happy there.”

“I know they are,” I said. “It’s hard not to be when you’re surrounded by beauty.”

Luna smiled and took my hand, and together we walked through the museum, letting ourselves soak up the beautiful world of art.