So Damn Beautiful (A New Adult Romance) by L.J. Kennedy Page B

snapped before I could say anything.
    I gripped my book bag more tightly. I could
stomach petty remarks and even unasked-for hostility, but one thing
I couldn’t abide was a judgment about my ability to “get”
something, especially if that something had anything to do with
art.
    “Not that your opinion matters, but what
makes you think I can’t?” I asked breezily.
    Elsie tossed back her pretty, asymmetrically
cut hair and laughed. “Let’s face it, Blondie, Degas and Whistler
may have gotten you gold stars back in Nebraska or whatever
boondock hole you crawled out of, but you just don’t have what it
takes to make Quentin Pierce’s shortlist. So, unless you want to be
a complete laughingstock, I wouldn’t even bother trying.”
    Before I could say anything, she flounced out
of the classroom, skinny jeans, bad attitude, and all.
    My senses were buzzing. Elsie had thrown down
the gauntlet, and, as mousy as she might have thought I was, it was
hard for me to refuse a good challenge—especially when it came to
art.
    Besides, nobody told Annie Green what she was
or wasn’t capable of. I knew that a curatorship like this wasn’t
about adhering to trends or creating reality TV–esque performance
art—it was about solid knowledge of what made a work of art
valuable and immortal. So, even if I had to muster up every last
bit of interest I had, I was going to wax poetic and hand something
convincing to Professor Claremont.
    Why don’t college movies ever tell you this is what it’s like? I thought, as I headed out the
door.
    Kendra was waiting for me, a dubious look on
her face. “Did something just happen? Tell me you didn’t get into
it with Gothic Lolita. ’Cause if you did, I’ll kick her skinny
little ass from here to Brooklyn, and I don’t want to ruin my
pedicure.”
    When I didn’t laugh, Kendra knew something
was up. “Seriously, what happened?”
    I sighed. “I’m applying for the Quentin
Pierce curator position.”
    Kendra raised one perfect eyebrow.
“ Pourquoi ? I mean, I think it’s awesome news, but I could
tell you totally lost interest when Claremont said the word that
shan’t be said—‘future,’ that is. You’re not into his stuff, so why
do you care?”
    “Because Gothic Lolita added an extra
throwdown by emphasizing that hell will freeze over before I’m seen
as a serious candidate.”
    Kendra snorted. “Bitch might have some street
cred on the Upper East Side, and I may not know art, but believe
you me, I know what makes for good press. Trust me, you’ve got
this, baby.”
    I frowned. “How can you be so sure?”
    She linked her arm in mine and smiled
sweetly. “Because I believe in you. And because we’ll take your
Cinderella story and make it golden.”
    “Wait—what Cinderella story?”
    “Trust me on this, Annie.”
    I had no idea how I was going to pull off
getting the curatorship, especially since Professor Claremont had
been clear about where our personal tastes diverged. But this was
New York, the city of dreams coming true. If it could happen to
gutter punks like Chase Adams, why not for Annie Green?

Chapter Six
    “Do you see
him, Annie? Well, do you?”
    “Kendra, can you please keep your voice
down?”
    Kendra gave me a conciliatory pat and looked
around, searching for our man of the hour. “Annie, you know he’ll
be mobbed the second he steps in here. I mean, look at these
people! Money-grubbing fame wannabes, with a few important high
rollers thrown in for good measure.”
    I looked around. If I’d felt out of place at
Harrison’s party, I was definitely a fish out of water here. We
were at a wine-and-cheese reception at some fancy SoHo gallery (so
fancy, in fact, it didn’t have a name or a marquee, just a posh
warehouse space with exposed ceilings and giant bay windows), and
it was in honor of none other than Quentin Pierce. He hadn’t
actually created much new “art,” since he’d been busy shooting
music videos in Los Angeles with acts like