Story code: ST-000040
Part 2: The Favor Started Looking Different
I couldn’t stand there arguing in half-sentences while people drifted past pretending not to listen, so I stepped away from my own painting before my mother could turn that into another debt too. I told her I needed to check my label with Mr. Alvarez. She said, “Do what you want, but don’t act shocked when I expect respect,” which was the kind of line she liked because it sounded reasonable from a distance.
I walked toward the side wall where rolled canvases and spare supplies were stacked in milk crates. My hands were steady, which usually means I’m angrier than I sound. Tessa met me halfway and set the spare labels on a folding chair.
“Your mom is doing a lot,” she said.
“Did you hear the part where the canvas roll means I owe her my painting?”
Tessa gave me a flat look. “I heard enough.” Then she lowered her voice. “Also, that roll she’s carrying? I remember it because you almost dropped it when we were unloading on prep day. It still had the store sticker on one end.”
“Tuesday?”
“No. Today. During setup. She pulled it out of your trunk after she asked if Mr. Alvarez had extra display backing.”
I looked back across the hallway. My mother was still near my painting, talking to a couple I didn’t know with one hand on her hip, the canvas roll tucked against her side like a prop. From where I stood, I could see the white rectangle of a sticker near the cap. I hadn’t noticed it before.
“I thought that was the one from the art store,” I said.
“Maybe it is, maybe not. I’m just saying it wasn’t part of your hanging stuff when we brought your painting in. You had the wrapped canvas, the bubble sleeves, and the little tool pouch. I remember because we made two trips.”
That landed hard because she was right. I remembered the awkward weight of the framed piece cutting into my palms and Tessa taking the labels from me at the door. I remembered my mother telling me not to scrape the walls. I did not remember carrying a roll in with my own supplies.
Mr. Alvarez came over balancing a clipboard and a roll of blue painter’s tape. “Leah, your card is fine,” he said. “If you’re worried about the corner glare, I can shift the light after the first round of families clears.”
“Can I ask you something?” I said. “During setup, did my mom ask you for extra backing paper or a spare roll?”
He paused, searching his memory the way teachers do when three people are talking to them at once all night.
“She asked if I had any leftover canvas paper or butcher paper for her car,” he said. “Said she didn’t want something marking the upholstery. I told her there was one damaged student roll by the supply wall that was fine for transport if no one needed it. Why?”
Tessa and I looked at each other.
“Because she’s using a canvas roll to say she bought my materials and I owe her the sale money,” I said.
He blinked once. Not confused. Just careful. “The one she’s carrying now?”
“I think so.”
He shifted the tape from one hand to the other. “I didn’t see where it ended up after that. But the roll by the wall wasn’t purchased tonight. It was left from a torn shipment last month. We kept it around because parents sometimes need packing material.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t go storming over. He just gave me a fact I could stand on.
A buyer laughed somewhere near the ceramics table. Someone’s little cousin knocked over a display sign and a parent apologized too loudly. The show kept moving like nothing had happened, which almost made it worse.
“Thanks,” I said.
Mr. Alvarez nodded once. “If you need your piece held after the show instead of going home tonight, I can keep senior work locked in the supply room until Monday. Just let me know before we break down.”
That was another fact. Another option. Not rescue. Just something solid.
When he walked off, Tessa folded her arms. “So either she mixed up two rolls, or she’s counting anything she touched as a debt.”
“Or both.”
I looked again at my mother. She had shifted to the check-in table now. Her wallet was out, and she was talking with the volunteer collecting small cash purchases for raffle tickets and refreshments. She saw me watching and lifted her chin, like she had already won because she was the adult in the room.
Then Evan appeared beside her with a flattened cardboard sleeve under his arm. He said something I couldn’t hear. She snapped back a quick answer and pointed toward the art building doors. He froze, then held out the cardboard. She grabbed it, glanced around, and shoved it under the tablecloth hanging from the check-in table.
Tessa saw it too. “What was that?”
“I don’t know yet.”
But I did know the rhythm of being rushed through her errands. I knew Tuesday had started with her saying she needed to stop at Aunt Celine’s office before closing. I knew she made me carry my supply list into the art store fast because she didn’t want to be late for something else. And now I knew one of the rolls she was using as evidence against me might have come from school leftovers she requested for her own car.
That didn’t clear everything up. It made it stranger.
If she had really paid for a roll for me on Tuesday, why hide another one tonight under the check-in table? And if the free school roll was only there because she wanted to protect her upholstery after using my show setup on her schedule, then the favor she kept reciting wasn’t pointing one way anymore.
It was starting to sound like I was the one who made her evening look organized, supportive, and worth showing off. And I still hadn’t checked what was in the messages from Tuesday that she told me to stop bringing up in public.