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  Shadows move over the sidewalk.

  “Yo.” Gang wannabes walk up.

  What now? “Yeah?”

  “What’re you painting, man? You doing community service again or something?” They laugh. “Where’s your neon vest, homeboy?”

  “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Like painting houses and buildings and walls?”

  “Right.”

  “What happens if we decide to do a graffiti thing on your wall? STB, man.” They throw up their lame sign for Bloods.

  “First, after you get arrested for vandalism, I guess I’ll be laughing at your neon-vest-wearing sorry selves cleaning this wall.”

  They stare.

  “Then me and my homies will kick your small-town asses for ruining my mural.”

  “No problem, man.” They walk away. “It’s all good.”

  Back to work.

  Standing in the kitchen

  Reading the newest note on the fridge:

  “I am for an art that takes its form from the lines of life itself, that twists and extends and accumulates and spits and drips, and is heavy and coarse and blunt and sweet and stupid as life itself.” (Claes Oldenburg)

  Bust out laughing.

  Kat smiles. “Appropriate?”

  “Yes. But why only quotes by Oldenburg?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I guess because I love his pop art sculptures and his moxie.”

  “Makes sense.” Not pop art, though. I don’t personally care much about paintings of soup cans and cartoons. But it is someone’s aesthetic, so I stay respectful. “What kind of sculptures?”

  “Oldenburg started out using materials he found on the street in NYC. Like cardboard and paint from cans people put out with the garbage.”

  “So he made art in the middle of garbage? Sounds like a street artist.”

  “Exactly. He moved on to creating soft sculptures in studios later, but I appreciate his beginnings.”

  “Yeah, that’s a great story.” Maybe Oldenburg is okay.

  “How’s your mural coming along?” She opens the fridge.

  “Good.”

  Throws me a pear. “How much longer until you’ll be finished?”

  “Four or five days.”

  “Can’t wait to see it.” She grabs a handful of blueberries. “I’ve been staying away until you’re done.”

  “Want to see it so far?” I say.

  “Let’s go!”

  Revealing my aesthetic

  Walk down Main Street with Kat. We’re quiet all the way to the theater.

  Pull the cloth off the scaffolding.

  Silence.

  “Liam … what you’ve done so far is amazing.” Kat moves closer to the wall. “Powerful. Disciplined.” She takes a few steps back. “Cubism.” She stares. “Aggressive and bold, yet sensitive. Abstract expressionism. Filled with spontaneous energy.” I see tears in her eyes.

  She looks at me.

  I look away.

  “Your work is truly brilliant. I mean it, Liam.”

  “Thank you.”

  Silence. Not awkward.

  “This may not be the right time. Maybe it’s the perfect time.”

  “What?”

  “Would you ever consider going to the boarding school at Lake Michigan?”

  “What?” What did she just say?

  “Lake Michigan Academy of Fine Arts. Attending the fine-arts high school.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Wait. Be real, O’Malley. “I could never afford to go.”

  “There are scholarships.”

  “What would I need to do?”

  “Complete the application and get your portfolio together.”

  “I don’t have a portfolio.”

  “What about this mural?” she says.

  “All right.”

  “And the excellent work you created at camp.”

  I nod.

  “And your sketchbook.”

  “My blackbook?”

  “Good God, Liam! Yes, your blackbook.”

  We laugh.

  “I want you to give the boarding school some serious thought. Admissions might still be open for the new school year. But you’d have to get your application submitted right away.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it. You’re very talented.”

  I want to believe Kat. “Thanks,” I say.

  Very talented? Truly brilliant? Warm waves roll through my whole body.

  I’m smiling the biggest damn smile of my whole life.

  Delaying my application

  Can’t move forward until I talk to Patrick. Need to find out about Irish Mafia. I dial our number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Patrick.”

  “What’s up, Liam?”

  “Are you still hanging out with Tommy?” I say.

  “What do you care, man?”

  “Knock it off. You know what I’m talking about. He’s a loser.”

  “I’m kidding.” He laughs. “I don’t even like the guy. Why would I be around him?”

  “You were when I phoned before.”

  “That was a couple of weeks ago, Liam. Things can change over time, you know?

  “I don’t want you anywhere near that guy.”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  “Don’t ever compare me to Dad.” My hands are shaking. “Ever.”

  “All right. Sorry.”

  Take a deep breath. “Seriously, Patrick.” I calm down. “Stay away from Irish Mafia.”

  “I’m not with them. I don’t bang.”

  “You sure?” Patrick has never lied to me.

  “Yeah. It’s all good.”

  “Okay.” He’s never lied to me. I’m trying to believe him. “Oh, did you get the sketch I sent you?”

  “Yeah. It’s cool, Liam. It looks so real I almost feel like I’m there.”

  I wish he was. “Glad you like it.”

  “I have to go. Mom’s making me help her at the garden.”

  “You all like to eat? Then you all have to help in the garden.”

  “She actually told me that.” He laughs. “I swear to God.”

  We bust out laughing.

  “Okay. Talk to you later, Patrick.”

