One | overload

Is it shy? No, more like proud. Pleased, maybe? Could be all of the above. Or, on second thought, even the hundredth, it’s none of them. That smile on the Mona Lisa, that unreadable smile, might mean anything. And Mae would know—she’s had her own version of it forever, and was first called “hard to read” back in fourth grade.

Now she has to somehow explain that mysterious lady, and her smile, to everyone in Mrs. Pinkle’s Junior History, aka sixth-period snooze-fest, if you ask some kids.

“In a way, you do look like Mona Lisa,” Tara once said. “I mean, she looks like you.” 

That struck Mae when she started painting her own self-portrait. I do have the same smile as her … that’s really half of one. Maybe it’s what brings me no end of trouble.…

“So, now that it’s done, will you show the painting of yourself when you talk about portraits?” Tara asks, for the fifth time.

Mae sucks in her breath. “That’ll be a cold day in art-class hell!” Tara’s sweet, but let’s face it, that self-portrait is not going public. Not now, and maybe not ever. They’re hard to do, capturing anyone always is. But capturing yourself? Brutal.

It’s all about her final presentation now. After four weeks’ research, and two all-nighters, she can barely believe it’s finished. But it is. It has to be. Including the special slides she designed to show some of Leonardo’s masterpieces.

But judging by the roomful of glassy-eyed students, no one’s going to care. Her nails press into her palms as she scans the group: they’ve sat through a full day of talks already, most of them slouch in their seats, yawning. Even Tara looks like she could be watching paint dry.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Mae looks over her notes. The first bullet point turns her brain to oatmeal. And it’s pointless, anyway—there’s no time left for practice. 

“Mae Reynolds, you’re up in five!” Finally, but at last.

Mae bites her lip. Focus. Her only goal: get them to care. About Leonardo, who was a genius, and about Mona Lisa, his greatest portrait. If they’ll just listen, and watch. 

Full of butterflies, or more like a swirling flock of geese, inside, Mae squeezes her laptop to her chest. You can do this. As she stands, Tara gives her a thumbs-up, like she’s actually excited to hear about an old dead guy and his art. Pushing her way through the squeaky seats, Mae faces the glare of everyone’s eyes on her. Speaking at the end of the day definitely doesn’t help; she’s all that’s left between all of them and the end of summer school—freedom.

She pulls on the vintage velvet coat she restyled for herself, and steps to the podium. As her mom says, if you wear something you love on a big day, it helps you feel strong. And it does, in a way. But even in this stuffy room, it can’t tame the chill that flows through her. 

She steels herself, opens her mouth, and— “Oh god, now we get to listen to the Art-  nerd.” The words slice the air. “Isn’t that thrilling!” 

Mae doesn’t even need to look. It’s Jessica Gray, Queen of Snark, her voice dripping with just that. “You’re always so boring. And we’re like prisoners in this sweltering room.”

She’s trying to get me to snap back. Mae’s head fills with the perfect take-down, but better not rattle Jessica’s cage right before presenting. It’s never done any good, and wouldn’t now. Jessica just twists Mae’s words around on her, then flashes her just-for- Mae sneer. And that frazzles Mae speechless, every time. Can’t have more of that now.

Her eyes lock on the notes in front of her. To hell with Jessica. I will not rush through this. Leonardo’s experiments with optics and light changed art forever, in ways people have seen their whole lives without even knowing. Today, they’ll see that he wasn’t just a big deal five hundred years ago. He is now, too.

Still, Jessica’s words keep running through Mae’s mind. “You are so boring.”

Opening her laptop, Mae takes a deep breath. “The Mona Lisa is Leonardo da Vinci’s best-known work, and the first truly naturalistic portrait ever painted, for a bunch of reasons. People especially notice her smile. Take a look.” She clicks to her first slide, projecting the portrait, larger-than-life, onto the screen behind her. 

A loud titter ripples through the room.

Spinning around, Mae finds the Mona Lisa—her Mona Lisa—smeared with scarlet lipstick, thick black eyeliner, and a bright blue streak in her hair. The same color Mae added to her own hair just last week.

“Jeez, that’s the picture the world loves so much?” Jessica just won’t shut up, in her stage whisper that’s just loud enough for Mae, and everyone, to hear—except the teacher.

Her sidekick, Olivia, throws one out, herself. “She looks like a clown on drugs.”

A strange heat races up Mae’s back. You did want to wake them up. Just not like this. Still, they’ve had their little joke now. “On the real portrait,” she adds, her voice straining, “Leonardo spent ten years getting her smile just the way he wanted it. Now you’ll have to take my word on how he did that.”

“Oooh, however will we survive?” Olivia has on her best fake-sincere voice. 

Mae frowns. Just keep going. They ought to like the next slide—of a beautiful young lady, gently stroking her furry pet ermine. With a touch of that same unreadable smile as Mona Lisa, The Lady with an Ermine is in some ways a more appealing woman. I can ask the class their opinion on that. Swallowing hard, she clicks forward. 

The laughter grows louder, sharper. The lady is being torn apart by a ravenous hyena, blood running down from her face. Her gown is in tatters. And the little ermine—dead.

Jessica’s other main bestie, Chloe, glances up from her Web Design book. “These pictures are cool, Mae. Show us some more.”

Mae’s head throbs as fingers start pointing at her. They can’t really think I did this. Jessica’s laugh cuts through all the others, unmistakable. By her side, Olivia casually buffs her nails. But she can’t hold in her squeaky little giggle, always the tip-off when the two of them, along with Chloe, have cooked up a big one and made it happen.

They’ve pulled a lot of crap on me. And now they got into my slides?

Mrs. Pinkel looks up from her desk. “Whoever did this, folks, tampering with anyone’s work is out of line, and idiotic besides.” She’d looked over everyone’s projects days ago, in the class folder online, and sent Mae her compliments. She signals Mae that she can just stop. 

Mae is about to retch. Should she forget about the other paintings she’d planned on, and ditch it all? No, damn it. Leonardo really matters, and I can’t just throw all this away. 

With a nod to Mrs. Pinkel, Mae clench her teeth and moves on again, bringing up Leonardo’s first-ever portrait of a woman. But nothing of Leonardo’s appears. Instead, a grotesque distortion of Mae’s self-portrait fills the screen. The eyes are melting, the mouth slashes, twisted, across one cheek, and there’s now a long, bumpy nose. A glowering vulture takes a dump all over Mae’s head.