"See, doesn't this look better?"

I look down at the silver necklace my mother loaned me. It falls right between my chest. I shrug my shoulders. "I guess. I'm not really a jewelry person."

"Well, it looks good on you."

"Let's go!" My dad yells from the main room. "They're waiting for us." I follow my mother out of the bedroom. His eyes go wide when he turns around. "My two beautiful girls." My mother continues walking towards him. He embraces her in a hug, and he kisses her on the forehead. "You two ready?"

"Yup," I answer him. He opens the door, and we walk out.

"Oh, and Jayda, when we get back there's, something me and your mother want to discuss with you," he says.

"Oh, okay." Finally, theyre going to come clean about the house in LA.

We walk down the hall and get into the elevators. It takes us about three minutes to get downstairs. When the elevator door dings open, we walk across the lobby over to Josiah and Evelyn. Ryder isn't with them.

Crap.

How am I going to ask him about tomorrow? Maybe I'll just call him or text. I would really like to ask him in person. Perhaps he'll feel more obligated to say yes... hopefully.

Now that I think about it, why didn't I just tell them I was going out with Blair? And we wanted to hang out more before I left. That would've made more sense. Too late now.

"Hello," Evelyn says, greeting us. My parents greet them back. Evelyn looks at me.

"Jayda, you look beautiful."

"Thank you." I give her a small smile. I examine the long sky blue dress she is wearing. "So do you."

She smiles back at me. Josiah clears his throat. "Jayda, have you seen Ryder?"

I look over to him. "Uh, no. Not since earlier...he came with me to the bookstore. And then after we... well, he walked me back to the hotel, and then we went our separate ways." I tell him.

"Did he mention where he was going?" Evelyn asks me, concerned. I shake my head. There, silent for a few seconds.

Josiah sighs and then says, "Well, I'm sure he'll be back here by the time we return. Shall we." He holds his hand out to the hotel entrance. Everyone walks ahead of me.

I take out my phone and dial Ryder's number. The line doesn't ring. It just goes straight to voicemail.

...

We pull up outside of the art gallery. There's a whole crowd of people standing outside. Everyone is so dressed up. Not as dressed up as the people were from the show. They are dressed fancy but with a little bit more casualness. Everyone has bright, vibrant colors on. Maybe this is how people dress at an art gallery opening. I'm the last one out of the limo; I close the door behind me. I have to lift my dress a little so that I can step up on the sidewalk. I walk beside my parents.

"Do you see him?" My mother asks my father. My father stands taller and looks through the crowd.

"There he is." He points. I follow his hand and spot the man wearing a yellow suit. I squint a little because it's so bright.

The man looks up and spots us. His eyes go wide. "Marcus!" He holds his arms out. My father walks up closer to him and grips him in a hug. They make this weird growl noise. They let go of each other, still holding each other's arms.

"Good to see you, man." The brown-eyed man says.

"Good to see you, too, Tone." My father says back. The man looks past my father and over to my mother.

"Melissa." He holds out his arm. A big smile comes across my mother's face.

"Tony." My mother says, softy. They both hug each other. The hug is not as aggressive as the hug he shared with my father. This one is more passionate, gentle. "It's been too long. Where is Maya?" she asks.

"She's around here somewhere mingling," he says while looking around. He looks over to me. "And you must be Jayda. Man, have you grown!"

I smile. "I didn't know we knew each other," I say to him. My father laughs and shakes his head.

"Well, you probably don't remember me. I haven't seen you since you were like one."

"Oh." Is all I say. I have no idea who this man is.

"Tony." My father gets his attention. "This is Josiah and Evelyn Adams."

"Nice to meet you," Tony says. He holds out his hand, and they both shake it. "I'm glad you all came. Well, I have to get up there; the ribbon cutting is in a few minutes." He looks at his golden watch. "Well, a few seconds."

My father and mother laugh. "I'll see you inside." My father says. Tony nods at him and disappears through the crowd.

...

"That was a wonderful speech you gave," Josiah says to Tony.

"Thanks to my wife. She wrote it," he says.

"Babe, you wrote most of it." The curly-haired light skin woman says.

"Yeah, but it wouldn't have been finished without you." he pulls her in closer. In a way, her bright orange dress complements his bright yellow suit.

"So, how do you guys know each other?" Josiah asks everyone.

"Well, we all went to Yale together." My mother answers.

"Did you?" Evelyn gasps.

"Yup." My dad nods his head. "I shared a room with him freshman year and sophomore year. It was hell." He says plainly. Everyone laughs at his statement. "Every time I would come back to the dorm, he would somehow manage to get paint from his side of the room all the way to my side. The room looked like a freaking rainbow. I could wait until Junior year to get my own place and have my own space." My dad adds. Everyone starts to laugh again.

"Sure, you did." My mom rolls her eyes. "Even when he got his place, he and Tony still remained inseparable."

"It's true. They remained very close." Maya chimes in.

"Close isn't even the word." My mother says. "I can't tell you how many times He stood me up to go hang out with Tony."

"And I can't tell you how many times Tony stood me up to hang with Marcus," Maya adds.

"What?" Tony squeals. "I don't remember that."

"Me neither." My father shakes his head.

"Well, it happened." My mother says. "And when they finally started to bring us along to whatever they were doing, me and Maya's friendship grew, and now she is one of my best friends." My mother gives her a comforting smile.

Best friend? I didn't know my mother had a best friend.

"If you'll excuse me for one second. I need to go to the ladies' room." Evelyn says; she hands her glass of champagne to Josiah and walks off.

It's been a few minutes, Evelyn is still not back yet. I walk away from the group and go to the bathroom to check on Evelyn. When I open the room, I find her leaning on the sink, sniffling. "Are you okay?" I ask her.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

She rubs her hands across her head. "I'm just worried about Ryder, that's all."

