Old Dreams Scattered With the Autumn Wind

At the graduation mixer, everyone was playing a game where the wheel landed on you and pulled up a random saved photo off your phone.

The wheel stopped on my boyfriend, Cecil Matthews. His slip of paper had just two words on it: Latest saved.

He cast his phone up onto the wall.

The first image was a screenshot of a video: my top-bunk roommate, Janet Fox, in her pajamas.

The whole room whooped.

But Janet panicked first.

"Serena Prescott, don't read into it. The power went out in the dorm that night, he was just showing me how to reset the breaker."

Before I could say anything, Cecil's brow had already creased.

"She's a girl, she didn't know how. What's wrong with me helping?"

The crowd laughed and pushed him to keep going.

The second was a payment screenshot, him clearing out Janet's online wish list.

The third was a selfie of her in a designer studio apron.

Last month, while I was prepping for exams, I'd stopped at that same window and touched the very same one.

Cecil had pulled me away. "Art is about the work. Wearing something too expensive just looks showy."

So the same apron was vanity on me, and a graduation gift on her.

Janet went to shut off the projector, eyes red. "Cecil, forget it, it's all my fault."

Cecil took his phone back, but he didn't cut the feed.

He turned to look at me. "Janet's already explained. Don't embarrass everyone."

The laughter in the room stopped all at once.

I said nothing.

He'd always assumed that because I was capable, because I was one of his own, I could take a little grief and still not leave.

But the deal we'd kept alive for four years should end tonight.

.......

Before the mixer broke up, Cecil went to pay with the studio's shared card.

I put my hand over it. "There's three thousand of my scholarship money on that card. Rent for the studio is due next month."

He slid it out from under my hand. "The landlord will give us an extension. Janet's birthday is next week, and everyone here tonight is a classmate. We can't make her lose face."

Janet said softly, "Maybe just let it go. I'm not worth Cecil spending this much."

Cecil handed the card to the cashier. "You only graduate once. Serena won't make an issue of it."

The card reader beeped, and my fingertips went cold.

Last spring, when he put on his first show.

I painted for people on the overpass for thirty-five hours to cover the studio's deposit.

When he took the money, he said, "Once we get on our feet, half of this studio is yours too. Between us, we don't have to count so carefully."

Now he'd used that same phrase, one of our own, to spend my money saving Janet's face.

It was raining outside.

Cecil took the only umbrella from the car and held it over Janet's head.

I asked, "What about me?"

He glanced at my shoes. "You're in sneakers, a few steps won't hurt. Janet's shoes will be ruined if water gets in."

Janet edged out from under the umbrella. "Serena, come share it."

Cecil pulled her back. "The umbrella's only so big. She's healthy, she doesn't need to squeeze in."

Rain poured down my collar, and my back was soaked through in no time.

Last year's first snow, I ran a fever at the studio and asked him to bring me a coat.

All he said back was, "I've got work in hand. Find someone else."

In the dorm, Janet was drying her hair with a thick towel.

The corner was embroidered with the name "Cecil," a towel he'd used since high school.

She rushed to explain. "Cecil insisted I take it. He said damp hair makes you sick."

I'd touched that towel once.

Cecil took it away on the spot and said he wasn't used to other people handling his private things.

Janet hung that designer apron by the window again. "He drove fifty miles yesterday to pick it up for me at the counter. You don't mind, do you, Serena?"

"No."

My throat was tight, and those two words were all I could get out.

Yesterday, I'd called Cecil six times, asking him to go to the clay supply plant and haul the clay I needed for my graduation piece.

He said he'd been up all night on a deadline and couldn't get up.

Right then his phone rang. Cecil went straight to it. "Did Janet get caught in the rain?"

Janet put it on speaker. "Just the edges of my shoes got a little wet."

"I ordered ginger tea, it'll be there in half an hour. Serena, make sure she finishes it."

I said, "I got rained on too."

He paused for two seconds. "Stop comparing yourself to her over everything. She's been frail since she was little, and you're perfectly able to take care of yourself."