  “Yeah, later.”

  Rocking in the hammock with Sara

  We’re side by side. Leaves in the huge oak trees are turning brown. I look out over the sand to the waves of Lake Michigan. They’re darker blue now.

  “Move over a little bit, Liam.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to or we’re going to flip.”

  “My back hurts.”

  “What happened?”

  “I scraped it on one of those big boulders near the breakwater out to the lighthouse.”

  “Fine. I’ll move.” She carefully slides to the right. “Baby.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Love being with Sara.

  We rock back and forth. Relaxing.

  “That’d be great if you did go to the Academy of Arts.” She smiles. “You’d be a lot closer than Minneapolis.”

  “Yeah.” That’d be nice.

  “Have you finished your application?”

  “I’m almost done. Then I have to prepare my portfolio.”

  “What are you putting in it?”

  “At least five examples of my finished work. Some of my stuff from camp. Pages from my blackbook. Kat said my portfolio needs to reflect my creative potential, process, and overall abilities.”

  “From what you’ve shown me, and even your piece on the bathhouse, I’d definitely say you’re in.”

  We kiss. Not awkwardly anymore.

  “I hope.” Lean my head against hers. Comfortable.

  Screen door creaks. Kat walks out onto the porch. “Dinner’s ready. Come on in.”

  All the pieces are coming together.

  Calling Minneapolis

  “Hello?” It’s Fiona.

  “Hey.”

  “Liam! Everybody, it’s Liam.” Sh
e shouts to whoever can hear. Declan yells my name.

  “Fiona?” Did she walk away from the phone? “Fiona?”

  “Let me talk to your brother,” Mom says. “Then you and Declan can each have a turn.”

  “Liam?”

  “Hi, Mom.” We haven’t talked in over a week. Been busy.

  “Did you finish the mural?”

  “Should be done in a couple of days.”

  “How does it look so far?”

  “I’m happy with it.”

  “I’m very proud of you,” she says.

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean it, Liam.”

  “I know.” Seriously.

  “So … how’s everything else in Lakeshore?” “Good. What’s going on with Kieran?” Been thinking about him.

  “Nothing new. We’re still waiting for his court date.”

  “Oh.” He’s been sitting in jail for most of the summer.

  “How’s the weather over there?”

  “Nice. Remember the arts camp I went to?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Because they have a boarding school. I’d really like to apply for admission this fall. Kat thinks I should. I already filled out my application. I’m getting my portfolio together. And I can probably get a scholarship to pay for all of my tuition. And room and board. Since we don’t have a lot of money.”

  “Liam … honey … Kat and I have already talked. She went through all of the details.”

  “Oh.” Pressure’s off me. “Okay.”

  “You’re sure this is something you want to do? Because you thought Saint Al’s was, and look how that turned out.”

  “Mom.”

  “I’m not trying to discourage you. I’m just nervous about all of this.”

  “But this is Lake Michigan Academy of Fine Arts.”

  “You’d be living there for the whole school year. I don’t even know if I’d have the money to fly you home for holidays.”

  “I could stay at Kat’s during breaks,” I say.

  “Patrick, Fiona, and Declan would sure miss you.”

  “I know. But I really want to do this.”

  Silence.

  “Mom?”

  “Boarding school is a big step, Liam. I’d miss you.”

  “I’d probably miss you guys, too. But you did want me to make big changes this summer.”

  “I did, and I know that you’re trying.”

  “That’s why this is so important to me. I don’t want to throw away my chance.” Please say yes.

  “Okay, then. You have my permission to submit the application.”

  “Very cool!”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, Fiona and Declan want to talk to you.”

  Their loud voices get closer.

  “Liam.” Declan clears his throat. “Liam, how are you doing in Lakeshore, Michigan? When are you coming home to Minneapolis, Minnesota?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Give me the phone right now.” Fiona snaps her fingers. “It’s my turn to talk to Liam. I was talking first, even before Mom.”

  “No! Give me the phone back, Fiona.”

  “For the love of all the Irish saints,” Mom says. “Quit yanking on that phone before you pull it right out of the—”

  CRAAAASH.

  Click.

  Pleading for redemption

  Please, God.

  My Lake Michigan Academy of Fine Arts application is in the mailbox. I tug on my holy medal for good luck. Again. Surprised the chain hasn’t broken yet. “Saint Brendan, pray for me.” Start down the sidewalk. Head home. I mean, head to Kat’s.

  Home?

  Baring my soul

  Surrounded by people of this Welcome to Lakeshore! little town. Kat. Hank. Librarian. Gang wannabes. Sara’s mom. Town council members. Local kids. Cop who arrested me. Everyone. I tug on my holy medal.

  I’m standing beside Sara, next to my covered mural. Heart’s racing. Listening to the mayor talk about the community vision of Lakeshore. About the importance of art in the life of a community.

  Thinking about the importance of art in the life of me.

  Mayor raises his voice. “And now, I’d like to present the very talented artist who created our wonderful mural: Liam O’Malley.” Clapping. He shakes my hand. Hands me the microphone.

