Chapter 12 The art exhibition
Melissa’s POV
Three days had passed since the pool incident.
I have been trying to avoid Gavin the same way I have been doing but I have been failing miserably.
I’d touched myself that night. And the night after, I closed my mouth with my palm as I fucked myself thinking about him. About the way he’d looked at me with water dripping from his hair, his eyes burning with something I didn’t want to name.
I was ashamed to admit it, even to myself.
But my body didn’t care about shame. It remembered his touch, and craved it in ways that made me feel dirty and desperate and alive all at once. I fear I was becoming a slut.
Tonight, I pushed those thoughts away. Tonight was Aria’s art exhibition, and I needed to be there for her.
I stood in front of my mirror, smoothing down the black slip dress I’d chosen. It was simple but elegant…thin straps, silk fabric that skimmed my body and ended mid-thigh. I paired it with strappy heels and left my hair down in loose waves.
I grabbed my clutch and headed downstairs. Mom was in the living room with Gavin, both of them were dressed up for some charity event.
“You look beautiful, sweetie,” Mom said, standing to give me a hug. “Tell Aria we’re so proud of her.”
“I will.”
Gavin didn’t say anything. He sat on the couch with a glass of whiskey, his eyes fixed on his phone. But I felt his gaze slide over me as I walked past.
The exhibition was held in the school’s art gallery…a converted warehouse space downtown. By the time I arrived, it was already crowded with students, parents, teachers, and local art collectors.
I found Aria near her display, practically vibrating with nervous energy. She wore a flowing emerald dress that complemented her light skin beautifully.
“Oh my God, you’re here!” She grabbed my hands. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“You’re not going to throw up. Your work is incredible.”
Her collection was a series of mixed-media pieces exploring identity and belonging. The centerpiece—the one she’d spent six months creating—was a stunning exploration of cultural displacement. Layers of fabric, paint, and photographs woven together into something raw and beautiful.
“Mrs. Chen said there are scouts here from Pratt and RISD,” Aria whispered, her eyes wide. “This could change everything.”
“It will change everything,” I said firmly. “Because you’re that good, I believe in you Aria you worked so hard.”
She squeezed my hands. “What would I do without you?”
“Probably spontaneously combust from anxiety.”
She laughed, and I saw some of the tension leave her shoulders.
For the first hour, everything went perfectly. People stopped at her display, nodding appreciatively. A few collectors asked questions, took her card. She looked so confident in her element. I felt like a proud mom.
I went to grab us both a glass of water. But when I came back, I knew something was wrong.
A crowd had gathered around Aria’s display. And it seemed like they were whispering about something, and not in a good way.
My stomach dropped.
I pushed through the crowd struggling to get to her.
Aria stood rigid in front of her centerpiece, her face was filled with a controlled fury. Next to her was Mrs. Chen and an older woman I didn’t recognize , holding a tablet.
“I don’t understand what you’re implying,” Aria said, her voice tight.
“I’m not implying anything.” Tasha’s voice cut through the murmurs. She stood off to the side,with her phone in her hand, that vicious smile on her face. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”
She turned her phone toward the crowd. On the screen was an image—an artwork that looked strikingly similar to Aria’s centerpiece.
“This piece was created by an artist named Elena Vasquez three years ago,” Tasha announced. “It was featured in a small Miami gallery. It is not very well known, which I guess made it easy to copy.”
The room went silent.
“That’s not—” Aria started, but Tasha wasn’t done.
“I have the original exhibition catalog right here.” She showed her phone again. “It is the same composition, themes and also the same techniques. It’s pretty obvious.”
Whispers erupted round the hall.
“Oh my God, did she really plagiarize?”
“I heard she’s been struggling this semester…”
“Isn’t her scholarship on the line?”
The woman with the tablet—a RISD scout, I realized with horror—stepped closer to examine Aria’s work, her expression cold.
“These are serious accusations,” Mrs. Chen said, though her voice had lost its earlier warmth. “Aria, do you have any response?”
“It’s not plagiarism.” Aria’s hands were balled into fists at her sides. “I’ve never heard of Elena Vasquez. I’ve never seen that piece before in my life.”