"Got it."

After the call ended, Janet nudged the apron farther inside. "He just loves taking care of people. You two have been together four years, you'd know that better than anyone."

I opened my email.

The offer from South Ridge County Vocational School was still sitting at the top.

They wanted me to report within seven days, or the offer expired.

I replied, "I'll report on time."

Sent.

The silver ring on my ring finger pressed against the knuckle.

I slipped it off and set it in the old soap dish by the sink.

This time, I didn't put it back on.

After daybreak, I went to the studio I'd shared with Cecil for three years.

I'd just lifted the first engraving machine when he stepped into my path.

Cecil clamped a hand down on the carving machine. "What's gotten into you now?"

"I bought this machine. I'm taking it."

"The graduation exhibition is about to open. You tear down your studio now, you want everyone laughing at us?"

I pulled up the payment records. "Four machines, two worktables. All bought with my scholarship money. You never paid a cent."

His hand slowly loosened. "Serena, have I been too busy lately, neglecting you? If you've got something to say, just say it. Don't take it out on real business."

"This is the real business."

I set the last toolbox against the wall. My arms ached too much to lift.

On the bulletin board hung the graduation slot assignments.

Behind my name it had originally read the south wall. Now it was crossed out and replaced with Janet Fox.

I asked, "Who changed it?"

Cecil was the student lead curator for the graduation exhibition. Every slot application went through him.

He said, "The faculty advisor and I discussed it. Janet's grades are shaky. She needs a good spot. You're top of the program. It doesn't matter where you go."

"That spot cost me ten weeks of exhibition duty."

"It's just one slot. You'll be running a studio with me later. Clients look at the work, not one stretch of wall in a school."

Janet came in holding her piece. "Serena, I was the one who begged Cecil to help. If I don't get a recommendation this time, I'll have to go back to my hometown after graduation. You're so talented. Can't you let me have this one?"

I said, "No."

She set her plaster base down beside my clay sculpture. "But the list has already been submitted."

The base wasn't steady. It knocked over a basin of cleaning solution.

The black liquid poured out, and the landscape pattern I'd worked on for three months collapsed on the spot, half of it gone.

I crouched to steady the piece. The moment my fingers touched the clay surface they sank straight in, and my chest went tight.

Cecil grabbed Janet's hand first. "Are you hurt?"

She held up one scraped knuckle. "It stings a little. It's my fault. I shouldn't have touched your things, Serena."

Cecil turned to look at me. "Why was your material sitting in the walkway? If Janet's hurt her hand, what happens to her graduation piece?"

I said, "This is my display area."

"She didn't mean to. Go get her some water to rinse it, then write up an incident report so the teacher doesn't come after anyone."

"My work is ruined."

"Make it again. With your skill, a few days is plenty."

Six months ago, I fell off the scaffolding and split my palm open on a metal edge.

Cecil glanced at it and only said, "You're careless with your work, so you bear the consequences yourself."

Now Janet hadn't even broken the skin, and he wouldn't let go of her hand.

My phone buzzed again and again.

A neighbor from back home had messaged. "Your dad was hauling kiln bricks last night. His right hand got crushed. The town hospital wants the surgery deposit as soon as possible."

The words on the screen swam. I grabbed the corner of the table to stay standing.

Cecil frowned. "What are you still standing there for? Take Janet to the infirmary first."

I put the phone away. "I'm not going."

"Serena, don't force me to say something harsh in front of your classmates."

"Then say it."

Janet held him back. "Cecil, let it go. Serena's work is wrecked. She must feel awful too."

Cecil's voice dropped. "You're still defending her. If she were half as sensible as you, we wouldn't fight all the time."

I didn't touch that heap of ruined clay again.

The silver ring was still in the soap dish.

It was the only gift Cecil had ever given me.

I took it to the resale shop on North Campus Street. The owner weighed it and quoted six hundred eighty.

"Miss, there's a name engraved inside the band. You sure you want to sell?"

"Sell it."

"It's good quality. Think it over."

I handed him my father's hospital account number. "Please transfer it now."

