Bashing Trinity

BASH

I am so annoyed with the art teacher who didn’t appreciate my watercolor painting. I hop out of the car without thanking my driver.

Sprinting inside the house with my backpack tightly grasp, I stomp my feet to our expansive living room. I was practicing the same concept last night over and over again until it looked satisfactory.

I admit I’m so bad at art, but it hurts my ego because I’m excellent at every subject. I can play the piano, cello, violin, and guitar with my eyes closed. I can solve math in just one look at the problem, but art? Ugh! I grimace at the thought of it.

I stop to halt when I notice mom and one of her best friends are laughing together. Their voices are echoing in the living room.

They abruptly stop when they notice me.

Mom’s beautiful face lights up and smiles at me. Aunt Zoey, the redhead does

in a mood to deal with them, especially mom. I’m already eleven years old, she still pecks me on my lips and pinches my face in front of

knows that I’m a good boy of

I almost bump into Kiara, whose standing in the middle of the stairs. Her right hand is gripping the rails, and the other is on her sketchpad, pressing against her chest.

“Bash!” she shrieks

messy. She reminds me of Nerida. She has freckles all over her face, and she’s too skinny. She’s Aunt Zoey and Uncle Logan’s daughter—our family friends. Kiara’s parents both

here, goldfish?” I narrow my

like the nickname I give

gaze as she grips

look like goldfish, Trinity,” I say mockingly.

and my name is Kiara,” she says softly with a shaky voice. I know she’s going to cry.

big her eyes are. “And what’s in that sketchpad of yours?” I quickly snatch from her grip. “As if you knew how to draw,” I