One | determination

Mae’s hands slip on the wheel, her palms are so slick she almost misses a turn—again. Leaves scatter behind her old Volvo as she takes a curve too hard.

The clock on the dash keeps ticking down minutes she doesn’t have. Seriously—7:52?

“Eight a.m., on the dot,” Mrs. Rooney said. “The bus leaves. No delays. No excuses.”

“This must feel like a racecar ride,” Mae mutters. “I know it can’t be fun for you.”

Her mom’s knuckles go white on the armrest. “It is pretty hair-raising. But I wouldn’t miss seeing you off. And thanking Ms. Strand again, for … helping you so much.”

It’s all kind of a blur, but Ms. Strand really did help. She’d rushed to Mae’s side after her Freak-Out-of-the-Century on the last day of summer school, then followed the plain white van that drove Mae away. She stood by her. Like no one else.

Sure, Mae’s returning to campus three weeks late. But at least she’s going back at all. And just in time for the Fall Junior Bio class wilderness trip everyone’s looked forward to forever. Even if it does mean a week with girls who think “wilderness” is what happens when the gardener doesn’t show up.

“I hope we can do some painting together in the mountains,” Ms. Strand wrote in a note, just to check in. “With the leaves turning color, it’ll be breathtaking.”

She didn’t even know if Mae would make the trip. But she remembered. How Mae discovered mountain landscapes. She spent an entire day at the museum transfixed by a huge one, and couldn’t stop talking about it the next morning. Each blade of grass, each leaf, made of so many tiny strokes, layered one over the other.

Will Mae ever be able to paint that well?

Lately she tried out a new type of portrait—a miniature, the trickiest kind. Squinting over it for days, she got the four-inch image exactly right. Before leaving this morning, she'd almost ditched the idea of bringing it. But she could just hear Dr. Hermann saying, “My dear, trust your intuition, over your fears.” When it was dry enough, Mae stashed it safely in her backpack, to take to the person she hopes will enjoy it most. 

“Turn green, damn it,” she commands the traffic light, sweat gathering on her forehead. “If I’m running after the bus as it leaves, they’ll all laugh their gorgeous heads off.” 

“Mae, are you sure …” Her mom’s using her “I’m Just Concerned” voice, that Mae knows so well. “I mean, sure that we shouldn’t have tried harder to find you a different school?”

Mae shakes her head. “Not before this trip. It’s too complicated. And don’t forget, there’s no law saying I have to go to any school. At sixteen, you can just take the GED and be done.” 

Her mom winces. “Technically, maybe. I’ve heard that can work for some people. But when Dad and I think of you testing out it seems almost like ‘dropping out.’ You’re just so talented, and you’ve always said Foxmoor is the best for Art.” 

“It’s true. Ms. Strand gives me all the studio space I need, and no other teacher, at any other school, would do that.” 

She stops at a flashing red light. No pedestrians in sight. Her seat belt digging in, she practically floors it again. “But, what if … there’s another way? I could ask Dr. Herman to arrange study-at-home. The school might allow it, if I turn in every assignment on time. I’m sure Ms. Strand would support the idea, too, and I could keep working with her.” 

How great would that be? Doing her schoolwork without actually having to be there. Her grades would probably go even higher. And she could start so many new paintings, maybe even develop a body of work good enough for an actual show.

Her mom’s quiet too. They could drive for hours without speaking—that’s how well they know each other. ​​“I suppose it’s worth a try.…”

“I’ll ask him when I see him. But right now, I have to prove there’s more to me than they saw that one day. How else will I ever live it down…?”