The deposit alert chimed. It was still far short of the surgery deposit, but at last there was a little warmth in my palm.

The neighbor replied quickly. "The village put together the rest of the deposit for your family. The surgery's set for tomorrow morning."

Then Cecil called. "The teacher's asking about the incident report. Come back and sign for Janet, and this whole thing goes away."

I hung up and moved him to my do-not-disturb list.

When I got back to the dorm, Janet was going through my bookshelf.

She pulled out the bundle of old fabric samples my father had sent me and asked with a smile, "These things, could you leave them to me before you go?"

I took the old fabric samples back out of Janet's hands. "No."

She blinked. "You never used to keep score with me."

"I'm keeping score now."

"Cecil said you've been short-tempered lately. So it's true."

I packed the sketches my father had mailed into my travel bag.

She looked at the emptied shelf and pointed at another box.

"What about those sweaters? If you don't want them, I could pass them on to Cecil for you."

There were more than thirty sweaters in that box.

Cecil got cold easily, and I'd knitted for him four years running.

He thought hand-knit clothes weren't presentable enough, so he only wore them when he had nothing clean left.

I picked up the scissors.

Janet stopped me. "What are you doing? Cecil will be upset if he finds out."

"They're mine. I'll deal with them myself."

The scissors came down.

When the first sweater fell into two halves, my wrist was shaking the whole time.

Cecil's call chased me down. "Dinner tonight at the usual place. I'll smooth things over between you and Janet."

"There's no need," I said.

"The table's already booked. Don't keep everyone waiting."

The line went dead.

At that little restaurant, Janet's clay boots were sitting in the seat where I always sat.

Cecil was peeling duck meat for her. When he saw I hadn't come in, he followed me out to the door.

"You came all this way, why won't you come in?"

I looked at those boots. "There's no seat for me."

"Just move the boots, that's all. Janet's been on her feet all day, they hurt, she was only resting them a second."

Janet called out through the window. "Serena, come in already. Cecil ordered all my favorites, you should try some too."

I asked Cecil, "Do you still remember what I like to eat?"

He frowned. "It's just dinner and now there's a quiz? You didn't used to be this hard to get along with."

"Go keep her company."

"Here we go again. Tomorrow's the final review for the graduation pieces. Can't you act your age?"

The preview list for the final review was right there on the department board.

The double-walled vase I'd worked on for half a year was first in line, but the lead-creator column read Janet Fox, and my name had been shoved to the very bottom, under "clay assistance."

Cecil came up behind me, his tone softening a little. "I changed the submission paperwork. Janet needs this award. You don't."

I stared at those two words, a ringing filling my ears.

That vase was made with the red clay my father had carried down from the mountains in South Ridge.

His old injury in his right hand had flared up, and he'd still ridden more than ten hours to bring the clay to the school.

I said, "Change the name back."

Cecil shook his head. "The preview's already started. Swap the lead creator now and Janet loses her recommendation eligibility. Besides, whoever's name is on the piece, it doesn't change that you made it."

"If it doesn't change anything, then why not put my name on it?"

Janet hurried over, her eyes red-rimmed. "I'm only borrowing it this once. Once I get the recommendation slot, I'll tell people you helped too."

"It wasn't help. I made the piece by myself."

Cecil stepped in front of her. "Are you really set on ruining her future? Serena, you've won so many awards already. Is one fewer going to kill you?"

I pressed my student ID against the edge of the board. "Fine. Give it to her."

He let out a breath. "That's more like it. Once the exhibition's over, I'll make it up to you. We'll share one studio from now on. Why split things into yours and mine?"

"No need."

At the South Side ticket office, there was only one sleeper ticket left, for two days out.

The clerk asked, "South Ridge is over thirty hours on the train. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"This train leaves at one in the morning. Miss it and there's no refund."

"I won't miss it."

I gripped the ticket in my palm, the stiff paper edge pressing a red line into my skin.

My father called, his words slurred. "Don't come back. There's no future here. Cecil's got talent. Stay with him and build a good life."

