A Secret Sketchbook and Stubborn Dreams

The next day was a holiday, and for once, I didn't have to rush anywhere. Despite that, I woke up way earlier than usual. The sky outside was still dark, and my siblings were fast asleep. I tossed and turned, hoping to drift back into slumber, but every time I closed my eyes, Emerald's words rang in my ears: Drawing is lame… We'll help you find a better hobby.

Frustrated, I sat up and flicked on the lamp. The dim light threw long shadows across my room, and as I stared at the wall, my imagination took over. The shadow of the lamp curved oddly, and suddenly, I pictured a person sitting with a steaming teacup, lost in thought. Without hesitation, I grabbed my sketchbook and started drawing.

For the next hour, I was completely immersed. The lines came to life under my pencil, each stroke capturing the serenity of the imagined figure. When I finished, I couldn't help but smile. "Sketching will be my secret," I whispered to myself. "I'll just tell others something else when they ask about my hobby."

Just then, I heard a creaking sound from outside my room. Probably Mom getting up for a glass of water. I quickly tucked my sketchbook under my mattress and turned off the lamp. "I should sleep before she finds out," I muttered, snuggling back under the covers.

For the first time in days, I slept soundly, waking only when the sun was high.

When I finally got out of bed, it was nearly noon. As I descended the stairs, the smell of eggs and toast wafted through the house. Everyone was seated at the dining table, already halfway through breakfast.

"You finally woke up, Hope. I was about to come and drag you out of bed if you didn't show up soon," Mom said, setting a plate down for me.

"Yeah, I played a lot yesterday. I guess I was just really tired," I said, yawning as I sat down.

Marie, ever the perfect older sister, decided this was the perfect time to rat me out. "Mom, Hope didn't do her homework yet. Miss Collins told me she never memorizes her science lessons and is always doodling in her textbook."

Heat rose to my cheeks as I shot Marie a glare. "Shut up, you snitch!"

"Hope! Mind your words," Mom snapped. "First, you neglect your work, and then you call your sister names? Finish your breakfast quickly, and you're going to start studying right after. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Mom," I grumbled, shoving a piece of toast into my mouth.

When Mom turned away, I stuck my tongue out at Marie. She smirked triumphantly.

"Mom, Hope's making faces at me!" Marie tattled again.

"No, I'm not! Marie's lying!" I protested.

Dad sighed and folded his newspaper. "Cut it out, both of you."

Marie and I exchanged a quick look, both of us saying, "Okay, Dad," in unison.

After breakfast, I trudged up to my room with my textbooks. I started with the easy subjects—art and literature—finishing them quickly. But when it came time for science, I groaned. Flipping through the pages, I realized Miss Collins had covered an overwhelming amount in just one class.

"I'll just start with the diagrams," I told myself, doodling Einstein's famous photo on the corner of the page. Before I knew it, I had given him a witch's hat and turned his mustache into a wiggly worm. I giggled at my handiwork, completely forgetting about memorizing the actual lesson.

The sun was beginning to set when Mom walked in, catching me mid-doodle.

"Have you memorized your science lesson yet?" she asked, her arms crossed.

Startled, I fumbled with the book. "Almost, Mom. I just need a little more time. But I have done all the homework and memorized all the lesson of the other subjects."

Mom wasn't buying it. She snatched the textbook from my hands and flipped through the pages until she found my altered portrait of Einstein. She held it up, raising an eyebrow.

"'Almost done,' huh?" she said, her tone sharp. "You would've been done if you weren't wasting time with this useless doodling. You can always draw after studying, Hope."

"It's not useless!" I protested, slamming my hands on the desk. "Science is boring! Looking at it just makes me want to draw something better."

Mom's expression darkened. "Boring? It's an important subject! If you actually paid attention in class, you'd find it interesting. Be more like your sister. Marie is always scoring high marks because she focuses. Meanwhile, you're wasting your potential on this drawing nonsense. Start reading different books as a hobby like Marie. It's a good hobby."

Her words hit a nerve. "It's not nonsense! I love drawing! And I'm trying my best—I'm just not Marie!"

Before she could respond, I stormed out of the room and up to my bed. Tears blurred my vision as I buried my face in the pillow.

"Hope! Get back here!" Mom yelled from downstairs. "Don't you dare walk away when I'm talking to you!"

But I ignored her.

Marie's PoV:

I was in the living room when I heard Mom yelling. It wasn't unusual for Hope to get scolded, but this time, Mom sounded genuinely upset. I put down my book and approached her.

"What happened?" I asked. "Why are you so upset, Mom? Did Hope break something again?"

Mom let out a long sigh, sitting down on the sofa. "No, she didn't. It's the same old story. She throws a tantrum whenever I tell her to focus on her studies instead of wasting time doodling."

"Well, you shouldn't be surprised—it's Hope," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't worry too much. I'll talk to her. She'll understand eventually that you're doing this for her own good."

Mom gave me a weak smile. "I hope so, Marie. I just want her to have a stable future. Art won't pay the bills."

I nodded, though part of me couldn't help but wonder if we were being too hard on her.

Hope's PoV:

I stayed in my room for the rest of the day, refusing to come down even when Mom called me for dinner.

By nightfall, the house was quiet, and I finally pulled out my sketchbook. Tracing my fingers over the drawing I'd made that morning, I whispered to myself, "It's not useless. It's not."

The shadowed figure with the teacup stared back at me, a reminder of the part of me I couldn't give up, no matter what anyone said.

As I turned the page, I started a new drawing, letting my pencil flow freely. Each line felt like defiance, a silent promise to myself: I won't stop.