The Symptoms of My Insanity by Mindy Raf Read Free Book Online Page B

fish. I like peanuts.
    I realize now it was my turn to talk and I didn’t. So I just go back to studying Botero’s happy, inflated families.
    One hour and twenty-five minutes, and then I can go from looking at pictures of paintings to actually painting them. Yes, I am definitely going to paint something new today. I never had a moment to really sit down and figure out what I wanted to do for my portfolio this past summer, so I ended up doing all these drawings and paintings of my cat, Leroy. My cat! It’s beyond embarrassing. I mean yes, Miss S. asked me to go next door and talk about one of my cat paintings to the 101 class last month, and she went on and on about how I realistically captured the movement in my lines and how great it was and all. But the thing is, Miss S. is always talking about how art is supposed to say something about you, and about how you know you’re doing the right work when you’re “whispering your secrets to other people” and stuff. I mean, my cat? No, I can’t use anything I have in my Italy portfolio. I can’t have a
cat
theme.
    Unghhh, and now today I’m losing a whole afternoon of studio time, and a night of studio time too, because of Jenna’s musical and cleaning out the attic for Mom. So I really need to use my studio time today.
    “Actually, Izzy,” Meredith half whisper-smiles to me,“I’m thinking of going to this party this weekend. In Ann Arbor.”
    “What?”
    Meredith drops her book onto her lap and blinks her gold-shadowed eyelids at me. “There’s this party on Saturday night that a bunch of us might go to that Cara’s older sister Becca is going to in Ann Arbor. It’s at her boyfriend Phil’s house.”
    “Oh. Um. Cool.”
    “Yeah. And Becca said invite whoever,” she continues, actually twirling a strawberry strand of hair, “so do you wanna go?”
    “What?”
    “To the party? You wanna go?”
    “Um … well … wait what?”
    “And Jenna’s invited too. See, the thing is that—”
    “Psst, Izzy!”
    We both turn toward the door. Oh, no. Pam Rubinstein is standing in the doorway. Meredith picks her book back up and mouths to me, “We’ll talk later.”
    We’ll talk later? Since when do we talk ever?
    “Psst, Izzy!”
    Pam’s still standing in the doorway, now waving and smiling at me. She does administrative stuff in the main office, but she’s also Mom’s best friend, so she always finds a way for our paths to cross. Once she came up to me and Jenna in the cafeteria and said, really loudly, “Izzy, are you eating? What are you eating? Go grab a donut, or a quiche. Thereare no carbs on your tray?” Then she turned to the table of boys next to us and said, “Will you guys tell my Izzy to eat a slice of pizza please, oh my God, she’s so gaunt!” And Pam grew up in New York, so what we heard was, “Oh my Gawd, she’s so gawnt!”
    I was called “Gawnt Girl” for at least a month after. But that wasn’t nearly as humiliating as the time she called me a “Botticelli babe” in front of a bunch of senior guys. And hello? Botticelli didn’t paint gaunt women, so Pam really needs to make up her mind.
    “
Hola
.” Pam waddles over to Señora Claudia, whose pupils dilate upon hearing Pam’s East Coast Spanish accent. “
Lo siyento, necessito hablwar con Izzy. Tiyene correo
,” she delightedly gets out, holding up a small postal box. I immediately know what’s inside.
    Pam shuffles over to my desk. “Izzy,” she whispers, “is this one of the birthday presents for your mom?” She shakes the box slightly with a grin.
    “Oh. Yes. Thank you.” I forgot I’d had my latest two purchases sent to Pam to avoid Mom finding out what I’d ordered, or how much I’d spent.
    Pam hands me my package, then fishes around in the pockets of her sweater jacket and produces a small object wrapped in a napkin that hits my desk with a thud. “That’s a blueberry scone for you,” she whispers loudly. “It’s a little on the dry side, but not so