The sleek brush glided across the canvas, leaving a beautiful trail of vibrant color. A drop of bright yellow paint flew from the paintbrush, landing gently in the sea of hues. To keep the symmetry, the painter added a neon pink splash. After a few more bold lines here and there, the young artist looked up from his masterpiece.

“Finally, I’m done,” Robert sighed.

“Wow, that’s awesome!” his brother John exclaimed.

“Yeah, I guess, at least I’m done with it for now,” Robert grumbled.

“I can’t wait for you to add the second layer,” John said enthusiastically. “It’s going to look so cool.”

“I’ll finish it up tomorrow. Can you just put it up to dry?”

John placed the canvas at one of the windows of their spacious home. All throughout the room, large landscape paintings covered the walls. Smaller and more modern pieces of art sat on tables and countertops. Because their parents were art lovers, their entire house was filled with their own replicas of masterpieces. Even the front door was painted with a painting in Monet’s style.

“Let’s play some Mario Kart later,” John said.

“I can’t,” he moaned. “I have so much homework to finish first.” Robert rolled his eyes and pretended to plunge a knife into his throat.

“Alright, just tell me when you’re done. I finished all of mine at school today,” John said, walking off to his room.

John’s so lucky, Robert thought. While I have to do art homework, he gets to play Mario Kart. Why can’t I just go to public school like him? Robert went back to his handwriting technique worksheet, mumbling words as he wrote them.

“Picasso, Pacasso, Pocasso.” Why does everyone want a last name that sounds like a famous artist’s? he wondered. Why is my last name Pacasso? His thoughts were interrupted by his dad’s voice.

“Hi, Robert,” his dad called when he saw that Robert was back. “How are your classes at school going?”
Robert cringed. “Not the best.”

His dad sighed. “You have to do your best in all of your classes, you can’t just fool around and not do your homework,” he scolded. “I want the best for you, but you also have to work hard for it, ok?”

“I never wanted to take any of those fancy-pantsy classes at a fancy-pantsy private school,” Robert grumbled. “Why can’t I just be like John and go to regular school?”

“Because, well, you’re special. Plus, John isn’t even good at art. We can’t afford for two kids to take art-”
“I know,” Robert mumbled, walking off to his room. After 2 hours of furiously copying shapes from a piece of paper and memorizing art terms, he set down his pencil and pulled out a Wii remote from under his bed.
As he started up “Mario Kart 8,” he thought about what it would be like to be normal.

No more having to wake up at 5 in the morning to practice painting with dad or staying after to school to discuss the same boring stuff we went over in class with tutors. When Robert was on his final lap around Coconut Mall, his bedroom door burst open and in stomped his dad, face flushed red with anger. With one quick motion, he turned off the Wii system and stared at Robert.

“Robert Pacasso. What did you get on your quiz today? I want the truth, please.”

“Ummm, a 90 or something,” he whimpered. “Now, can I please get back to my game?’

“Young man, you are in big trouble,” his dad said. “A 68% is definitely not an acceptable score for someone in the Pacasso family.”

“I tried my best,” Robert whined.

“Well, it wasn’t enough, Robert. According to what your teacher told me, your score was 14th in your class of 20. This is unacceptable,” he said, pacing around the room. “I’m going to give you one last chance. If you can’t raise your grades quickly, I’m going to have to move you to a public school like John instead. I can’t afford pay tons of money just for you to-”

Even though Robert kept hearing his dad’s voice droning in the background, he was no longer paying attention. He knew what to do now. I’ll have no more of being an artsy Pacasso. It's time for me to be normal.

The next day, when Robert went to school, he “forgot” his homework and “misplaced” his art supplies.

“This is not acceptable. You have to remember to bring all your supplies,” his teacher said sternly.

“I’ll remember next time,” he said with a puppy dog face. I hope what dad said was right. Will I become the kid who never brings his stuff, now that I’m already the kid who never does his homework?

“I’m going to have to call your parents, you’ll have nothing to do today if you don’t have your supplies.” They can’t call Dad, he thought. He’s going to be so angry at me.

“Its ok, I’ll be ok. Really, I’ll be fine, you don’t need to call them,” Robert stuttered.

