Part 34 (2/2)

”So, what do you think about our picture? Kenny gave us a special deal. He said cuz you were friends and all.”

”I wouldn't exactly call us friends,” I said. ”But Kenny was a sport and gave me an interview. He also played for us at the volleyball match.”

”You call that a match? More like blood sport,” Joe said. ”Especially for Dixie Daggett.”

I took a deep breath. Nope. I wasn't gonna do it. I wasn't gonna take the bait.

”It looks like us, don't it?” Gram asked.

I took the drawing from her. It did. In a way.

”It's good, isn't it?” Gram pressed.

It was. Sort of.

”Well, what do you think?”

”Yeah. It's great, Gram,” I said.

”Show her the other one,” Joe said, and I felt the pavement move under my feet.

”The other one?”

”Oh, Joe! You spoiled the surprise! I was gonna give it to her for Christmas!”

The ghost of Christmas gifts past sent a shudder of unease through me.

”I'm not much on surprises, Gram-” Or unexpected presents that put a ”trouble for Tressa” twinkle in Joe's eyes.

”You're gonna love this one!” Gram said, and pulled a second drawing out of her canvas bag. ”It's an oldie, but a goodie!”

She motioned for Joe to help. He took one side of the paper and they began to unroll it.

I felt a throbbing in my right eye.

It was me. The ”me” from my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad senior picture.

”Surprise!” Joe said.

Oh. G.o.d. In. Heaven. This was worse than the hobo Halloween costume jigsaw puzzle gift I received over and over again from a totally psycho secret Santa.

”Do you like it?” Gram asked. ”You like it, don't you? It's you, after all. So what's not to like?”

What's not to like? Well, for starters, my creepy, phony smile that made me look like a serial killer. And there was my choice of eye makeup. Gram wanted me to go with blue to match my eyes resulting in-I learned too late-a fas.h.i.+on faux pas on steroids. And, finally, we had ”Mr. Toad's Wild Ride” hair. Given that description, I figure that's all I have to say on that subject. My gammy couldn't have selected a worse picture for Kenny to draw from if she'd tried.

But it's the thought that counts, right?

”Wow! Look at that! It is me!” I gushed, regardless of how many times I planned to deny it in the future.

”So. What do you think?” Joe asked. ”It's a decent likeness, don't you agree?”

I grunted.

”I didn't know you and I have the same eyes,” Gram said.

I frowned. ”That's because we don't.”

”We must. Both our pictures have the same eyes.”

I braved another look at my face and checked Gram's out.

”You're right. They do look the same. That's odd.” Odd because our eyes are nothing alike. I got the Blackford eyes. Grandma's baby blues came from her mother's side of the family.

”Maybe them's the only eyes Kenny knows how to draw,” Gram suggested.

A one size fits all peeper?

”What kind of artist does that?” I asked.

”A starving one,” Joe quipped.

I took a closer look at my ”surprise.”

”Something else is off, too,” I said and bit my lip as I considered the drawing. ”I've got it! It's the nose. That is not my nose.”

”Whose is it?” Gram asked.

I shook my head. ”I don't know. It's just too-”

”Small? Perky? Cla.s.sical?” Joe asked.

”Conventional,” I finished.

”Oh? So, you're an art expert now?” Joe asked.

I shook my head. ”I'm an expert on me. And I'm just saying, that is not my nose.”

But it was an improvement, so who was I to complain?

”You like it, Tressa?” Gram looked up at me, her eyes bright with antic.i.p.ation.

”Of course. I love it.”

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