Ada Lace and the Suspicious Artist Read online

  For those who are brave enough to stick up for others

  —E. C.

  Fot the students at PS 63

  —T. W.

  For Ada’s biggest fans: Grace Cotter, Sylvie Bargar, and Grace Kelley

  —R. K.

  Chapter One

  A MAN NAMED MIROIR

  Okay. A tick to the right,” said Nina.

  “I moved it to the right before, and you said to move it back,” said Ada.

  “Okay! Sorry! Wait a minute. Now I don’t know if that background looks good with these pieces. Maybe we should start over.”

  “Nina!”

  Ada was helping Nina build an online portfolio. It was the best way to introduce her creative energy to the universe, Nina had said. They had been at it all day, and patience was wearing thin. Ada had some of the coding skills, and Nina had a vision in her mind’s eye, but making those two things meet in the middle was harder than they thought. All the numbers, letters, tags, and brackets were starting to blur together. They had already spent an hour trying to add a feature that would allow art lovers to position an image of the piece they were thinking of buying within a picture of their space so they could see what it would look like in context. Ada had learned a few different coding languages from working on George, but Web design was a different ball game. She couldn’t quite manage what Nina wanted. And since Ada couldn’t perfect the art placement feature, Nina seemed unhappy with everything.

  “I’m sorry,” said Nina. “It’s just that I want Nina Nina Land to look professional . . . impressive. I want Guy Miroir to know I’m for real.”

  That was the other problem. Ada was sick of this Miroir character. Her mom had been preparing for his show all week, and Ada had never seen her so stressed out. Between Ms. Lace and Nina, it seemed like Miroir was the only important person in the world. She looked forward to having her friend and her mom back.

  “I’m not a professional,” said Ada. “If I were, I would be charging you!”

  In the middle of it all Elliott burst into Ada’s room with socks on his hands and started rubbing the corner of her desk, her bookshelf, and the head of her bed.

  “What are you doing, Elliott?” asked Ada.

  “I’m helping clean!” said Elliott.

  Mr. Lace popped his head in. “Elliott. You’re supposed to be cleaning your room.”

  “Oh, I am,” said Elliott. “I’m just making it fun!”

  “It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be done!” said Mr. Lace.

  Elliott stomped out of Ada’s room.

  “I don’t know how much more I can do,” said Ada. “At least right now. This is beyond my skill level.”

  “Fine,” said Nina. “I’m going to go home for a bit and see if I can come up with something a little simpler, I guess.”

  “You know, Mr. Peebles’s nephew, Tycho, is here,” said Mr. Lace. “Isn’t he a really good Web programmer?”

  “Yes, he is!” said Ada. “Thanks, Dad.”

  • • •

  Ms. Lace was at the gallery late again, so it was just Ada, Elliott, and Mr. Lace for dinner. Elliott insisted on cooking. It was his latest kick. Ada did not have high hopes. If she and Nina hadn’t spent so much time together already, she would have gone to Nina’s for dinner.

  The table was set as only Elliott could set it—with a dinosaur in front of each plate. Ada sat in her usual seat.

  “No, ADA! That’s not your spot!” said Elliott. He was wearing a big poufy chef’s hat and a gray apron that reached his toes.

  “What do you mean? This is always my spot,” said Ada.

  “No, you’re the Stegosaurus, obviously. Dad’s the Brachiosaurus.”

  That did make sense somehow.

  “But Dad’s seat is always at the end,” said Ada.

  “Did you make dinner?” Elliott asked.

  Ada sat behind the Stegosaurus. Elliott retreated into the kitchen. He came back out grasping a saucepan in two oversized, dirty yellow oven mitts. Just as he was about to reach Ada’s seat, he tripped over one of the apron’s ties and tossed franks and beans over the whole table. Ada escaped almost unscathed, but for a few beans on her sweater. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.

  “OH NO!” yelled Elliott. “My masterpiece!”

  Mr. Lace poked his head in and sighed.

