Jackson glared out his bedroom window. The U-haul sat in the driveway ready to be loaded with his college stuff. He knew he should feel excited like all the statuses of his Facebook friends, but he didn’t.
An English undergrad and then a masters in law seemed so dull and college doomed.
Why was he going anyway? Because that’s what he always did. He always did what his mother wanted, ever since his father had gone.
His eye fell on a tiny sketch of Emerson Ann tapped to the wall. She had fought back and stopped cowering under the weight of Mr. Penning’s hand and life plan for her. Jackson just knew that she’d gone to pursue her dreams.
For a moment, he let himself consider his dreams. Street art? Gallery art? Be a starving artist?
It would be a hard life, and he’d lived an easy life. But when he thought of that hard but art-full life, he felt alive.
Jackson grabbed his wallet, his backpack, sketchpad, and his car keys.
Two miles from Ben’s house, Jackson ran out of gas. “Dang it!”
He got out of the car with his bag, slammed the door, and hoofed it to Ben’s. He went in the back door. Luckily Ben stood in the kitchen.
“Dude, what are you doing here?” Ben stood agape with basketball in hand.
“Ran out of gas.”
“Always you, man.” Ben chucked the ball at Jackson, which he was barely able to catch. “How do you manage it?”
“Can you help me out?” It was probably a long shot to be asking, but Ben usually was game for anything. It was the problem of rich kids, but also the benefit.
“Sure.” Ben reached for a pair of keys hanging on a hook over the counter. They walked out to a parked Jaguar. Ben grabbed a tank of gas from the garage and Jackson climbed into the low car.
“Hey,” Ben opened the driver’s door. “Be back in a sec.”
In a moment, Ben sprinted out of the house with a manila envelope in his hand. When he got into the car, he tossed the pack in Jackson’s hands. “Where we headed?”
“Route 20. My car’s near Artesia.” Jackson turned the package in his hands. It had his name on the front, but Ben’s address. “What’s this all about?”
“No clue, man. I texted you about it.” Ben pulled out of the driveway.
Jackson wiggled his finger underneath the seal and pulled the papers out. He recognized the letterhead. His stomach dropped.
An acceptance letter to Chicago’s Art Institute. He flipped through the pages with his mouth hanging open.
From the bottom of the pile, a paper with a girl sprawled across some rocks in a garden fell to his lap.
Emerson Ann was still his muse.
Did you love Part 4? Don’t miss out on Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3! Happy Reading!
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