Chapter 2

2

"That sounds fair, Jade," Zoe chirped. "Let's go with the classics: Family, Friendship, and Love."

I didn't smile. "Fine. Round one: Family. We each get a laptop, and we sketch simultaneously in front of everyone."

"I have no problem with that," she replied confidently.

Two desks were brought out. We sat facing each other.

I closed my eyes, visualizing my design, and began to draw with lightning speed.

I figured if someone was spying on my screen, they'd have to follow my movements. She would always be one step behind. Her lie would fall apart in real-time.

Thirty minutes in, I was almost done. Suddenly, Zoe stood up with a triumphant smile.

"Judges, I'm finished."

My heart skipped a beat as her design appeared on the massive screen. It was my work.

But I wasn't even done yet. How had she finished my uncompleted drawing perfectly?

"Let me explain the concept," Zoe told the captivated audience. "This platinum arc with a central diamond represents a story about my mother."

"When she was in labor with me, the doctors said I was stubborn and wouldn't come out. My dad called me a 'rock in a tailpipe,' but my mom told him I'd grow up to be as resilient as a diamond."

I felt like I was being suffocated. That was my story. That was my mother's story.

Was she a psychic? Was this some kind of black magic?

Zoe glanced at me, her eyes gleaming with a silent taunt: "What are you going to do about it?"

The monitors switched to my screen, and the room erupted in laughter.

"Holy crap, she really is a thief! Her drawing is exactly the same, and she couldn't even finish it. How pathetic!"

I looked at Grandma Evelyn. She let out a long, disappointed sigh.

Ever since my mother died, I hadn't known the warmth of a family. Only Evelyn treated me like her own blood.

She had even promised to give me her company shares after the wedding so Caleb couldn't mistreat me. Now, even she was turning away.

I couldn't let this happen. I forced my brain to work.

Maybe my father told her about my mother's story. But that didn't explain the identical sketches.

"I'll take the loss for this round," I said, my voice cold. "Next round: Friendship. This time, we use paper and pencils. Hand-drawn."

If she was using some high-tech AI to predict my digital strokes, she couldn't do that with a physical pencil.