Four Of A Kind - Chapter 159: [3.61] Abstract Expressionism

Chapter 159: [3.61] Abstract Expressionism

Felix and I drove back to Hartwell with the windows down, the September air warm enough to make the AC feel like overkill. He’d successfully force-fed me three tacos, which my stomach appreciated even if my dignity didn’t. The al pastor had been good. Really good. The kind of good that made you forget about failed tests and blocked phone numbers for approximately fifteen minutes.

“You coming to the festival setup thing?” Felix asked, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching into a bag of chips he’d produced from literally nowhere. “Harlow’s been texting me nonstop about fog machine placement.”

“Yeah. Told her I’d help.”

“Cool. I’m on backdrop duty. Apparently painting cardboard coffins is my destiny now.” He crunched through a chip. “Also, between you and me? Marin’s been asking about you.”

“Marin Tanigawa?”

“Yeah. The one with the cosplay obsession. She’s in Harlow’s friend group.” Felix grinned like he’d just discovered nuclear fusion. “I think she’s into you. Or at least, she asked if you were single like four times yesterday.”

Great. Exactly what I needed. Another complication.

“Not interested.”

“Dude. She’s hot, she’s nice, and she doesn’t come with a billion-dollar inheritance attached to her. That’s called a green flag.”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re always busy. That’s your problem.” He turned into the school lot and found a spot near the gym entrance. “You gotta live a little, man. Enjoy being eighteen. We’re seniors. This is supposed to be fun.”

Fun.

Right.

I hadn’t had fun since probably age twelve when I still thought Mom might show up for my birthday.

Felix killed the engine and grabbed his backpack. “Anyway. Festival setup starts at three thirty. Don’t bail on me.”

“I won’t.”

He pointed at my face. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good. Because if you don’t show, Harlow will hunt you down, and that girl has scary levels of enthusiasm when she’s disappointed.”

He wasn’t wrong about that.

I checked my phone as Felix headed toward the main building. Vivienne had sent me the updated schedule for tomorrow night’s launch party, color-coded in three different shades of blue like she was organizing a military operation instead of a fashion event. Harlow had sent me seventeen messages about Iris arriving safely and how they were already building a blanket fort in the theater room. Sabrina sent a single rose emoji with no context.

Cassidy sent nothing.

Which meant either she was fine, or she was having a complete meltdown about the test.

I opened a text.

Isaiah: How’d it go?

Three dots appeared immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Then:

Cassidy: don’t want to talk about it

Oh no.

That was bad. That was very bad.

Cassidy only went radio silent when things went catastrophically wrong. Like the time she got suspended for fighting and refused to speak to anyone for three days. Or when she failed her first practice quiz with me and threw the entire textbook across the library.

I typed faster.

Isaiah: That bad?

Cassidy: i said i don’t want to talk about it

Cassidy: just

Cassidy: forget it

Cassidy:

i’ll see you at home

Then she went offline.

I stared at my phone screen like it might give me answers if I looked long enough. It didn’t.

My afternoon schedule was light. Studio Art at 11:00, which was basically a free period where Ms. Park let me work on whatever while she painted her own stuff in the corner. Then lunch. Then PE, which Coach Williams had turned into “supervised free time” after realizing none of us actually wanted to play dodgeball.

I spent Studio Art in the back corner, supposedly sketching still life compositions but actually thinking about Cassidy’s text. The “don’t want to talk about it” could mean anything. Maybe she froze during the test. Maybe the problems looked different on paper. Maybe her brain did that thing where the numbers moved and she couldn’t track them.

Or maybe she just bombed it and didn’t want to admit it to the guy who’d spent three weeks telling her she could do this.

Ms. Park drifted past my easel. “Isaiah. That apple looks suspiciously like a circle with a stem.”

“Abstract expressionism.”

“That’s not what abstract expressionism means.”

“Then I’m pioneering a new movement.”

She smiled and kept walking. Ms. Park was cool like that. Never pushed. Just let you exist.

My phone buzzed.

Harlow: IRIS IS THE CUTEST HUMAN EVER OMG

Harlow: she text me pics of her sketchbook!!

Harlow: can i show her my cosplay workshop when she comes over??? 👉👈

Isaiah: Sure. Just don’t let her touch anything sharp.

Harlow: you act like i’m dangerous lol

Harlow: okay that’s fair i did accidentally stab myself with a needle last week

Harlow: BUT I WAS FINE

Harlow: anyway love u assistant-kun!! 💕

Love you.

She said it so casually. Like it meant nothing. Like those words weren’t supposed to carry weight.

Except they did carry weight. Every time.

I pocketed my phone and went back to my abstract apple, which still looked like garbage.

PE was glorified naptime. Coach Williams let us “stretch” for forty minutes while he worked on his fantasy football lineup. I sat against the gym wall and closed my eyes.

Didn’t sleep. Just existed in the dark behind my eyelids where mothers didn’t text and sisters didn’t kiss me and tests didn’t determine whether people thought they were broken.

The bell rang at 2:55.

Festival setup started in thirty-five minutes.

I headed to my locker and found Harlow waiting there, bouncing on her toes like she’d had six espressos instead of whatever actual number she’d consumed.

“Assistant-kun! You ready? We’ve got SO MUCH to do!”

“Where’s Cassidy?”

Her bounce stopped. “She went home early. Said she had a headache.”

Translation: the test went badly and she couldn’t face anyone.

“Did she say anything about it?”

“The test?” Harlow bit her lip. “She looked… I don’t know. Quiet? Which is weird because Cass is never quiet. She’s loud or angry or loud AND angry.”

Yeah. That tracked.

“I texted her but she’s not answering.” Harlow pulled out her phone and showed me the message history. Seventeen texts from Harlow, all variations of “are you okay?” and “do you want to talk?” and “I’m here if you need me!!!”

Zero responses from Cassidy.

“She does this sometimes,” Harlow said softly. “When things get bad. She just… disappears into herself.”

I knew that feeling. Had perfected it myself over the years.

“I’ll check on her later.”

Harlow’s expression brightened slightly. “Really? You don’t have to. I mean, I know you have the launch party tomorrow and Vivi’s probably gonna drill you on etiquette or whatever.”

“It’s fine. I’ll make time.”