  “Mom just texted that she was on her way home,” he said. “I’ll tell her to bring a pizza from Donello’s.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” said Elliott.

  “We’ll try breakfast this weekend, Ell. And maybe we’ll get you a better fitting apron.”

  • • •

  An hour later they were seated around the pizza. Ms. Lace looked frazzled.

  “I’m so glad to be here with you guys,” said Ms. Lace.

  “Bad day?” asked Ada.

  “Well, it was challenging. Guy Miroir . . . needs a lot of things. He didn’t like any of the hotels in the city, so we had to put him up in Napa Valley. He’s very . . . particular. You know how these artists can be.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Ada, thinking of Nina.

  Chapter Two

  THE MASTER CODER

  The next day Ada took her dad’s advice and called Tycho to ask for help on Nina’s website. After breakfast she crossed the courtyard to Mr. Peebles’s stoop. She was about to ring the bell when Tycho shouted out the window from above.

  “Hey, Ada, check this out.”

  After a few minutes the lock to the front door released. Ada stepped to the side to make way for the opening door. She was impressed. Last time she had visited Mr. Peebles’s building, he could unlock the door with a button, but it couldn’t open on its own. She entered the building and started to climb the stairs. But then, from behind the staircase, she heard a loud, metallic clank and a squeaking sound. The tips of Tycho’s sneakers were just visible descending behind the staircase. There was an elevator back there now! It didn’t look like a normal elevator though. There was an old-school, handmade feel to it. After another clank, Alan jumped from Tycho’s lap and ran toward Ada. Tycho wheeled behind. Ada clapped.

  “That’s amazing!”

  “I know! We finished it right after I got here.”

  Ada had met Tycho a few months before when he had come to stay for a long weekend with Mr. Peebles. It had been tough. Mr. Peebles had to have help from their neighbor Jacob or Mr. Lace to get Tycho and his wheelchair up and down the stairs. But now they had a manual elevator based on an old Otis design. That and the automatic door meant that Tycho could come and go as he pleased.

  “Can I ride on it?” asked Ada.

  “Of course!”

  Ada ran over to the elevator. There was a rope that was kept taut to keep the elevator from moving. In order to go up, Tycho tugged on the rope to release the brake. Then Ada pulled on the other rope to make it go up. They moved about a foot off the ground and stopped.

  “That’s hard!” she said, shaking out her arms.

  “I got you,” said Tycho.

  He handily pulled them to the top of the stairs. Ada set the rope for the brake.

  “I can’t believe you could do that,” she said. “My arms feel like spaghetti.”

  “Well, mine get a lot of work,” said Tycho. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

  Alan jumped into the chair beside Tycho and gnawed away contentedly on his chewy. Ada opened the door to Mr. Peebles’s apartment and they went inside.

  “Alan looks pretty cozy there,” said Ada.

  “Yeah,” said Tycho. “I’ve been giving him free rides since I got here!”

  Alan looked up at Tycho and licked his fingers. Then he nestled in and started chewing again. Tycho rolled into Mr. Peebles’s workshop and Ada followed. Spread across the floor was a lot of hardware—big wheels with knobby tires, metal piping, PVC, nuts, bolts, and various kinds of jigs.

  “Ta-da!” said Tycho, as if the magic were clear.

  “Uhh . . . cool? What am I looking at?”

  “Oh, uh”—he looked around—“the plans are over there.” He pointed to a piece of paper anchored under a couple of bolts. It showed a really rugged looking rig, with big knobby tires and handlebars in the front.

  “It’s a handcycle! Kinda like a bicycle with three big wheels, but instead of pedaling with my feet, I turn these cranks with my hands. The best part is that it can roll over all kinds of terrain. I want to go mountain biking.” Tycho lowered his voice. “The next step will be convincing my mom.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing! When will it be ready?”

  Just then Mr. Peebles walked in, wiping his hands with a rag.

  “Hopefully, by the end of the week?” said Mr. Peebles. “It’ll be tight, but we’re trying.”