I held the receiver close. "Dad, I found a job."

"Where?"

"Not far from home."

After the call ended, Cecil sent me an invitation. "The final review ceremony is tomorrow. Remember to wear the dress I picked out for you. Janet's accepting the award, so come up on stage for a photo too."

I glanced at the ticket.

Two days left until the train.

At the final evaluation ceremony, my vase stood on the main display stand.

As the student lead curator, Cecil Matthews brought Janet Fox up beside the piece, in front of the whole department, students and faculty alike.

He said, "This is Janet's graduation work, done entirely on her own. Her fundamentals are weak, but she's willing to put in the effort. Over the past year, I watched her build this piece up, bit by bit, with my own eyes."

Applause rose from the floor.

My stomach clenched hard.

Janet took the certificate. "If I could finish this piece, the one I owe the most to is Cecil. He kept encouraging me, and he solved so many problems for me."

The teacher hosting turned to me. "Serena, you took part in the early work too, didn't you?"

Cecil answered first. "She just helped process one batch of clay."

I ruined seven kiln firings. The kiln door burned my right hand, and I couldn't hold a pen for half a month.

During that time, Cecil complained the studio reeked of smoke. He never came once.

The department chair slid the withdrawal-of-lead-creator confirmation across to me. "The materials Cecil submitted state that you voluntarily give up the lead-creator credit and keep only clay assistance. Once you sign, the work and the award both go to Janet. Do you confirm?"

Cecil lowered his voice. "Don't back out now. Janet's about to get the recommendation slot."

Janet clutched the certificate. "I'll remember you, Serena."

I picked up the pen. "Where do I sign?"

Cecil pointed to the bottom. "Here. Serena, I knew you'd think of the bigger picture."

I signed my name.

The department chair took the statement back. "You can't reverse this once you've signed. Have you thought it through?"

"Yes."

The pen tip left the paper, and slowly the feeling came back into my numb fingers.

When the ceremony ended, Cecil sorted out Janet's certificate, then turned and called after me. "We're celebrating at the studio tonight. Come early and help Janet file the award materials."

"I'm busy."

"Busy with what?"

"Starting a job."

He didn't catch it. "Look for a job after the graduation exhibition. We agreed to stay in New York and run the studio together."

Janet chimed in with a smile. "It'd be no fun without you, Serena. You've got a share in today's award too."

I set my student ID on the main display stand. "I don't want it."

Cecil's face darkened. "Because the piece doesn't have your name on it? I already promised I'd make it up to you."

"You keep it."

"Serena, I hate it most when you say half of something. You have to come tonight. We'll talk it out."

I didn't answer.

The dorm was already empty.

All that was left was one old bag, holding my father's ceramics sketches and the hiring notice from the South Ridge school.

Janet messaged me. "Serena, where'd you put that bag of old fabric samples? My display stand's still short one tablecloth."

I deleted the conversation.

Cecil sent another message. "Quit throwing a fit. The celebration starts at eight. If you're late, you can explain it to everyone yourself."

I dropped the dorm key into the checkout box at the dorm office.

At one in the morning, the conductor punched my ticket.

I'd barely sat down when Cecil's call came through.

"Where are you?"

"Is there something?"

"Everyone's waiting for you. Janet says you didn't even like her award photo. Can you not cause trouble today of all days?"

"I hope your celebration goes well."

He paused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Get over here. I'll give you twenty minutes."

I hung up and turned off the phone.

The train began to move.

The wheels rolled over the rail joints. I gripped the edge of the berth, my palms cold with sweat.

Back in the studio, Cecil was still sending me messages.

"Serena, don't think ignoring my calls will make me come coax you."

"When you're done throwing your fit, come back on your own."

"We've got the exhibition to set up in the morning. Don't hold up what matters."

The last message failed to send.

He still didn't know that I'd already signed the withdrawal confirmation, checked out of the dorm, and deleted our shared studio account.

He knew even less that the end of this train ride was thirty hours away.

And the room he thought I would never leave was already completely empty.