Chapter 3: The Photograph He Didn't Want Me to See
The next morning, I woke up before my alarm.
For a few seconds, I forgot what had happened.
Then I saw the folder on my desk.
The torn portrait was still inside.
I sat up and reached for it.
My grandmother's face was staring back at me, separated by a jagged line running straight through her smile.
I carefully closed the folder.
Downstairs, I could hear the television playing.
Cameron was laughing at something.
My mother was making breakfast.
The smell of bacon drifted up the stairs.
It sounded like an ordinary morning.
That almost made it worse.
When I entered the kitchen, Rochelle was standing at the stove. Cameron sat at the island, scrolling through his phone.
There was a fresh basketball poster leaning against the wall.
Not the torn one.
A replacement.
Apparently, the same rules didn't apply to everyone.
Cameron noticed me looking.
“Like the new one?””
I didn't respond.
He turned the phone toward me.
“Mom ordered it last night.””
Rochelle smiled.
“He shouldn't have to go without something he worked hard for.””
I looked at the poster.
It was almost identical to the first one.
“That's nice,” I said quietly.
Cameron grinned.
“Yeah. And I'm getting it framed this time.””
I placed my folder on the counter.
“Can I use the printer?””
My mother glanced over her shoulder.
“For what?””
“I need to print a photograph of Grandma's portrait. Ms. Whitmore wants to see the original design.””
Rochelle turned off the stove.
“Didn't your father tell you to stop making such a big deal about this?””
“I'm not making a big deal. I just need to print something.””
She sighed.
“Use the printer in the office. But don't waste all the ink.””
Cameron chuckled.
“Better hurry before you destroy another sheet of paper.””
I turned toward him.
“You already destroyed mine.””
“Are you going to keep saying that forever?””
“No. Just until you understand what you did.””
His smile disappeared.
“Watch your attitude.””
Rochelle immediately stepped in.
“Imani, don't start.””
I stared at her.
He had insulted me.
Again.
But somehow, I was still the one being warned.
I picked up my folder and walked toward the office.
The printer was on a small desk beside the family computer.
I connected my phone and selected the photograph.
While the machine warmed up, I opened my messages.
There was another notification from Ms. Whitmore.
*MS. WHITMORE: Imani, I also received a notification that your portfolio submission may have been changed. Did you make any updates last night?*
My stomach dropped.
Changed?
I opened the school portal.
The portfolio page loaded slowly.
Then I saw it.
My grandmother's portrait had been removed from the submission list.
In its place was a blank document titled:
*FINAL ARTWORK — INCOMPLETE*
I stared at the screen.
I hadn't changed anything.
I clicked the activity history.
A notification appeared showing that the portfolio had been accessed at 11:47 p.m.
Last night.
While I was downstairs with Dad.
I scrolled further.
The account showed a device name I recognized.
Cameron's laptop.
My hands went cold.
I heard footsteps behind me.
“Having trouble?””
I turned around.
Cameron stood in the doorway, holding a glass of orange juice.
His eyes moved from the computer screen to my face.
“What did you do?””
He took a slow sip.
“Nothing.””
“Why was my portfolio opened on your laptop?””
He shrugged.
“You left the computer signed in.””
“That doesn't mean you can change my work.””
“I didn't change anything important.””
I pointed at the screen.
“You deleted my submission.””
He placed his glass on the desk.
“It's not deleted. It's still on your phone.””
“Why would you do that?””
He looked at the printer.
Then at the folder.
“You're acting like the whole world revolves around your little art project.””
“Ms. Whitmore is reviewing it today.””
“So?””
“So it matters to me!””
He gave a small laugh.
“Then maybe you should have kept a backup.””
I stepped away from the desk.
“Did you do this because of Grandma's portrait?””
His expression hardened.
“Don't bring her into everything.””
“You already did.””
He stared at me.
For a moment, I thought he might finally say something honest.
Instead, he picked up his juice.
“Just fix it. You're good at computers, aren't you?””
Then he walked away.
I looked at the screen again.
The printer started.
One photograph slid slowly into the tray.
I picked it up.
Grandma's face was intact.
The only complete version I had left.
I took out my phone and photographed the activity history.
Then I saved a copy of the portfolio page.
My father's words from the night before came back to me.
Why are you carrying the blame?
For once, I wasn't going to.
At school, the art room smelled like acrylic paint, wet paper, and the coffee Ms. Whitmore always kept beside her desk.
Students were arranging their portfolios along the long tables.
I placed my folder at the end.
Ms. Whitmore approached, wearing her usual paint-stained cardigan.
“Good morning, Imani. Where's the portrait?””
I opened the folder.
She looked down.
Her smile disappeared.
“Oh, sweetheart.””
I swallowed.
“I'm sorry.””
She lifted her eyes.
“Why are you apologizing?””
I showed her the torn paper.
“My brother ripped it last night.””
She carefully examined the edges.
“He did this deliberately?””
I nodded.
Ms. Whitmore pulled out a chair.
“Tell me exactly what happened.””
I explained the wall, the poster, and how my mother had allowed Cameron to destroy the drawing.
I told her about the school portal, too.
When I showed her the activity history, she leaned closer.
“Someone accessed your account after you finished the submission?””
“Yes.””
“And removed the artwork?””
“Yes.””
She looked at me for a moment.
Then she closed the laptop.
“Imani, I want you to understand something. A damaged piece of artwork is not the same thing as an artist who has failed.””
My eyes burned.
“But the review is today.””
“We can still review the photograph and the surviving original. I'll document what happened to the physical piece.””
She paused.
“Do you have any idea why your brother would access your account?””
I looked at the screen.
“No. Not yet.””
Ms. Whitmore nodded.
“Then let's not make assumptions. But I want you to keep every screenshot.””
She opened the school portal again.
“There's something else I need to check.””
“What?””
She turned the laptop toward me.
“The system shows that your submission wasn't simply removed. Someone attempted to replace it with another file.””
I leaned closer.
A new document appeared in the activity history.
It had been uploaded at 11:52 p.m.
Five minutes after Cameron accessed my account.
The document's title made my heart stop.
*CAMERON_RUSSELL_ART_PORTFOLIO.pdf*
I stared at it.
“Why would my brother upload his portfolio to my account?””
Ms. Whitmore didn't answer immediately.
She clicked the file details.
A thumbnail appeared.
It showed a basketball poster.
The same poster Cameron had wanted to hang above my grandmother's portrait.
But underneath the image was something I hadn't expected.
A handwritten dedication.
And a name.
*Artist: Cameron Russell.*
I stared at the screen.
My brother hadn't just destroyed my artwork.
He had tried to put his own name where mine belonged.
And suddenly, the question wasn't why he hated my grandmother's portrait.
It was why he needed my school portfolio in the first place.
Ms. Whitmore opened the document's submission details.
May you like
Then she turned toward me.
“Imani, I think you need to see who this file was actually submitted to.””
