Richie stirred spaghetti sauce on the stove and listened to Tessa on the
phone.
"Alright. we'll see you when you get home. Bye." She hung up.
"Table for two?" Richie asked. Tessa nodded, as she tasted the sauce. "How did I know?"
"Richie, he's very busy."
"I've seen him, like, four times in the last month," Richie complained. "It's like I just have a mom."
"Things will wind down. He just has to pay his dues for being the new professor. Things will go back to normal, soon."
"If you say so," Richie shrugged. "Hey, I need an idea for a book report," he changed the subject. "Mrs. Jackson said I have to do something 'challenging', whatever that means. And she already has a list of what I've read so I have to do something new."
"I would make you anyway."
"But I don't know what to choose."
"Do something classic so you can have access to lots of extra material to help you along."
"That's a good idea. Now I just have to pick."
"Go through the books Duncan bought you and pick one. Any of those would work."
"Maybe Dad has an idea."
Richie and Tessa were eating dinner when Duncan came into the kitchen.
"Hey, Dad!" Richie greeted cheerfully. "Want me to get you a plate?"
"What have I told you about leaving your books in doorway?" Duncan asked him. "Take it upstairs, now."
"Duncan, he's in the middle of dinner," Tessa pointed out. "But you are supposed to put your things away, petit."
"He can finish his dinner after he puts his school things away. Get moving, mister."
Richie went to take his books and jacket upstairs. When he came back Duncan and Tessa were eating in silence.
"Hey, Dad?" Richie asked as he sat down. Duncan didn't answer. "See, I gotta do this book report and I don't know what book to pick."
"You have a whole stack of new books upstairs, Richie. Any of them will be just fine."
"Maybe you can help me pick one?" Richie asked. Duncan just nodded.
However, it seemed Duncan was too busy working on writing a midterm to really go though Richie's books with him. When Richie asked, Duncan didn't even look up when he told him to read 'To Kill A Mockingbird'. Richie started reading the book that night in hopes of getting Duncan to help him once he got farther into it.
. . . . . .
Richie ran up the stairs, glancing at his watch as he went. His last teacher had held the class late because they wouldn't stop talking and now he was going to be late for art. He sprinted his way down the hall and slid into the room just as the bell rang.
"Cutting it close, Richie," the teacher, Mr. Allen said with a smile.
"Sorry, sir," Richie apologized, getting his painting off the table where it had been drying from the previous class's work.
"Richie, I want to talk to you for a minute," Mr. Allen added.
Richie put his paining on his easel and went to the teacher's desk. "Mrs. Jackson wouldn't let us leave. I had to run the whole way here," he explained before Mr. Allen could say anything.
"That's not what this is about. It's about your painting."
"What's wrong with it?" Richie had actually really liked his painting. It was his version of Duncan's childhood. He had put a lot of hard work into the research to make the scenery perfect.
"Nothing, it's a great piece. If I didn't sit here and watch you work on it everyday, I would swear your mother was helping you."
"She did help me with my sketches," Richie admitted.
"And that's perfectly okay, the finished work is yours. What I wanted to tell you was that there is going to be a city wide student art show in two months. I want to use that piece," he gestured to Richie's current painting. "And I want you to start thinking about another one to put in the show."
"My stuff in an art show?"
"Your mother sells it, doesn't she?"
"I haven't sold any, though," Richie told him.
"If you can sell your work, why can't it be in an art show?" Mr. Allen asked.
Slowly Richie smiled. "Good point. Okay, I'll do it."
"You have to get your parent's permission," Mr. Allen told him, handing him a form. "Have them read this over and sign it if they agree."
"Alright." Richie took the form. "When do you need it back?"
"No later than two weeks from now so we can make sure you get a spot in the show."
"Cool."
