Mr. Dove sat down across from AC in the crowded cafeteria the first day of senior year. “I had a great idea over summer. I want to commission you to do an art piece for graduation.”
Mr. Dove was hot, with his reddish-brown shoulder-length hair and his mustache and beard. He wore the tightest shirts, button-down, but tight, with jeans belted almost at the hip. “It’s o-o-only S-September,” AC said to him.
Mr. Dove smiled. “That gives you months to come up with an idea and get her done. See, the ones with the best grades make a speech. The choir sings. I want you represented, your shiniest talent, among many.”
The plaster sculpture would be called “Picked First,” AC decided a few days later. It would be a depiction of a boy holding a paint brush, a saxophone, math, English, and science boo
