One
It all began when the Agora Gallery of Fine
Art opened at the mall. Philip Felton and Emery Wyatt were fourth
grade classmates at the Donovan Elementary School, which had just
gotten a new art teacher that year. Somehow their class got
scheduled for art three periods a week, more than any other class.
Ever since September, the two best friends had been painting,
cutting, pasting, drawing, coloring and making collages more than
they ever had in their lives. For the most part, it was fun. Not as
much fun as having three gym periods a week, but better than
sitting, bored, in the classroom.
When, on one Saturday morning in late March,
Philip’s father had to go to the mall to get some office supplies,
Philip and Emery went with him. Each boy had saved a few quarters
and planned to spend them on the video games at the arcade on the
second floor of the mall.
“Want to go see that new art gallery?” Emery
asked as the two boys left the arcade, poorer but satisfied they’d
spent their money well.
That stopped Philip in his tracks. “What
for?” he asked, frowning. “Don’t we get enough of that at
school?”
Emery shrugged. “We might get homework that
says we have to see some art or something dumb like that. You know
Ms. Trinetti likes to give homework like that. Especially to us
’cause we have her so much.”
Philip nodded. He couldn’t argue that.
Ms. Trinetti was the new, young, chubby,
enthusiastic art teacher, who had long blonde hair and wore sandals
to school every day no matter the weather. She’d told her students
how much she’d liked art when she was their age. How she’d won
prizes in high school with her paintings. How she’d studied art in
college for four years. How she’d studied art in graduate school
for another two years. Both Philip and Emery were unsettled hearing
how much school lay ahead even after fourth grade was over.
“If she does, then we can say we were already
in an art gallery. We won’t have to do anything.”
Philip nodded. Emery’s idea made some sense.
“You know where it is?”
“Down the end,” and Emery pointed.
The Agora Gallery of Fine Art was the size of
two stores. Philip remembered that a sneaker store had once been in
the end spot. What the other store had been, he couldn’t
recall.
The walls of the gallery were bright white
and covered with paintings. The room smelled new. When they
entered, a pretty, young, Asian woman smiled at them. The woman had
long black hair pulled into a ponytail and was seated behind a
white plastic counter on their right. “Come to take a look around,
boys? If you have any questions, my name is Tracy.”
Emery and Philip nodded and smiled in
return.
“Be sure to take one of our contest flyers
when you leave,” and she tapped a pile of red papers.
Philip and Emery walked up to the first
painting on the wall opposite Tracy.
The painting was a square, two feet on a
side, enclosed in a shiny, black plastic frame. Emery and Philip
stared.
“What’s it look like to you?” Philip said
thoughtfully.
Emery studied it. “It looks like feet,” he
said.
Footprints of different sizes and colors
pointed in all directions. Any space that wasn’t covered by a
footprint was filled with either small bluebirds or small red
devils. And any space that wasn’t covered with footprints, birds,
or devils was painted green.
“Yeah, to me, too,” said Philip. “Why would
anybody paint feet?”
Emery turned to Philip and smiled. “Maybe
somebody ‘toed’ the artist to.”
Philip gave a snort of laughter and looked
over his shoulder. Sure enough, Tracy had heard them and was coming
their way, holding a piece of yellow paper in her hand.
“Everything all right, boys?” She smiled.
Both Philip and Emery nodded, pressing their
lips together tightly, trying not to laugh.
“Here, you can read about this painting and
this artist.” She handed Philip the yellow paper and went back to
her seat.
Philip and Emery
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