Richie went back to his work area and carefully put the form in his binder where he could find it before setting to work on his painting. He had already painted the background. He had looked through Duncan's Scotland coffeetable books and found a picture of an old thatch-roof hut set in a vast green field. In the background he had some mountains and a herd of grazing sheep. The foreground was a father playing with his young son and the mother was sitting on a large rock watching. Richie looked through his portfolio for the sketch he had done of the MacLeod tartan so he could use it for the family's clothing.
"Is that from your clan?" Verna asked from the next station over where she was making a collage.
"Yeah," he answered.
"It's pretty."
"Thanks."
Richie skipped lunch to drive over to Tessa's store and tell her the good news.
"Mom!" he yelled running through the front door.
"Richie, come here," Tessa said around a customer. "This is my son, Richie," she told the customer, putting a hand on Richie's shoulder. "He did that painting. Richie, Ms. Arnold wants to buy it."
"You're quite an artist," Ms. Arnold told him.
"Thanks," he said blushing.
"This is going to go perfectly in our living room."
"Good," Richie said for lack of anything more intelligent.
"You could really go places with this work. Be the next Thomas Kinkade."
"You think so?"
"I do," the woman smiled. "As a matter of fact, will you sign and date this for me? In case you get famous, I want to have proof this is an original."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes, I am quite serious. You have quite a bit of talent. You certainly take after your mom."
Richie blushed again, but didn't bother to correct the woman about his adoptive state. "Richie, sign it," Tessa urged handing him a marker. "This is his first time to sell anything," she told the woman. "He's not quite sure what to do."
Richie took the painting to the counter, turned the canvas over and signed the back 'R. Noel-MacLeod 9-28-94 (first sale)' "Here you go," he said giving her the painting back. "It may be worth something some day."
Tessa rang up the sale and had Richie help the woman to her car. "Here." She handed him fifty dollars when he returned to the store.
"What's this for?" he asked.
"It's for selling the painting. I sold it for $65. The store gets a percentage for showing your work and you get the rest," she explained.
"I get paid to do this?" he asked grinning.
"If your work sells, you do."
"Too cool!" Richie's grin widened. "I guess I can add this to my bio for the show."
"What show?" Tessa asked.
"There's a student art show coming up and Mr. Allen wanted me to be in it and now I'm a professional."
"Richie, that's wonderful! I'm so proud. Wait until Duncan finds out!"
Later that night, Richie stood in what had become his art room. When he moved bedrooms, he converted his old room into a studio. There were drop cloths spread out on the floor so he couldn't ruin the carpet and unfinished paintings were propped up on the paint stained walls. He had a few easels set up with more paintings on them. Now he was standing in front of a blank canvas. He had talked to Mr. Allen and found out that he could still be in the show. There was no rule against selling your art.
Now Richie's only problem was figuring out what his next piece would be. He didn't want to do flowers, or fruit or anything rudimentary like that. He had his Scottish painting, which he really liked. Maybe he could do something French. The Eiffel tower was too over done as was the Seine. maybe Tessa would have some pictures.
Richie went downstairs into the living room and grabbed a photo album. It took him three books, but he found his painting. He had just settled down to sketch when Duncan interrupted him.
"What are you doing?"
"Working on my other piece for the art show," Richie told him. "Mom and I told you about it earlier. The student show that."
"Not now, go to bed," Duncan said distractedly.
"I just want to."
"Bed."
"It'll only ta."
"Richie, I'm warning you," Duncan told him. "I've had a long day and the last thing I need is to argue with a teenager who fancies himself an artist."
"Hey! I sold something today!"
"Richie, I don't want to hear about it. It's nearly one in the morning and you need to be in bed. Now move."
"Did you even hear what I just said?"
"Richie, I don't care. I wanted you in bed two hours ago."
Richie rolled his eyes. "Fine."
"Don't give me that attitude. Just do as I say." Richie slammed the photo album closed and got up. "Hey, your mother put a lot of work into those, and the pictures are old. You be careful with them." Richie set his jaw and tried to walk past Duncan. "Excuse me," he said taking Richie by the arm. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Yes, sir," Richie answered.
"That's better. Good night."