“Really?” Tasha tilted her head. “Because the similarities are pretty damning. I mean, I’m not an expert, but…” She gestured to the crowd. “What do you guys think?”
More whispers. More people were bringing their phones out to compare the images.
“I worked on this for six months,” Aria said, her voice rising. “Six months. Every day after school. Weekends. I poured everything into this—”
“Oh, I’m sure you worked very hard,” Tasha said sweetly. “Copying is still work, technically.”
“I didn’t copy anything!” Aria’s voice cracked with rage.
“The composition is nearly identical,” the RISD scout said quietly, still studying the work. Ms. Chen, I think we need to discuss this.”
“No.” Aria’s voice shook. “No, you don’t understand. I can show you my process. I have photos, sketches, every stage of development—”
“Process photos can be fabricated,” Tasha said, examining her nails. “Everyone knows that.”
I watched the color drain from Aria’s face. This wasn’t just about a grade anymore. This was about her future. Her scholarship. Her reputation. Everything she’d worked for.
“I want to see this original piece,” Aria said, her jaw tight. “Show me the full image.”
“Sure.” Tasha tapped her phone, then frowned. “Huh. The link’s not loading. Must be the WiFi here.”
“How convenient,” I snapped.
Tasha’s eyes flicked to me, cold. “Stay out of this, Melissa. This doesn’t concern you.”
“Like hell it doesn’t—”
“Enough.” Mrs. Chen held up her hand. “Aria, until we can verify these claims, I’m going to have to pull your piece from consideration for awards. I’m sorry, but academic integrity is paramount.”
“You’re not even going to investigate?” Aria’s voice was sharp, and angry. “You’re just going to believe her?”
“I’m not saying I believe anything. But the scout has raised valid concerns, and until we can clear this up—”
“This is bullshit.” Aria’s whole body was shaking with rage. “You know my work. You’ve seen me create every single piece in this collection. How can you—”
“Aria, please don’t make this worse,” Mrs. Chen said.
The RISD scout had already turned away, making notes on her tablet. The other collectors were drifting off, whispering to each other.
I watched Aria’s dream crumble in front of me.
She stood there, fists clenched, tears of frustration burning in her eyes. But she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t give Tasha that satisfaction.
“I didn’t do this,” she said quietly, looking at Mrs. Chen. “I swear to God, I didn’t do this.”
“We’ll sort it out,” Mrs. Chen said, but her voice was distant now. She’d already made up her mind.
The crowd began to disperse. The damage was done. Even if Aria was cleared later, the stain would remain.
Tasha caught my eye across the room and smiled.
I wanted to rip that smile off her face.
Aria turned to me, her expression somewhere between rage and devastation. “I need air.”
“Aria, wait—”
But she was already walking away.
I started to follow her but the lights dimmed, when a man in an expensive charcoal suit emerged from the gallery entrance. He was tall, broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. He moved through the crowd with the kind of quiet authority that made people instinctively step aside.
There was something familiar about him.
My heart started to pound.
I’d seen him before but I couldn’t just figure out where.
He walked straight to Aria’s display. The remaining crowd parted for him like water.
He stopped in front of her centerpiece. Studied it in silence. The room had gone quiet, everyone was watching to hear what he would say.
Then he turned to Mrs. Chen.
“I’ll take the entire collection.”
Mrs. Chen blinked. “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s been a situation with—”
“I’m aware.” He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, then showed it to her. “I’ve just reviewed the work of this Elena Vasquez you mentioned. The pieces are similar in theme, yes, but the execution is entirely different. Different materials, different techniques, different emotional resonance. Any first-year art student could tell you these are two distinct works exploring similar concepts.”
Tasha’s smile faltered.
“But even if they weren’t,” he continued, his eyes sweeping the crowd, “ Can anyone here prove this young artist ever saw the Vasquez piece?”
Silence.
“The Vasquez exhibition was in Miami three years ago. In a small gallery. With very Minimal press coverage. And no online catalog until six months ago.” He looked directly at Tasha. “Interesting that you managed to find it so quickly.Tasha’s face went red.
“Now.” He turned back to Mrs. Chen. “I’m purchasing this entire collection. Every piece. I’ll have my assistant send the paperwork within the hour.”