Our silent symphony

CHAPTER THREE

I dropped my books on the nearest table in the art room and pulled out the medium-sized canvas I’d hidden away. A soft cloud of dust scattered into the air as I brushed it clean. My hands automatically found the paintbrushes and the tins of paint, setting them neatly by my side before I started.

The moment the first stroke hit the canvas, my hand moved like it always did—with precision, with certainty. My gaze never wavered, even as the minutes melted away into hours.

The creak of the door pulled me back to reality.

“You work fast,” Bert’s voice filled the quiet room.

I glanced over my shoulder at him and smirked. “ You guys talked pretty long ”

He shot me a playful glare, the kind that made me chuckle, before wandering closer. “So… what did McKenna want this time?” I asked, dipping my brush into fresh paint.

Bert groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “Lessons. She actually wants me to tutor her. McKenna is… a workload.” He exhaled, then leaned forward to see my canvas. His eyes lingered for a moment before his brows lifted.

“Dominique?” he asked softly.

I nodded. “Her birthday’s in two weeks. I thought maybe… if I gave her something handmade, she might actually like it.”

“You mean she will like it,” he corrected firmly, his voice full of certainty I didn’t feel.

I smiled faintly but didn’t answer, too busy pretending that hope didn’t sting.

Bert tapped his watch. “I’ve got basketball practice, but I’ll come back. We’ll go to the gift shop together, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

He gave me one last grin before slipping out. I went back to painting, losing myself in colors and strokes until the final bell echoed through the halls. I didn’t even bother with baking class—it wasn’t my thing anyway.

By the time the school day was over, the paint had dried enough to handle. True to his word, Bert was waiting. Together we went to the little gift shop near the corner, and I watched as the owner carefully wrapped the canvas in crisp paper and ribbon.

“Subway’s cheaper,” I said once we stepped back out into the evening air, trying to steer him in that direction.

“Nope.” Bert grabbed my wrist gently and tugged me toward the bus stop. “Not listening.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t fight him. Truth be told, I preferred the bus too. A few minutes later, it pulled up, and we climbed aboard with the other passengers, letting the city blur past us as the ride carried us home.

Bert and I parted ways as soon as we got off the bus. He gave me that little wave of his—the one I’d seen a million times since we were kids—and I returned it before heading inside.

The house was quiet when I stepped through the door. No Mom. No Dad. No Dominique. For once, the silence didn’t feel heavy. I went straight up to my room and slid the wrapped canvas under my bed. If Mom found it, the whole surprise would be ruined, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.

I tossed my backpack onto the mattress and hurried into the shower, washing away the sweat, the paint, and the mess of the day. When I stepped out, I slipped into my house clothes—a cold shoulder floral top and my black denim skirt—simple, comfortable, mine.

Halfway down the stairs, I froze. Dominique was home. And she wasn’t alone.

The guy sitting beside her definitely wasn’t Sean, her so-called boyfriend from last week. Not that it mattered. Dominique changed boyfriends the way people changed playlists—new one every week.

Still, both their eyes flicked toward me the moment I appeared. First Dominique’s, sharp as always, and then his. His gaze lingered too long, scanning me like I was some painting on display.

“You never told me you had such a pretty sister,” he said to Dominique, voice casual but eyes glued to me.

Dominique smiled sweetly at him—then shot me a glare so sharp it could’ve cut glass. Classic.

I didn’t flinch. Just kept walking into the kitchen, pulled the bucket of ice cream out of the fridge, grabbed two muffins, and popped them in the microwave. My stomach didn’t care about Dominique’s death glares.

“Name’s Adrian,” he called after me as I turned to leave, his tone just a little too smooth. “And you are?”

“Gwen,” I replied flatly without slowing down.

I could practically feel Dominique’s fury burning into the back of my head, but I didn’t care. I’d told her before and I’d tell her again—I wasn’t interested in her boyfriends, past, present, or future. It wasn’t my fault they always looked at me longer than they should.

Balancing the muffins and ice cream, I headed back upstairs and shut my door harder than usual, the sound echoing through the halls like a warning shot.

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My phone buzzed against the nightstand, Bert’s name flashing across the screen. I didn’t even hesitate before picking up.

“Plushie,” he said in that annoying, playful tone he reserved just for me.

“Don’t start,” I warned, already smiling.

We slipped into the easy rhythm we always had—laughing, teasing, trading little stories like no one else in the world existed. He brought up McKenna, mimicking her high-pitched giggle until I nearly dropped the phone from laughing. I retaliated by mentioning Zack and how much he apparently wanted me to be his girlfriend. Bert groaned so dramatically that I had to roll my eyes.

“You’re impossible,” I told him.

“And you’re a sleepyhead,” he shot back when I yawned.

“I am not—” I started, but the weight in my eyelids betrayed me.

“Mm-hm,” he hummed knowingly.

“I should go. I’m actually about to pass out.”

There was a pause, the kind that always felt heavier than it should. Then he said softly, “Goodnight, Plushie.”

I swallowed, my chest tightening just a little. “Goodnight, Bert.”

The line clicked dead, and I lay there for a second, phone still in my hand, letting the quiet settle in. Finally, I got up, locked my door, and flopped onto my bed. Headphones on. Music up.

The world outside could stay out there. I wasn’t planning on stepping foot out of this room until tomorrow.