"Night." Richie went upstairs and got into bed scowling the entire way.
"Alright. we'll see you when you get home. Bye." She hung up.
"Table for two?" Richie asked. Tessa nodded, as she tasted the sauce. "How did I know?"
"Richie, he's very busy."
"I've seen him, like, four times in the last month," Richie complained. "It's like I just have a mom."
"Things will wind down. He just has to pay his dues for being the new professor. Things will go back to normal, soon."
"If you say so," Richie shrugged. "Hey, I need an idea for a book report," he changed the subject. "Mrs. Jackson said I have to do something 'challenging', whatever that means. And she already has a list of what I've read so I have to do something new."
"I would make you anyway."
"But I don't know what to choose."
"Do something classic so you can have access to lots of extra material to help you along."
"That's a good idea. Now I just have to pick."
"Go through the books Duncan bought you and pick one. Any of those would work."
"Maybe Dad has an idea."
Richie and Tessa were eating dinner when Duncan came into the kitchen.
"Hey, Dad!" Richie greeted cheerfully. "Want me to get you a plate?"
"What have I told you about leaving your books in doorway?" Duncan asked him. "Take it upstairs, now."
"Duncan, he's in the middle of dinner," Tessa pointed out. "But you are supposed to put your things away, petit."
"He can finish his dinner after he puts his school things away. Get moving, mister."
Richie went to take his books and jacket upstairs. When he came back Duncan and Tessa were eating in silence.
"Hey, Dad?" Richie asked as he sat down. Duncan didn't answer. "See, I gotta do this book report and I don't know what book to pick."
"You have a whole stack of new books upstairs, Richie. Any of them will be just fine."
"Maybe you can help me pick one?" Richie asked. Duncan just nodded.
However, it seemed Duncan was too busy working on writing a midterm to really go though Richie's books with him. When Richie asked, Duncan didn't even look up when he told him to read 'To Kill A Mockingbird'. Richie started reading the book that night in hopes of getting Duncan to help him once he got farther into it.
. . . . . .
Richie ran up the stairs, glancing at his watch as he went. His last teacher had held the class late because they wouldn't stop talking and now he was going to be late for art. He sprinted his way down the hall and slid into the room just as the bell rang.
"Cutting it close, Richie," the teacher, Mr. Allen said with a smile.
"Sorry, sir," Richie apologized, getting his painting off the table where it had been drying from the previous class's work.
"Richie, I want to talk to you for a minute," Mr. Allen added.
Richie put his paining on his easel and went to the teacher's desk. "Mrs. Jackson wouldn't let us leave. I had to run the whole way here," he explained before Mr. Allen could say anything.
"That's not what this is about. It's about your painting."
"What's wrong with it?" Richie had actually really liked his painting. It was his version of Duncan's childhood. He had put a lot of hard work into the research to make the scenery perfect.
"Nothing, it's a great piece. If I didn't sit here and watch you work on it everyday, I would swear your mother was helping you."
"She did help me with my sketches," Richie admitted.
"And that's perfectly okay, the finished work is yours. What I wanted to tell you was that there is going to be a city wide student art show in two months. I want to use that piece," he gestured to Richie's current painting. "And I want you to start thinking about another one to put in the show."
"My stuff in an art show?"
"Your mother sells it, doesn't she?"
"I haven't sold any, though," Richie told him.
"If you can sell your work, why can't it be in an art show?" Mr. Allen asked.
Slowly Richie smiled. "Good point. Okay, I'll do it."
"You have to get your parent's permission," Mr. Allen told him, handing him a form. "Have them read this over and sign it if they agree."
"Alright." Richie took the form. "When do you need it back?"
"No later than two weeks from now so we can make sure you get a spot in the show."
"Cool."
Richie went back to his work area and carefully put the form in his binder where he could find it before setting to work on his painting. He had already painted the background. He had looked through Duncan's Scotland coffeetable books and found a picture of an old thatch-roof hut set in a vast green field. In the background he had some mountains and a herd of grazing sheep. The foreground was a father playing with his young son and the mother was sitting on a large rock watching. Richie looked through his portfolio for the sketch he had done of the MacLeod tartan so he could use it for the family's clothing.