  “Well, we should plan a hiking trip to celebrate,” said Ada.

  “Good idea!” said Tycho.

  “I guess that’s my cue to go finish cutting those jigs,” said Mr. Peebles. “Good to see you, Ada.”

  He left the room, and Ada could hear the sound of metal grinding.

  “So, you need a little help with that online portfolio?” said Tycho.

  “Do I ever,” said Ada.

  Ada explained that Nina wanted to let visitors to the site see what her artwork would look like on their wall by uploading a picture of their room and then dragging and dropping her artwork into place.

  “Hm
mm . . . that’s tricky. Sounds like a great feature for a portfolio though. I think I can figure it out. I’ll check a few coding forums and see if anyone else has tried to build something like this before. Give me a little time with it,” said Tycho.

  “Great! I really appreciate it. Can you show me how you did it afterward?” asked Ada.

  “Absolutely! It’s nice to find a friend who appreciates the art of coding,” said Tycho.

  Ada had to agree. They made plans to meet the next day.

  Chapter Three

  FUNDAMENTAL MOOD

  Does my breath smell funny?” asked Nina.

  “For the tenth time: No!” said Ada. “You smell good, you look good—very artsy. Would you relax! He’s just a person.”

  “A person who is changing the face of twenty-first century art as we know it! A person who seems to have invented his own palette and sense of shape! He’s a person, yes, Ada. But not just anyone!”

  “All right, all right,” said Ada. “But try to calm down anyway.”

  They were going to a reception to welcome Guy Miroir. This was really just a meet and greet before his big show—none of his art would be on display yet—but it was a chance for his biggest fans, and potential buyers of his artwork, to meet the man behind the canvas. Nina couldn’t contain herself. She’d been trying to make a scarf for Miroir for the past three weeks and had driven Ada crazy with all the different versions of it. First, she based it on a piece of Miroir’s called Fundamental Mood. It was various shades of red, but mostly looked brown to Ada, because of her color blindness. Of course, she knew she couldn’t tell Nina that. Still, even though Ada had assured her friend numerous times that the scarf was beautiful, Nina didn’t believe her. She rejected it and started over. The next one was based on a different piece from the same series, called Casual Fright. The scarf was all bright green with flecks of white, Ada thought. Of course, if they were light pink, she wouldn’t have known it. That one was rejected too. Ada suspected there might have been more attempts, but Nina finally settled on a blue scarf. This one had different shades of blue, and if you looked at it up close, there were little points of yellow, like stars. It wasn’t based on any of Miroir’s work. It was Nina’s own design.

  “That’s lovely,” said Ada when she saw it.

  “Yeah, I think I finally got it right. I just hope Guy likes it,” said Nina. “He’s known for his scarves.”

  Ada had already heard about the scarves from Nina. In fact, she’d heard about it every time she presented a new one.

  “And plus, the scarf is just the intro! Once he sees I’m an artist, Guy will probably ask to see my portfolio.” It was obvious that Nina was getting a bit ahead of herself.

  “You might want to call him Mr. Miroir,” said Ada’s mom. “I think he prefers it.”

  “Oh yes,” said Nina. “I’m sure first names will come soon enough. We are destined to be friends. I can feel our creative energies complementing each other already!”

  “It’s important to be able to separate the art from the artist, Nina,” said Ms. Lace.

  But Nina wasn’t paying attention. She was folding the scarf and refolding it. First she put it in a box and tied a ribbon around it, and then she wondered if it would be better to give it to Mr. Miroir tied up like a swan. Then she thought maybe she should just be casual. Every time she tried a new form of presentation, she asked for Ada’s opinion. Every single time Ada approved. But it didn’t matter. Nina wasn’t really looking for an answer.

  As they approached the gallery, Ms. Lace told the girls and Mr. Lace to go in the front without her. She had to meet Guy Miroir in the back room.

  “Remember, this event is invite-only, and please, make sure your phones are put away. Mr. Miroir has very strict requirements for any public appearances.”

