“You’ll Never Know Until You Try”

Start or end your story with someone saying “You’ll never know unless you try.”

— —-Part One— —— Inspiration—---

“You’ll never know unless you try.” The absolute most cléche sentence that ever left my dads’ mouths. Of course they would say that. They were both incredibly successful, each owning a tech company with a net worth of at least 3 million. 

Living in the shadow of them hasn’t been the easiest thing in my life. Maybe it would be different if I was their actual kid. But since I’m adopted, people expect me to be some sort of miracle child. “Why would they choose to adopt a kid? She’s got to be something special” that’s basically all I hear. 

But having two amazing and loving parents isn’t the worst thing in the world. I’m never neglected, never having to worry about if I have a ride somewhere, or if I’ll have enough to get lunch. Still….I just have this deep calling, this feeling that I could be doing great things. It wants me to answer it, but anytime it gets close I feel a wave of self-doubt, peoples thoughts about me, and my own fears push me back right where I started.  

Of course I never tell them this. They would just try and help and I’d feel like a pity case. So I keep quiet and act like everything’s fine. Like I’m not slowly drowning in my incredibly low self esteem and doubt.  This is most likely why it came as a shock that I called a family meeting. 

I sit at the dining room table, one hand folded over the other, trying to appear as composed and calm as I can with my nonstop mind. Finally, both my dads enter, with a worried but loving expression planted on their face. 

“Hello Ace. I hope you have been having a pleasant day.” My father says with as much control as possible. He was always the one to give me just as much privacy as he possibly could. Meanwhile my other dad slides next to me in a fit of panic and presses a sweaty hand to my forehead.

“MY POOR BABY.  ARE YOU SICK HONEY? Your head feels burning hot….. LET ME GO GET SOME ADVIL.” He basically screams in my ear and runs off into one of our random hallways. 

I try to contain myself but completely break looking at my father’s “I won’t laugh, I won’t laugh” expression on his face. We both double over in laughter, nearly falling to the floor.

Dad rushes in, full panic on his face. “Are you okay Acey?”

I let out my last giggle and try to collect the pieces of myself that I just threw around the room. “Yes dad, I'm fine.”

He looked unconvinced but relaxed a tiny bit more. 

“Well, why did you call us here dear?” Father says, giving me a warm and curious smile. 

I return a smile,  with a new found confidence. “Well, dads. I have been thinking…. And I think that I could be doing something more with my life….”

My dad cuts me off, with a slight rush of urgency and panic, “Honey. You do plenty. You are only 17 and graduating this year top of your class. And you got that scholarship to one of the most prestigious schools in the state. Plus you are one of the best cooks I know….”

“Give her a chance to explain herself for goodness sake.” My father says, looking deeply into dad’s eyes. He sighs, completely melted from fathers look, and gestures for me to continue on.

“I- i am aware that you both wish for me to take over the tech company after college graduation…. but I- was actually thinking about… well- I wanted to ask for your blessing to… see there’s an art gallery opening, it’s incredibly well-know and they asked me to come and share one of my paintings.. My dream has always been to be a painter- and this is an amazing opportunity for me. So I wanted your blessing…?” I stutter out, convinced that I would be completely and utterly disowned. 

They both gave each other a silent look and then smiled at me with about as much excitement that I had feared. 

“Of course we would support you! That’s too great an opportunity to pass up. We love you so much and think you could do amazing things! I didn’t realize they had such a famous art gallery in town!”

My eyes widen and barely make out, “it’s actually in New York…”

“WHAT?!”

——-Part Two——— Stolen—-----

I finally made it. I was actually standing in the middle of this insane art gallery- with one of MY paintings shown for all to see. Well, okay maybe it was kinda in the corner…. but still! The gallery opening only started 15 minutes ago, and a small crowd has already gathered around my display. My first and only reaction is to scream in absolute excitement, but I figured I should keep myself collected and join the crowd to see their thoughts.

“Such a beautiful abstract piece. It perfectly captures the reaction it’s hoping for.”

“I know! And that color contrast is absolutely astonishing. Who could have created such a masterpiece?” 

I open my mouth, ready to give them the shock of their lives that a young 17 yr old created this when I got cut off by an ominous voice. 

“I created this masterpiece.”

I look behind me to see this man in an overly exaggerated purple suit. The golden thread around his shoulders broke out down his arm like strands of light. If i hadn’t just been robbed of my credit, maybe I would have been impressed. But all I felt was annoyance. 

The people staring at MY piece of artwork all turned to face him, giving him praise and asking where his inspiration came from. I tried to keep my temper but they started saying how famous he was going to get and I snapped.

“ACTUALLY- I made this artwork.” 

Everyone turned on me, looking in complete shock. They looked me up and down and all started laughing. My eyes widened when I realized that they were laughing AT ME. The man took a step forward and looked at me, directly into my eyes, and spat on my face. 

“As if a young orphan rat like you could be anything but a disappointment.” 

I sat there, absolutely astonished at how he knew I was an orphan, when I felt the presence of two security guards behind me.

“Please escort this girl out of the premises. But be careful, I’m afraid any more blows to the head and she will have utterly lost her mind. Well, more than she already has.” He smirked at me and turned, continuing the conversation with reporters questioning him about the art piece. 

“And who the hell are you?” I yell in complete anger as I feel all my dreams slipping through my fingertips. 

“I own this gallery.” He says, smiling that condescending, coldhearted grin and turning his back on me. 

