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delight, the other remaining students were all busy working on their own stuff, and thankfully no one seemed to be taking any notice of me. “Glad to see that my birthday gift to you is really helping you make friends,” Rory said, giving me a thumbs-up. “No fighting, though, okay? The idea was to help you
relax
from the day job, remember? Now, let’s get you out of that lab coat and jet.”
    “It’s a smock,” I corrected. “It’s for the doing of the art, and the saving of the grown-up clothes. Duh.”
    Marshall clapped me on the shoulder with a light touch. “Your bosses would be so proud,” he said, mock sniffling.
    “Parents,”
I reminded him. “Humping real estate on behalf of my family from one group of people to another is not my idea of my dream job, okay?” I turned to Rory. “And while I appreciate the gift, Ror,
nothing
is going to help me relax from the day job. I know I decided not to abandon them, and I don’t think my mom could take it right now. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it. “
    “I don’t get it,” she said. “HGTV makes real estate look so easy.”
    “It probably is,” I countered, “but most people probably don’t answer to their parents as their bosses in that profession, do they?”
    “Fair point,” she said.
    “They grow up so fast,” Marshall said, continuing with his melodramatic crying. He put his hand on my back and started rubbing between my shoulders.
    I squirmed away from his touch, agitated. “Hands off, Marsh,” I said, and he pulled away like I was on fire, just the reaction I was hoping for. I let out a long sigh, letting go of the mounting tension I didn’t know I was even carrying until that moment.
    “You’re a good daughter,” Rory said, without a bit of snark to it whatsoever. “You turned out well, despite the fact that your parents always thought I got you into Goth in our teens because I wanted you to worship Satan.”
    “I wish!” I said, raising my hand like I was Dracula trying to mesmerize someone. “At least then I could hex some of the contractors I’m dealing with, get them to fall in line. Under budget and on time. Maybe give them boils, make their hair fall out…” I trailed off. Two of the Real Housewives were staring and rolling their eyes at me, one whispering to the other behind her hand.
    “That’s great, Lexi,” Marshall said, disappointment in his voice. “I’m pretty sure that’s how the Donald got ahead, too.”
    “One problem, though,” Rory added, holding up a finger.
    I kept my eyes on the women as they sat chatting at their respective easels off across the art space. “Which is…?”
    “We aren’t fifteen anymore, dressing Goth, or sneakinginto the Harry Potter movies hoping that magic might actually be a real thing.”
    My face sank and I turned my powerless hand toward me, looking at it. There was no fantastical magic there, only chipped nails and torn cuticles. “Crap.” I grabbed up one of the thicker paintbrushes at my station and waved it like a wand. “Still, I bet it would be pretty ‘magical’ to see how far I could shove this up their—”
    “Lex!” Rory shouted, grabbing the paintbrush away from me.
    I spun back around to my easel, staring at the gargoyle on the page. “Sorry,” I said. “At least I was on my way toward getting a little sketch therapy out. It’s just so frustrating to work so hard and feel like I’m failing. I mean, the Belarus family tree has at least one great artist in it, so it’s got to be somewhere in my blood, right? I
should
be able to do this!”
    Rory gave me a condescending pat on the back. “I’m not sure art’s really a genetic thing, doll.”
    “I wish it was. My great-great-grandfather built huge swaths of this city when he came over from Lithuania. He laid stone back when it was still an art craft, not just bricklaying. The sketchbooks, the statues…All right, I’m letting it go,” I said, forcing myself to relax. “Besides, this