She raised the can.
Gia read it twice, then folded it carefully into her pocket. She didn’t tell anyone what had almost happened. Instead, she found Oxuanna at lunch, sat down across from her, and said nothing for a long while. Then she offered her half of an orange. gia love and oxuanna envy
It started small. A whispered comment here, a cold shoulder there. When Gia won the art scholarship, Oxuanna said it was because the judges pitied her “sad, soft drawings.” When Gia comforted a crying freshman, Oxuanna rolled her eyes and called it performance. But no one else saw a performance. They saw Gia, real and good, and that only made Oxuanna’s bitterness grow. She raised the can
That night, after everyone had gone home, Oxuanna returned to the square. She carried a can of black paint. Her hand shook as she pried the lid off. She doesn’t deserve this, Oxuanna told herself. No one works that hard and stays that happy. It’s fake. It has to be. Instead, she found Oxuanna at lunch, sat down
Years later, the mural still hangs in the town square. The flowers have faded a little. But underneath, in the tiniest script, someone has added two lines: