Chapter 4

At the final evaluation ceremony, my vase stood on the main display stand.

As the student lead curator, Cecil Matthews brought Janet Fox up beside the piece, in front of the whole department, students and faculty alike.

He said, "This is Janet's graduation work, done entirely on her own. Her fundamentals are weak, but she's willing to put in the effort. Over the past year, I watched her build this piece up, bit by bit, with my own eyes."

Applause rose from the floor.

My stomach clenched hard.

Janet took the certificate. "If I could finish this piece, the one I owe the most to is Cecil. He kept encouraging me, and he solved so many problems for me."

The teacher hosting turned to me. "Serena, you took part in the early work too, didn't you?"

Cecil answered first. "She just helped process one batch of clay."

I ruined seven kiln firings. The kiln door burned my right hand, and I couldn't hold a pen for half a month.

During that time, Cecil complained the studio reeked of smoke. He never came once.

The department chair slid the withdrawal-of-lead-creator confirmation across to me. "The materials Cecil submitted state that you voluntarily give up the lead-creator credit and keep only clay assistance. Once you sign, the work and the award both go to Janet. Do you confirm?"

Cecil lowered his voice. "Don't back out now. Janet's about to get the recommendation slot."

Janet clutched the certificate. "I'll remember you, Serena."

I picked up the pen. "Where do I sign?"

Cecil pointed to the bottom. "Here. Serena, I knew you'd think of the bigger picture."

I signed my name.

The department chair took the statement back. "You can't reverse this once you've signed. Have you thought it through?"

"Yes."

The pen tip left the paper, and slowly the feeling came back into my numb fingers.

When the ceremony ended, Cecil sorted out Janet's certificate, then turned and called after me. "We're celebrating at the studio tonight. Come early and help Janet file the award materials."

"I'm busy."

"Busy with what?"

"Starting a job."

He didn't catch it. "Look for a job after the graduation exhibition. We agreed to stay in New York and run the studio together."

Janet chimed in with a smile. "It'd be no fun without you, Serena. You've got a share in today's award too."

I set my student ID on the main display stand. "I don't want it."

Cecil's face darkened. "Because the piece doesn't have your name on it? I already promised I'd make it up to you."

"You keep it."

"Serena, I hate it most when you say half of something. You have to come tonight. We'll talk it out."

I didn't answer.

The dorm was already empty.

All that was left was one old bag, holding my father's ceramics sketches and the hiring notice from the South Ridge school.

Janet messaged me. "Serena, where'd you put that bag of old fabric samples? My display stand's still short one tablecloth."

I deleted the conversation.

Cecil sent another message. "Quit throwing a fit. The celebration starts at eight. If you're late, you can explain it to everyone yourself."

I dropped the dorm key into the checkout box at the dorm office.

At one in the morning, the conductor punched my ticket.

I'd barely sat down when Cecil's call came through.

"Where are you?"

"Is there something?"

"Everyone's waiting for you. Janet says you didn't even like her award photo. Can you not cause trouble today of all days?"

"I hope your celebration goes well."

He paused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Get over here. I'll give you twenty minutes."

I hung up and turned off the phone.

The train began to move.

The wheels rolled over the rail joints. I gripped the edge of the berth, my palms cold with sweat.

Back in the studio, Cecil was still sending me messages.

"Serena, don't think ignoring my calls will make me come coax you."

"When you're done throwing your fit, come back on your own."

"We've got the exhibition to set up in the morning. Don't hold up what matters."

The last message failed to send.

He still didn't know that I'd already signed the withdrawal confirmation, checked out of the dorm, and deleted our shared studio account.

He knew even less that the end of this train ride was thirty hours away.

And the room he thought I would never leave was already completely empty.