  “Oh, why don’t I go with you, Ms. Lace?” said Nina. “You know, in case Guy . . . uh . . . Mr. Miroir needs some extra company.”

  “I don’t think so, Nina,” said Ms. Lace. “Mr. Miroir was very clear about just meeting me. You’ll be able to give him your gift. Just give us some time.”

  “Oh, but we’ll have so much to talk about!” said Nina.

  “Nina,” said Ms. Lace. “Not now.”

  Ada noticed her mother’s jaw clench just a little bit. She knew that Ms. Lace loved Nina, so she guessed there must be something else wrong. Nina noticed too.

  “Is your mom okay?” asked Nina.

  “She’s been a little stressed out,” said Ada. “Miroir is probably the biggest artist she’s brought to her gallery. She even said the mayor might come to see him tonight. Tensions are high.”

  “Well, Mr. Miroir has a lot of fans,” said Nina.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Lace. “And a lot of demands.”

  Chapter Four

  THE ARTIST REVEALED

  Nina was just as hyper inside the gallery. She talked Ada’s ear off about her favorite pieces in the Miroir collection.

  “Oh, I hope we get to see Fundamental Mood. He painted it when he was living in the Southwest. You can tell by the colors. Oh! Oh! And The Clearest Night. He created that one in his twenties when he was on a boat in the middle of the ocean!”

  Ada actually didn’t mind. She was impressed that her friend knew so much about this artist’s work and about art in general. Plus, she felt like she was studying up for Miroir’s grand opening next week. Nina was just explaining the influence of the artist Rothko on a particular piece when they heard a shattering noise followed by a loud, annoyed voice.

  “CAN’T YOU READ?? The sign says clearly NO CAMERAS. And you were bold enough to use a FLASH?? My eyes are my life. Are you trying to kill me??”

  Both girls turned to look. Ada saw her mom bending down to pick up someone’s phone. She handed it back to the upset photographer with a comforting pat to the shoulder. The man next to her continued to bellow.

  “You don’t deserve to be here if you can’t follow directions. Everybody is just running around breaking rules and blinding innocent artists now, I suppose!”

  The artist was dressed in overalls with a bright pink shirt underneath. He had on short black work boots and one of the signature scarves Ada had heard so much about was tied around his neck in a loose knot.

  Just as he was wrapping up his rant, the mayor arrived, surrounded by a crowd of people in suits. Mr. Miroir elbowed his way to her side. It seemed he had forgotten all about the clumsy photographer. He bowed his head and took the mayor’s hand, smiling and oozing charm, as if he hadn’t just been shrieking and making a scene. Ada knew from her mom that the mayor was looking for a new piece to hang in her office. Based on how Mr. Miroir was schmoozing her up, Ada bet that he wanted his art selected for that prime real estate.

  “Geez,” said Ada. “Can you believe that guy?”

  “I know, right?” said Nina. “How can he not know that cameras aren’t allowed at Miroir shows! It’s his thing. No cameras. He wants his artwork to create ‘internal expression.’ ”

  “Are you kidding?” said Ada. “He was so mean!”

  “Well, you heard him, Ada,” said Nina. “His eyes are his life!”

  “Seems a little dramatic,” said Ada.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” said Nina.

  “I guess not,” said Ada.

  She had met a lot of artists her mom worked with. She had never known one of them to raise their voice or even make an angry face. She had also never seen her mom so stressed out around any of them. She didn’t act the same as she did with Ada and Elliott, but she seemed to enjoy their company.

  “You know there’s a lot of pressure that comes with . . .”

  Before Nina finished her sentence, Ada’s mom and Miroir had joined them.

  “Mr. Miroir, I’d like you to meet my husband, Byron, my daughter, Ada, and her friend . . .”

  “Yes, yes. Very nice. Very cute, Isabella. Charmed! Now could I possibly get some room-temperature water before I collapse from dehydration?”

  “Of course. It’s just that Nina here is a big fan. She has something for you,” said Ms. Lace in a very patient tone.