—--------PART THREE—------------------- Rock Bottom—----

It’s been nearly 2 weeks since the incident at the art gallery. Everywhere I go, all I see is pictures of art, MY art, and that same son of a biscuit who stole it from me. Apparently he was an artist whose career was on it’s way down, until he made the “Masterpiece of the century”. I looked out my bedroom window and saw his smile on a billboard across the street. That same smile that he used as he smashed my dreams. 

I violently slam the curtain over it and lay on my bed, letting my angry tears fall. At first I wanted to do something. ANYTHING. But It’s hopeless. There’s nothing I can do. Who would believe some orphaned and adopted 17 year old over one of the most influential artists in history? I wouldn’t. 

I hear a light tap on my door, and sit up sighing. “Dad, I know it’s you. Come on in” To my surprise, both of them come in and sit on my bed, on either side of me. 

“We’re so sorry honey. We know how much you really wanted to have your own gallery.” Dad says, as they both give me a tight squeeze. 

“Yeah- maybe it’s just not cut out for me.” I force a small smile, and hold myself from sobbing right there. Crying won’t make it better. Dad matches the smile and gently stands up to leave. 

“You always have the business…” He says, trying to be comforting. I bite my lip and nod, trying not to look overly pissed. As soon as the door clicks, I look up at father, who's just been sitting there, seemingly deep in thought. 

“You… you really want to paint. Don’t you?” 

I nod nervously. “ Listen, I know you and Dad worked really hard to make this company… but you always taught me to follow my dreams.” 

He looks at me thoughtfully, then sighs and stretches out his arms. “Then why aren’t you?”

I look up- clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

“This high and mighty painter stole credit for YOUR art, right?” I nod. “Well, what are you going to do about it? I definitely didn’t raise you to sit here and mope around. So, Ace, what’s your plan?”

“W-what? Plan? He stole my credit dad. How the heck am I supposed to expect people to believe me over him?” 

“Simple. You don’t.You have to prove that he is a dirty liar. And you have to do it very publicly…” His voice trailed off and a mischievous smile crossed his face. 

“You have a plan, don’t you?” I mutter in surprise, fear, and a little bit of excitement. 

“Remember what Dad told you, You’ll never know until you try.” He winked at me and walked out. 

—------ Part Four—---- Redemption—------

When he said something public, he wasn’t kidding. It took a ton of phone calls and favors called in, but my dads managed to get me a ticket to one of the most prestigious art conventions in the world, where low and behold, the special guest is none other than a familiar smirking purple suit. 

I was still nervous out of my mind, but I had everything I needed in my bag and was just waiting for my turn to go up for the Q&A. The girl ahead of me, probably a reporter due to her excessive clipboard and array of pens, walked up the mic and started asking her questions. 

“What’s your inspiration for this piece?” She looked up to where Mr. Purple Suit and MY painting were standing on the stage.

“Well, I spent many hours staring at this coffee shop, until I started to notice the essence of the coffee piling out each time the door opened. I wondered how such a beautiful thing had gone unnoticed, so I sat right outside the door for nearly 8 hours and, well, I must say it was worth it.” He lied smoothie and took a sip of his water.

I took literally everything in me not to laugh. Coffee? This idiot thought my drawing of clouds was coffee smoke? This was going to be too easy. 

After finishing the last of her questions, she thanked him and sat down. Someone came over and gestured for me to go up. I took a deep breath and confidently walked up to the podium. He seemed so unconcerned, I don’t think he recognized me. I started off with my questions. 

“When did you first paint this?” I asked, a smile plastered to my face.

“Sometime last summer. I saved it for my previous art gallery to keep it as a surprise.” He said, barely looking up from the imaginary dust on his nails.

“Mhm. And uh- what artistic utensils did you use?” I asked, my smile becoming more and more real.

He looked barely over to the painting, surely analyzing it. “Oil pastels with a mix of charcoals.”

“Interesting, and… what did you call this piece again?” 

He suddenly looked up directly at me, and recognition hit his face. His expression went from livid, to panic, to almost guilt, and back to that same condescending smile.

“Caffeinated trails.” His eyes boring into mine. 

“That’s rather weird. That doesn’t actually look like coffee steam to me.”

“Well it takes an eye of a genius to see it.” He said, a clear edge to his voice.

“Actually I think you made up what it was, just as you made up the fact that YOU painted it.” The crowd let out a small gasp.

“Aw, do you feel so hateful with your life that you had to come here making some utterly ridiculous claim?” 

“No actually.” I say as I slowly make my way on to the stage. Guards started moving towards me, but Mr. Purple suit stopped them.

“Let’s see what this clearly insane girl thinks will prove this painting is hers.” 

I smiled sweetly at him and moved to the painting. 

“The thing is… an artist marks their artwork.”

“Yes, and I cleary did” He said, gesturing to the signature at the bottom of the painting. 

“No, that was added on later. See MY paintings have a very specific signature.” I say than smugly dump a bottle of water all over the painting. 

The crowd goes crazy and the dude screams. “ARE YOU INSANE?!”

Slowly everyone quiets down as they see something appear in the top corner of the painting as the water slowly slides down. 

“You see, I sign my paintings with this specific marker, only visible when water is added. And I sign it with only my first name. Ace.” I look up grinning at him.

The painting’s corner clearly shows the letters A C E in a very faint gray. The crowd gasps and starts to hoot for me as guards come to take him off stage. 

“But - h-ho-how?” He asks, completely bewildered. 

“ I always make sure that MY paintings aren’t stolen. Next time maybe paint something original. I doubt you could- but I guess you’ll never know unless you try!” I say with a laugh as he is taken away.

So maybe it’s not so cliche after all.