For the remaining months of his senior year, Davanté barely spoke to anyone. Lionel, sensing that he needed his space, gently left Davanté alone. Even Vanessa kept her distance. And as long as Davanté remained obedient to Aunt Thelma, she also let him be.
Davanté turned his attention to his schoolwork. His grades had been slipping. He had missed many assignments and could not remember the last time he studied for a test. As usual, Mr. Parkman stepped in to persuade his other teachers to give him extra credit to improve his grades.
Mrs. Beauchmont kept her word and set up a small workplace near the gym wall. She recruited several students from the lower grades to help him. Davanté ordered them about, assigning each one a section of the wall to paint.
Balancing on the ladder that the school's utility department provided to him, Davanté skillfully outlined his work on the wall with soft yellow spray paint. The outline itself was a piece of work.
Davanté had finally achieved his idea. He started at one point, at the top of the wall, then drew a strangely beautiful rose with one continuous line. The petals of the rose were oddly shaped, at some points they were sharp, and at other points they were soft and round.
He used various colors, blending them together to create a colorful piece. The fascination of his work was found within the work itself. Davanté drew small figures, shapes, lines, circles, and even miniature portraits within the rose.
Mrs. Beauchmont allowed Davanté and his workers freedom to come in at any time to finish it. She made sure to station guards around his work so that no unauthorized student could come near it.
He found his work to be wholly cathartic. As he moved through the weeks and months, Davanté welcomed a wave of peace in his mind. Although he was not ready to resume his former relationships, he held no grudges against anyone.
Most evenings Davanté was still at school. He and a few of his workers were putting the finishing touches on the wall. Mrs. Beauchmont had ordered the stadium lights to be turned on at night and pointed in the wall's direction.
On one of those nights, Davanté's phone buzzed in his pocket. He stopped to see who it was. He saw a phone number he vaguely recognized. It took Davanté several minutes to realize that it was Clarence.
At first, Davanté let it go to voicemail. Then the phone rang again. It was the same phone number. Davanté sighed, then answered it.
“Hello?” said Davanté.
“Davanté, it's me, Clarence,” he said.
“What's going on?”
“Well, I haven't spoken to you in a while and I missed you. I also wanted to apologize for the things I said the last time we met. It was wrong of me. I was just angry. I should have never said those things.”
“It's okay, Clarence. I'm sorry about your car, too. I was wrong to hit you. I was just angry, too.”
“Well, I guess we're just a bunch of angry dudes!”
“Yeah, but I'm not angry anymore, Clarence.”
“Neither am I, Vanté.”
“Did you get your car fixed?”
“Sort of. It's still at the shop. I'm working off the money to pay for it. Jeremy, I mean, Mr. Kettles loaned me a car.”
“Oh. Aunt Thelma told me about you and Mr. Kettles...how you guys always knew each other and stuff. She told me everything.”
“Vanté, I didn't want you to know all of that. I didn't want you to know it like that. I'm sorry, man.”
“There's nothing to be sorry about. Honestly, it's in the past. There is nothing you can do about it. There is nothing anybody can do about it. All I can do is focus on the present.”
“Wow. You sound like an old man! Who told you to grow up?”
Davanté smiled. “I guess I just needed time to think about stuff.”
“I know what you mean. I did the same. And I was ashamed for treating you like that. Whether you regard me as your father or not, I still need to set an example at all times.”
Davanté did not respond.
“So, what are you up to?” asked Clarence.
“I'm just doing school work. You know, I'll be graduating in three weeks. I'd like you to come. I'd like you to see what I'm working on.”