Free A Work of Art by Melody Maysonet Page A

propped on her arm. Her other hand touched her forehead, just like Rose. And Haley wore a necklace, but Haley’s was a little heart, a lot smaller than Rose’s blue diamond. Haley’s breasts were smaller, too, not a woman’s breasts at all, no matter what Haley said.
    Her dad tilted forward. His chair thumped to the floor. Her mom leaned forward, too. They all stared at the drawing in painful silence. Tera was afraid to breathe.
    Then her mom spoke: “Who did this? Tell me the truth.”
    She almost said Haley did it, but they all knew Haley couldn’t draw. Tera chanced a look at her dad. His eyes were on the drawing. She couldn’t tell if he thought it was good or not. “I did it,” she said.
    A quick breath from her mom, her voice low. “Did he tell you to do it?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDon’t lie to me.”
    â€œI’m not lying.”
    â€œI tried to tell you, Connie.” Her dad was using his high-and-mighty voice.
    But Mom was sick of him, sick of Tera, too. She ripped out the drawing and shoved it in Tera’s face. “Why would you draw this? Why would you do this to your best friend?”
    Tera blinked and ducked, like the sketch was a weapon and not a flimsy piece of paper. “It was her idea,” Tera said. It felt like tattling, but she didn’t want her mom thinking bad things about her.
    Her dad’s eyebrows went up. “You showed this to Haley?”
    â€œShe posed for it,” Tera said. “We were just . . . I wanted to practice and she said she’d pose for me. We watched Titanic when she spent the night and she wanted to be Rose. She wanted me to turn her into Rose.”
    â€œSo not a big deal,” her dad said. “Just like I told you.” He put a fresh cigarette between his lips, paused before lighting it to wink at Tera. Like they were a team. A team against Mom.
    â€œGive me that.” Her mom swiped the lighter out of his hand. She held the sketch by one corner and lit a flame. The flame licked at the sketch. The sketch burned. First Haley’s hair, then her eyes, her pretty mouth. The necklace with its little heart. And then the rest of her. Her whole body veiled in fire and then gone. The burning smelled good. A lot better than her dad’s cigarettes.
    Her mom walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, held the burning paper under the water. The fire went out with a sizzle of smoke. She tossed the soggy wad of paper in the trash. “Go to your room,” she told Tera. “Get rid of all the filthy pictures I know you’ve done. Because if I find another one, I’ll burn up everything you have. All your paper, your pencils, your paint. Just to keep you from doing this. Do you understand me?”
    â€œYes,” Tera whispered. Her mom looked crazy, her face tight, her pinched eyes shining black.
    â€œDon’t make me do it!” Her mom glared at the lighter in her hand before hurling it into the trash.
    Then she stomped out, left Tera alone with her dad. Two against one.
    Her dad rocked back in his chair. Another wink at Tera. To him, this was funny. To him, her mom was someone to make fun of. But Tera wanted to cry.
    He stuck his cigarette between his lips and pointed at the trashcan. “Grab that for me, will you?”
    He meant his lighter. Tera hovered over the trash, saw the lighter had sunk into the soggy ashes of her drawing. She picked the lighter out, handed it to him, her fingers stained sooty black. She wanted to wash her hands, wanted to be alone. She turned to leave, but her dad caught her arm.
    â€œHey.” A whisper. “Did Haley really pose for that?”
    â€œIt was her idea.”
    â€œThat sounds like her. But listen.” He pulled on her arm until she stood in front of him, face to face. “Don’t let her do that anymore. She has a big mouth, right? You don’t want her blabbing to