They Left Me Out Of The Picture So I Created My Own Chapter 26
In the third week of *The Whole Picture*, the gallery informed me that every limited-edition print had been sold to a collector.
Beyond the initial advance, I had earned the first real income of my life from my work.
Leo looked at the settlement sheet and let out a low whistle.
“So, does this mean the installation crew finally gets back pay?”
“Yes.”
I handed him an envelope.
He opened it eagerly.
Inside was a coffee shop gift card.
“Twenty-five dollars?”
“And dinner.”
“You’re a capitalist.”
He complained, but he carefully tucked the card into his wallet.
I smiled and opened another document.
The title read: The Outside the Frame Materials Grant.
I was setting aside part of my earnings to cover printing, mounting, and shipping fees for high school students entering art competitions.
Up to three hundred dollars per grant.
Exactly the amount my father hadn’t been willing to give me.
After reading it, the teasing look on Leo’s face slowly faded.
“When did you decide to do this?”
“The day Ms. Ruiz applied for that grant for me.”
Those three hundred dollars had sent my work to the national competition.
And they had sent me here.
I didn’t want to give that money back to any one person.
I wanted it to keep moving forward.
Ms. Ruiz agreed to help screen the first round of applicants, and she put me in touch with the original Emerging Artists Fund.
On the phone, she asked, “Are you sure about this? You’ve only just started making money, and you want to give this much away?”
“I’m sure.”
“Then I won’t try to talk you out of it.” She laughed softly. “When you came to me with that blank release form, I already knew you made decisions more soundly than most adults.”
That night, Leo and I stayed in the studio testing the application webpage until after midnight.
When the final “submit” button finally worked, he swiveled his chair to face me.
“Avery, do you know what you look like right now?”
“Like someone who’s about to pass out.”
“A window.”
I blinked.
He pointed at the screen.
“Not the kind people look into. The kind that people on the inside can use to get out.”
I thought of the broken window in my bedroom in Naperville.
My father had promised one weekend after another but had never fixed it.
Later, I understood: I never needed to wait for him.
I had found my own door.
In the first round of applications, there were twenty-seven portfolios.
I didn’t ask why their parents wouldn’t pay, and I didn’t make anyone prove they’d been hurt.
The review was based only on the work, the budget, and the deadline.
Once the list was finalized, every student received the same email.
*You don’t have to wait until next year. Please make sure your work gets sent on time.*
My hand was steady when I hit send.
Years ago, I had stood on a Metra platform, gripping a one-way ticket.
Now, I had just protected twenty-seven strangers’ chances to leave on time.