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around a corner, and positive that nobody’s following us.
    “What … who …,” I say, trying to catch my breath, “was that you were talking to?”
    She shakes her head. “Some guy, never seen him before.”
    “What was he doing? And
pleeease
don’t tell me he was in the bathroom.”
    “No, it’s just a regular room. He had a couple of easels set up, and he was painting when I opened the door.”
    “Two easels? Could you see what he was painting?”
    “One was like the big paintings hanging in the gallery. Dark and swirly. Like the sky in a Van Gogh. The other one was a still life, just like all the others on the wall. Hard to believe he does both—the styles are so different. But that’s not the weird part—you’ve just
got
to see the room. On the wall behind him, there are two windows with curtains and everything—except that one of them isn’t.”
    “Isn’t what?”
    “A window. It’s just a section of the wall painted to
look
like the other window. You look at it, and you will swear you are looking at another building that’s across the alley. It took me a second to realize that the curtains were just paint, too. It’s freaky, it’s so real. I didn’t have time to check it all out, but the whole room is painted like that—the walls, the floor, even the ceiling.”
    “That does sound cool. But why did that other guy get so mad? What’s the big deal? I mean, so you walk in on a guy painting in an art gallery. I’m shocked—
shocked
, I tell you!”
    “Well, artists don’t usually work in galleries. They have their own studios, and if they’re
lucky
, they find somebody who likes their stuff enough to try to sell it. Did you happen to get a look at the name of any of the artists in the gallery?” Becca asks. “I wonder who he is.”
    I shake my head. “I didn’t see a sign or anything, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find out.”
    “Well, it’s all very suspicious, if you ask me. There’s definitely something going on in there.”
    When Becca’s art class starts, I head back uptown to my favorite bookstore, where I spend most of the afternoon (and all of my money). Even though I have yet to see a single dime from Nate for my dog-sitting gig, the anticipation of that fifty dollars a day makes me feel like I’m
rich
.
    After the bookstore comes my guitar lesson on the West Side with Gerry, who is pushing me to get to work writing more songs, and then pizza with Raf.
    He’s waiting outside Gerry’s studio, leaning against the wall and just being his usual too-cute-for-his-own-good self, as I come downstairs.
    I give him a little wave, trying not to act
too
excited to see him. “What? No scooter this time?” I ask.
    He smiles even though he’s
still
paying for that little adventure. “Maybe next time.”
    “No! I want you to be able to stay out past eight-thirty before you turn sixteen. You’re like the opposite of a vampire; I can only see you in the daylight hours.”
    He moves in closer to me to get his first good look at my nose; I haven’t seen him since Livvy did her guillotine imitation on my face. “Hey, it’s not too bad. The way you described it the other day made it sound like you were some kind of hideous creature.”
    “Oh, it’s a
lot
better now. You should have seen it when it was all swollen and the bruises around my eyes were bright purple. I was stunning-looking, really. Luckily, Leigh Ann showed me how to cover up some of it with makeup. Nate still noticed it, though—he even teased me about it. He was really funny, by the way. It’s too bad you couldn’t come with us. We had
so
much fun.”
    “Yeah, I’ll bet,” he says, looking a little disgusted at the very idea of spending the day following Nate Etan around.
    “We did, really! Nate was super-nice, and funny, and we got to see them shoot this scene—over and over, actually. Oh! And we got yelled at by Cam Peterson. Do you know who he is?”
    Raf shrugs. “No. He
yelled
at