"Is that from your clan?" Verna asked from the next station over where she was making a collage.
"Yeah," he answered.
"It's pretty."
"Thanks."
Richie skipped lunch to drive over to Tessa's store and tell her the good news.
"Mom!" he yelled running through the front door.
"Richie, come here," Tessa said around a customer. "This is my son, Richie," she told the customer, putting a hand on Richie's shoulder. "He did that painting. Richie, Ms. Arnold wants to buy it."
"You're quite an artist," Ms. Arnold told him.
"Thanks," he said blushing.
"This is going to go perfectly in our living room."
"Good," Richie said for lack of anything more intelligent.
"You could really go places with this work. Be the next Thomas Kinkade."
"You think so?"
"I do," the woman smiled. "As a matter of fact, will you sign and date this for me? In case you get famous, I want to have proof this is an original."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes, I am quite serious. You have quite a bit of talent. You certainly take after your mom."
Richie blushed again, but didn't bother to correct the woman about his adoptive state. "Richie, sign it," Tessa urged handing him a marker. "This is his first time to sell anything," she told the woman. "He's not quite sure what to do."
Richie took the painting to the counter, turned the canvas over and signed the back 'R. Noel-MacLeod 9-28-94 (first sale)' "Here you go," he said giving her the painting back. "It may be worth something some day."
Tessa rang up the sale and had Richie help the woman to her car. "Here." She handed him fifty dollars when he returned to the store.
"What's this for?" he asked.
"It's for selling the painting. I sold it for $65. The store gets a percentage for showing your work and you get the rest," she explained.
"I get paid to do this?" he asked grinning.
"If your work sells, you do."
"Too cool!" Richie's grin widened. "I guess I can add this to my bio for the show."
"What show?" Tessa asked.
"There's a student art show coming up and Mr. Allen wanted me to be in it and now I'm a professional."
"Richie, that's wonderful! I'm so proud. Wait until Duncan finds out!"
Later that night, Richie stood in what had become his art room. When he moved bedrooms, he converted his old room into a studio. There were drop cloths spread out on the floor so he couldn't ruin the carpet and unfinished paintings were propped up on the paint stained walls. He had a few easels set up with more paintings on them. Now he was standing in front of a blank canvas. He had talked to Mr. Allen and found out that he could still be in the show. There was no rule against selling your art.
Now Richie's only problem was figuring out what his next piece would be. He didn't want to do flowers, or fruit or anything rudimentary like that. He had his Scottish painting, which he really liked. Maybe he could do something French. The Eiffel tower was too over done as was the Seine. maybe Tessa would have some pictures.
Richie went downstairs into the living room and grabbed a photo album. It took him three books, but he found his painting. He had just settled down to sketch when Duncan interrupted him.
"What are you doing?"
"Working on my other piece for the art show," Richie told him. "Mom and I told you about it earlier. The student show that."
"Not now, go to bed," Duncan said distractedly.
"I just want to."
"Bed."
"It'll only ta."
"Richie, I'm warning you," Duncan told him. "I've had a long day and the last thing I need is to argue with a teenager who fancies himself an artist."
"Hey! I sold something today!"
"Richie, I don't want to hear about it. It's nearly one in the morning and you need to be in bed. Now move."
"Did you even hear what I just said?"
"Richie, I don't care. I wanted you in bed two hours ago."
Richie rolled his eyes. "Fine."
"Don't give me that attitude. Just do as I say." Richie slammed the photo album closed and got up. "Hey, your mother put a lot of work into those, and the pictures are old. You be careful with them." Richie set his jaw and tried to walk past Duncan. "Excuse me," he said taking Richie by the arm. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Yes, sir," Richie answered.
"That's better. Good night."
"Night." Richie went upstairs and got into bed scowling the entire way.