4. It's a Deal

"BUBS! It's amazing!"

"Huh?" I remark not understanding what was going on.

"The painting! Silly!" She says pulling me into my hidden room after her.

"Ok. So are you going to tell me why you wanted it?" I ask.

"So as you know, my dad is the curator at the art gallery. What if I were to tell you that his upcoming exhibit will be featuring Caravaggio?" She remarks bouncing on her heels.

"What about it?" I ask, feeling as though I was missing something.

"The Musicians is just one of the paintings that will be on display."

"Ok... Your point?"

"What if we did a little switch?"

"What? Why?" 

"Do you know how much these paintings sell for?"

"Ya. But we don't need the money."

"No. We don't. But others do."

"Like who?"

"The poor of course." She remarks as if I'm the confusing one.

"Ok. But still. What is a poor person going to do with a piece of art? Hang it in their cardboard box?"

"No, silly! We can sell the painting and give the money away."

"Or better yet, we can just make a donation somewhere. We can do that without becoming art thieves." I remark.

"You're scared." She says, crossing her arms.

"What! No, I'm not. I'm being practical. My family has more than enough money. I'm sure if I just go ask my dad, he would be more than willing to write a cheque. He sees it as a tax write-off anyways. So he won't care." I say, walking out of my hidden room to head towards my bedroom door to go find my dad.

"Don't worry. I understand if you can't." She says, turning away from me.

I stop in my tracks, as I realize what she's trying to do.

"It probably isn't good enough anyways." She remarks, goading me on.

"Ryles." I say, gritting my teeth.

"No. It's all right. I understand that you just can't do it." She says, pushing my buttons.

"Ryles. Stop. You're not doing this." I remark. I know what she's trying to do. She's trying to goad me into doing it. She knows if she says I can't do it, that I'll want to prove her wrong. 

"No, it's ok. I know you're not up for it." She says, making me close my eyes in frustration. A take a deep breath, trying to calm my thoughts. I try to ignore her and focus on doing what's right.

"How would we even get away with it? You're talking about forging a masterpiece. Surely, they'll be able to figure out it's a forgery." I say, trying to show her the error of her plan.

"Have you seen your work? It's identical. Flawless even. There's no way anyone would figure it out." She remarks, piquing my interest.

"How would we even go about doing it?" I question.

"I can get my dad's access code to get us into the building. We would just need you to hack into their security cameras to loop the feeds. We would be in and out under twenty minutes." She states.

I walk closer to my painting, wondering if it's true. Would people be able to notice?

"One time." I state, seeing it as a challenge to myself. I'm equally curious to see whether or not we could actually get away with it. Rylee is quick to react, jumping up and down, and clapping as she celebrates.

"But what about your dad?"

"What about him?"

"Aren't you worried that it may fall back on him, and he could lose his job?" I ask.

"Actually, it was his idea."

"What? What do you mean?" I ask, surprised.

"My mom's sick." She remarks, growing serious all of a sudden.

"What? Is she going to be ok?" I ask, going over to sit beside her on the edge of my bed.

"We don't know. But the prognosis doesn't look good."

"What do you mean? What does she have?"

"Huntington's Disease." She says, nearly in tears.

I may not know a lot about medicine, but I do know the basics. I know Huntington's Disease cannot be cured. Rather once a person is diagnosed, it's more about making them comfortable than treating it. 

I reach over and pull her into my arms, hugging her.

"How long does she have?"

"The doctors think five years at best. They said that they caught it too late."

"What are your parents going to do?"

"My dad found out about an experimental program that has had some success. He wants my mom to try it out, the problem is, it costs too much."

"My dad..." I begin, however, Rylee shakes her head at me, getting me to stop abruptly.

"I know about the funding. However, his grant doesn't include treatments such as this one, as Huntington's is considered to be fatal. There is no life-saving surgery that can be done."

"I can talk..." I begin, suggesting that I can talk to my dad about including Rylee's mother as part of the grant, however, Rylee cuts me off.

"No. My dad already talked to him. However, he said his hands are tied. If he made this exception for us, he would have to make exceptions for others." She says defeated.

"I'm sure.." I begin to say, saying my dad would just give them the money without having to go through the grant.

"No. He can't. Not because he doesn't want to, but rather because it's too expensive." 

"Well, how much can it be?"

"Twenty Million." She states, making my eyes go wide.

"HOLY SH*T!" I spit out, backing away from her suddenly as my mind comes to terms with that insane number.

"FOR ONE TRIAL!?" I shout out, feeling gobsmacked. 

"Shh! Calm down!" Rylee coaxes, pulling me back to the bed.

"But seriously. Twenty MILLION dollars!" I say, exasperated, accentuating the million.

"Yes. And if we don't come up with the money soon, my mom will run out of time. She has a small window in which she's eligible for the trial. Because her condition is already so far along, she doesn't have much time to apply." Rylee explains.

I nod my head in realization, feeling sorry that she was going through all of this.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, wondering why she chose to keep this to herself.

"My dad didn't want me to. For both my mom and him. He doesn't want anyone to know just yet. Only your father knows, as he was the first person my dad went to for help. But he knew that it was a long shot. Regardless of our relationship, twenty million is a really hard ask for even the richest of people." 

"I understand, but we tell each other everything. I'm just hurt you didn't come to me sooner."

"I wanted to. But my dad didn't want me to."

"So how come you're telling me now?"

"Because we've run out of solutions. You're our last chance. My family's counting on you." She says, placing her head in her lap.

Talk about pressure. I think as I lean my head on her shoulder.

"Ok. I'll do it." I remark and watch as her expression changes from upset to happy in under a beat.

"But." I begin.

"Name it." She remarks.

"I need you to cover for me."

"Done."

"But I didn't even explain."

"Fine, then explain."

"I want to join the underground fight club. But I need you to cover for me from my brothers. They can't find out."

"Done."

"But..." I begin, knowing she's barely even listened to a word I've said.

"Bubs. It's ok. I'll do it. What you're doing for me and my family is far beyond anything I could've asked you to do. So I'll gladly do whatever it is you need me to do." She replies matter-of-factly.

"Then it's a deal." I remark, shaking her hand.