"I'm sure he's fine. He's probably back at the hotel." I say, trying to comfort her.

"Your right. I just... I" she sighs and takes a deep breath, and then looks at me. "I'm okay." she walks over to me and rests her hand on my shoulder before walking out the door.

I pull out my phone and try calling him again, and It goes straight to voicemail.

...

I have looked at all the paintings in the gallery, and the one I'm looking at now has to be the best one out of the whole place.

"So, what do you think?" Tony comes up and asks me.

"About the painting?"

"Yes."

"It's amazing. It's my favorite."

He raises his eyebrow. "Really a canvas with a big blue line going across it?"

I'm shocked that he's questioning his own artwork. "Yes, it's simple but yet powerful," I tell him.

He looks back at the painting. How can he not see the masterpiece that he created?

"What was the first thing you noticed when you looked at it?" he asks me.

"Um, the white canvas," I tell him. His eyes go wide, he starts to nod his head, and he slowly turns away from the painting and back towards the crowd.

"Can I have everyone's attention?" He says loudly.

Everyone starts to quiet down and turn, facing us. I notice all eyes go to me. I spot my mother and my father. They looked a little concerned and confused. Out the corner of my eye, I see the gallery's door open, and in comes Ryder.

His parents are standing close to the door. Evelyn sees him and walks over to him. I try to read her lips, but her back is turned. She's saying something to him. He doesn't seem to be listening because he is looking at me. Josiah walks over to them, and Ryder walks away. He goes over into the corner and leans against the wall keeping his eyes fixed on me.

"Now that I have everyone's attention, I would like to ask a few of you a question," Tony says. Everyone nods. He scans the crowd. "Ah, Mr.Kemetco." He calls on the Japanese man. "Mr.Kemetco taught me in Japan for one year when I was in the art study abroad program at Yale. He's a highly respected artist," he says to me but loud enough for everyone to hear. "So, Mr.Kemetco. What's the first thing you see when you look at this painting?"

The man stares at the painting for a few seconds. "A blue line." He answers.

Tony nods his head and scans the room again. "Ms. Valentina." He calls on a red-headed woman wearing a tight black dress. "She was my art teacher at yale. She taught in Paris, Frace, England."

"And Mexico!" She adds.

"Yes, and Mexico. So Ms.Valentina, what do you first see when you look at this painting?"

She stares and says, "A blue line."

Oh no. I was wrong.

Is he doing this to prove a point? Oh God, I can feel my heartbeat speeding and my palms getting sweaty. I want to walk away; everyone is staring at me; it's making me nervous; I start to get that nausea feeling again. Only I don't know if it's the medicine or the nervousness. He starts to point at people and have them say what they see. Everyone says a blue line.

I was wrong, okay now I know, but he doesn't have to humiliate me like this.

"Jayda, can you tell me what you said you saw?" he asks.

I hesitate. I don't want to say it. "A white canvas," I say low.

"Could you say it a little louder?" he says.

"A white canvas," I say louder. I hear a few laughs from the crowd, and I lower my head.

He turns to the crowd. "I don't know why any of you are laughing. If anything, she should be laughing at you. Because she's right!"

My mouth drops open. "I am?"

"Yes, you are." He looks back at the crowd. "All of you noticed the blue line but failed to notice what was behind the blue line." he turns back to me. "Can you tell us what's behind the blue line?"

"Uhm, a blank canvas,"  I say, and then it clicks, the crowd gets it too, everyone ah's at the revelation.

"Now tell us how you noticed the blank canvas instead of the blue line, which even the best of the best artists didn't notice."

"Um, I don't know. I just was thinking of how the canvas itself is just so pure and white, and everything about it is perfect and flawless, and then this big blue line is just smeared across it taking all the spotlight, sort of speak, away from the canvas itself." I explain. "I kinda compared it to life. I guess how our lives may be perfect and impeccable, and then one little thing can happen in our life that changes the way people view us or how we view ourselves, so instead of seeing the blank canvas as itself, we looked to the blue line, we looked to the flaw. " The room goes silent for a minute, and then everyone starts to clap and cheer. My heart warms; they really liked what I said.

"And this ladies and gentleman is what Blank Canvas is all about," Tony says enthusiastically. The crowd claps more. "I'm going to steal your words and use them for my website's mission statement." Everyone laughs and then starts to disperse back around the gallery. My mother and father walk up to me.

"You guys didn't tell me your daughter was an artist," Tony says.

"I'm not an artist," I tell him.

"Sure, you are. Don't you write?" he asks. How does he know this?  I look at my mother and father.

"We didn't say anything." My mother says, of course, they didn't. They don't even know I write or do they?

"How do you know I write?" I ask him.

"People can't just say words like that, especially off the top of their head. What you said sounded like something that I would read in a book. So I just knew you had to be a writer." He says. "I could be wrong; maybe you just have an old soul."

"I write a little, but I wouldn't call myself an artist."

"The title artist isn't just given to people who paint or sing. You start calling yourself an artist when you do things or when you have a gift that can move not only you but other people. Other people were moved by what you said; I was moved by what you said."

"But I'm still not an artist though; I write yeah, but that doesn't make me an artist," I tell him.

"I didn't always call myself an artist either, a painter, yes, but artist no, I didn't call myself an artist until I painted something that had meaning until I saw that my artwork helped strengthen other people. That's when I called myself an artist because that's what an artist is."

"Well, maybe one day, I will call myself that," I say.

"That one day is today. Because you, Jayda King, are an artist."

(I love Jayda so much, she's so special. BTW this is one of my favorite chapters! I had so much fun writing it.)