Then he turned straight back to us.
The club members were milling about, talking to one another and discussing the auction. But there was only one member I wanted to speak to: Mr. Berkley. I weaved between the members until I spotted him.
After a brief conversation with him, I raced over to Alexander, who was waiting by the kitchen.
"Here," I said, showing him Mr. Berkley's card. "You have an appointment tomorrow night at eight."
We lingered for a few minutes while the crowd talked excitedly about the evening.
"I hear the artist is here," I overheard a patron say. "He is?" another asked. "I'd love to meet him."
"The artist has been here the whole time," one woman said.
"Which one is he?" a man asked.
"The one in the cowboy hat?" another man inquired.
"No, he must have been the one with long gray hair," the woman said.
"I think you should meet your public," I said.
"I'm not sure that now is the time," he said anxiously, his face white as a ghost.
Alexander had done enough tonight. Though he was beaming from his sudden acceptance, he was too humble to accept fame.
We ducked through the kitchen and out a side exit to the opposite end of the club where the members were exiting. We were afraid that if anyone found out the artist was Alexander, they'd demand their money back. We were leaving through the patio exit when we were blocked by a thin wooden stick.
We froze.
Mr. Sterling stepped in front of us.
Alexander and I didn't know what to do.
"You have your grandmother's gift," he said in his thick Romanian accent.
"It's just a hobby," Alexander said.
"I think you've just proved to me-and to yourself-that it's more than that. I've found that new artist I was looking for. I just didn't realize he'd been here the whole time."
30
THE HIGHEST BIDDER
Mrs. Naper handed back our graded English career essays. Matt and Trevor and all the other jocks were off preparing for a pep rally, so I wasn't going to have to face Trevor. Unfortunately, that was the only thing that madeschool exciting.
"I'm hoping you can give the papers to your partners," Mrs. Naper said to us.
"I sure will," Becky said, excited. "We got an A."
"No surprise," I said.
"What did you get?" Becky asked.
I opened Trevor'sDullsvilleHigh School folder and saw the scarlet A next to his name. "Well, Trevor got an A of course." I designed my folder like it was the cover of a gothic magazine, complete with pasted headlines, gothic fashions, and teasers. I opened it and hoped for a good letter in the alphabet.
"So didI !"
After school, I biked over to Oakley Woods.
Mrs. Mitchell answered the door. "Hello, Raven."
"Hi, Mrs. Mitchell.Is-" "It was quite a surprise to learn that the European artist was actually Alexander."
I waited. Maybe we had embarrassed her at the auction. It was as if at any moment the Wicked Witch of the West would point her broom at me.
"I must say your boyfriend is truly talented. What a wonderful surprise to know that we had such a fine artist among us. It's a shame he'll be moving. We'd love to have his work in the auction next year."
"Uh… thanks, Mrs. Mitchell," I said, relieved. "Is Trevor home? We got our grades back from our English assignment."
"Come on in. Trevor's upstairs."
I quickly raced up the main staircase and found Trevor's bedroom door ajar.
I tapped it. "Hello.Soccer Boy?"
No answer.
I could have waited in the hallway, but that wouldn't have been any fun at all.
Trevor's room was still a shrine to himself. I nosed around his awards and trophies and framed soccer jerseys.
I noticed something large was covered in the corner. Maybe it was a mirror.
I snuck over to it and pulled back the cloth so I could take a peek.
Staring back at me was me -the final painting of Alexander's sold at the auction. I was shocked.
I heard the door begin to creak open and quickly recovered the painting.
"What are you doing here?" Trevor asked.
"Uh… I wanted to tell you we got an A."
"So?"' "I just thought you'd like to know."
"What else would we have gotten? You're not used to getting good grades."