Just then, the bell rang. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go, I don’t want to be late to my sculpting class,” Robert said, opening the door.

“Remember your art supplies,” the teacher called after him. As Robert made his way to his next class, he suddenly remembered how he hadn’t even begun the 5-page worksheet that was due that day. Instead of feeling worried, Robert smiled. I should just keep on doing my normal routine. That’ll get dad to send me to public school.

“Pop quiz, guys. Everyone get out a piece of paper and a pencil, please,” called the sculpting teacher just as Robert walked in the door. “Robert Pacasso, do you have your worksheet?”

“Um, kinda,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean, kinda?”

“Not really. I didn’t bring it, I guess.”

“Please stay after class, I have to talk to you.” Who cares about that dumb assignment anyway, Robert thought. When I get out of this school and into an actual middle school, then things will clear up.

After enduring 55 minutes of torture,  Robert walked up to the front of the class, hoping that his teacher would make a big deal about his problem.

“Try your best, Robert,” urged his teacher. “It’s not that hard”

“Ok,” he mumbled. “I’ll do my best.”

School finally ended, after three grueling hours of drama, music, and drawing, Robert trudged home, shoulders sagging.

Robert walked straight into John’s room, where he saw him hunched over his homework.

“How was sculpting?”

“Fine. The teacher even talked to me after class.”

“What did he talk to you about? Your project?” John asked.

“Not really,” he mumbled.

“Robert, you have to try. Why aren’t you doing your best? I know you’re a great artist. After all, you’re a Pacasso,” said his brother, looking up.

“I don’t want to be an artist. I know everyone thinks I do, but they’re wrong. I wish I was just normal,” he whined. As he plopped down on John’s bed he told his brother about how hard it was to be the one everyone expected to carry the family name.

“I wish someone could take my place. I don’t even like art,” he said, sniffling. “I don’t get why everyone at school likes it either. Its just random scribbles on paper, if you ask me.”

“But you’re so good at it,” John exclaimed.

“Just because I’m good at it, doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Robert said, picking at a thread on his shirt. He looked around the room and saw that many of the tables had been decorated with art- signed with the name John!

“You did all of these?” he asked, staring in amazement.

“Yeah, in my spare time.”

“They’re awesome! You should take my place at art school,” Robert exclaimed, energized.

John sighed. “Dad won’t listen.”

“I can’t believe we’ve never thought of this before,” he said, wrapping his shirt around his hands. “This is going to be great.” But almost immediately he began to doubt his choice. What if Dad just ignores us? What if he gets really angry? I should have just done my best.

“So, what are we going to say to him?” Robert asked nervously.

“Just tell him we want to-”

“Are you sure he’ll listen?”

“I don’t know. I hope.”

“I hope he doesn’t get angry or anything,” Robert worried. As the two brother’s walked to their dad’s painting office, John cracked his knuckles and put on a wide smile.

“Put your game face on,” he whispered to Robert. Robert crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out.

“Let’s do this,” he replied.

“Hi, Dad,” said Robert, opening the door. His dad looked up from a soon to be masterpiece.

“Hey, Son. How was school today?”

“Fine. Me and John- I mean, John and I were thinking we could switch places in school,” Robert stuttered.

Please don’t think I’m crazy, please no. I’ll try my best at school if you switch us, Robert pleaded silently with his eyes. Mr. Pacasso looked flabbergasted.

“Why? Why would you want to, Robert? Don’t you want to carry the family name?”

“I want to switch too,” John interrupted. “I like art, and I could carry the family name instead.”

“You would be giving up all the hard work you’ve done as an artist,” Mr. Pacasso exclaimed. The famous artist sighed and slumped his shoulders. “But if that’s what you want, I don’t see why not.” The two boys stared at their dad, who had his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong dad?” Robert asked. Oh no, what did I do? Is he going to be ok? I should have just tried my best. It seemed like a long time before his dad lifted his face.

“So John, let’s start on some charcoal. I have a lot of stuff to teach you now,” said Mr. Pacasso proudly. As John eagerly took his place beside his father, Robert smiled. It’s time for me to actually try my best now.