  “I just want to say thanks to … ummm … I just want to say thanks to the town council for taking a chance on my work. And thanks especially to Kat, the Lady Artist, for taking a chance on me this summer.”

  Kat’s crying. Feel like a golf ball’s in my throat again.

  “And to Sara and Hank, too.” I walk over to the side of the scaffolding. Slow down. Pull the rope. The cover drops to the sidewalk. Revealing everything. The Lakeshore Community Mural. Everything I learned this summer. Me.

  People take in their breath. I’m holding mine.

  All sorts of voices start in. I don’t want to see who’s saying what. I just look at my work.

  “Hey, the lighthouse is covered with faces.”

  “Scenes from Lakeshore are in different pieces.”

  “What a beautiful color of yellow for the beam of light.”

  “Cool. Check out the bits of graffiti in the stormy water.”

  “Is that Lakeshore written in the light coming from the lighthouse?”

  Loud clapping and cheering. Cameras flash.

  Sara hugs me. “It’s absolutely amazing, Liam.” She smiles her smile.

  I breathe again.

  Finishing properly

  It’s late at night. I’m wearing my black hoodie and bandanna. Backpack’s filled with supplies.

  One thing left. Stand in front of the side wall of the theater. Lakeshore Community Mural. My way of saying thank you. Even in the dark.

  Look all around. Pull the can out of my backpack.

  CLIKCLAKCLIKCLAKCLIKCLAK. Plastic cap off. Look again. Now. Press down on the nozzle.

  PSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST.

  Spraying over my old voice. Black paint and paint remover drips down from the bench. Forms a puddle on the sidewalk. Dump a bucket of water over the mess.

  Getting rid of St. B. Already cleaned up the garbage can and the stop sign.

  Tagged no more. At least in Lakeshore, where it’s not considered art.

  Take the gold Sharpie marker out of my backpack. Sign my mural:

  Liam Brendan O’Malley

  I am here.

  I exist.

  Opening the mailbox

  Third time today.

  Nothing yet.

  Go back to reading The Chocolate War. I’m almost finished.

  I know how Jerry felt. Like he was all alone at his Catholic school. He had trouble with his football teammates. Baseball teammates for me. I didn’t get my ass kicked like Jerry, but I did have a Glock jabbed into the side of my head.

  At least I won’t be going back to Saint Al’s.

  Hopefully Jerry won’t have to stay at Trinity.

  Holding the envelope

  It’s addressed to Liam Brendan O’Malley. From Lake Michigan Academy of Fine Arts. Need to open this somewhere else.

  Walk down the beach. Knee-deep in the big lake. Carefully open the envelope.

  Dear Liam:

  Congratulations! We’re pleased to accept you to Lake Michigan Academy of Fine Arts for the upcoming academic year. Our decision was based on the strong work in your Visual Arts portfolio, as well as the outstanding artistic recommendation from Katherine Sullivan and character recommendation from Clarence Masterson.

  Our academy is a prominent fine-arts boarding school, recognized nationally and globally. You will be joining a strong community of artists who share your artistic and academic goals and dreams. We believe your high school experience at Lake Michigan Academy of Fine Arts will be like no other. Welcome!

  Sincerely,

  Joseph Konczal

  Director of Admissions

  “Yes!” Luck
of the Irish.

  Thank you, God. And thank you, Kat and Hank.

  I resist the urge to dive in. Want to keep this letter. Forever.

  Reaching Tyrell

  “Liam. What’s going on, man?”

  “I’m good. How’s the hood? You. Sean. Everyone?”

  “Same old thing. Our baseball team’s in first place. We should win the City Park League again this year.”

  “Very cool.”

  “Coach moved the lineup around. I’m batting cleanup since you’re not here.”

  “Oh.” That’s my spot.

  “We need you for the playoffs, though. When you home?”

  Home. The JFKs. “I’m not sure.” Feels like I left a lifetime ago. “How’s Sean?”

  “His sister and her kids moved back in. Four more people in his apartment.”

  “No.”

  “Guess where Sean’s sleeping?”

  “The couch?”

  “Yep.”

  We bust out laughing.

  “He’s hoping they’ll move out before school starts,” Tyrell says. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s only three weeks away. We start before Labor Day this year. At least the Minneapolis schools do. What about Saint Al’s?”

  “I’m not going back there.”

  “WHY? Don’t be a fool.”

  “Can’t. I got kicked out.”

  “No way. What happened?”

  “I messed up.”

  “Too bad, Liam.”

  “No big deal. Seriously. I never belonged there anyway.”

  “Still. Where’re you going to school?”

  “Not sure right now.” Should I tell him about art school? Can’t yet. Might jinx everything.

  “You don’t want to go to Central, Liam. I know it’s the closest to the JFKs, but that school’s rough. Sean said a guy got stabbed in the eye with a plastic fork last year.”

  “I remember.”

  “Maybe you could get in at my charter school,” Tyrell says.

  “Yeah, you still like it there?”

  “It’s good, and it’s in the hood. We’d probably be in the same college-prep program.”