I shake my head again roughly. Seriously, what is wrong with me? I need to stop thinking about Waldon. I need to totally cut the cord, like I’ve done with John. Mrs. Finnamore and Jim aren’t a part of my life anymore. They aren’t a part of this dream.
I get to my feet again—staying still is the enemy—and wander determinedly until one o’clock, when I make my way back to the museum entrance and nervously ask a worker where the new interns go. He directs me to a room in the Egyptian Art wing and tells me to look for a woman named Benedita Ferreira.
A murmur of voices welcomes me into the room. There are a few tourists milling around, peering at the exhibits, but there’s also a slightly awkward-looking group in the corner who must be my fellow interns. Most of them look younger than me, but to my relief there’s a man and a woman who look about my age.
I smooth down my hair and approach them nervously. The man who looks about my age, a tall Asian guy with short dark hair, looks around as I approach.
“Here for the internship?” he guesses.
I nod. “Yeah.”
He gives me a wide smile. “Us too.”
He introduces himself as David, and the rest of the group offer me their names in rapid succession. There are so many of them that only a few of them stick in my mind, like Leah, the woman nearest my age, and Katarina, a short, dark-haired girl with glasses and a really friendly smile.
“Where are you from?” David asks me.
Before I can answer him, an older woman with an official-looking name tag strides toward the group.
“Welcome,” she says, smiling at all of us. She has long dark hair, a stylish suit, and high heels that click along the marble. “Are you my new interns?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Leah says, while the rest of us murmur in agreement.
“Wonderful. Do we have everyone yet?” She counts aloud. “Eighteen, nineteen—yes, that looks like all of you. Please, gather around.”
We shuffle into a half-circle around her. One girl jostles for a spot in the center, making a big show of taking a notebook out of her bag to take notes. David, who’s standing next to me, catches my eye and grins. I hide a smile. There’s one in every group.
“I’m Benedita Ferreira,” the woman introduces herself. “Program coordinator for internships, and curator specializing in early-twentieth-century art. How are you all doing today?”
“Nervous,” I murmur under my breath, while the rest of the interns say, “Good.”
Benedita tells us a bit about the internship program and then we do a round of introductions. I’m a bit anxious hearing all the things that everyone else has done. Half of them have interned or worked in museums before, and most of them are from the States, except for David, who moved to the US from China as a kid, and a girl named Gabriela, who’s from Mexico. They all tilt their heads a bit when I say I was born in Nova Scotia.
“Is that a city?” the girl with the notebook asks.
“It’s a province in Canada. But I was living in Prince Edward Island—that’s another province—before I came here.”
“Ooh, like inAnne of Green Gables,” Katarina says.
I smile at her. “Yep.”
Benedita leads us out of the Egyptian Art wing through a locked door, which opens on a long, plain hallway lined with doors. Some of the doors seem to be offices—I see a man talking on the phone at his desk, and a woman typing at a computer—while others kind of look like laboratories, with long white countertops and rows of glass cupboards. I feel a stir of excitement. This is so cool. Like going behind the scenes at Disney World or something.
We end up in a small classroom, where Benedita hands out shiny folders with our names on them. Inside, there are badges and brochures and a schedule of activities.
“As you can see in your schedules, you’ll spend time in every wing of the museum, but I encourage you all to find a particular area that really interests you and dive into it as much as you can. You’ll mostly be shadowing curators for the first few months, but down the road, there will be opportunities to get involved in research projects and acquisitions—perhaps even to help design installations.”
A fizz of excitement runs through me as I read through all the different wings I’ll get to see. Arms and Armor, Ancient Near Eastern Art, Drawings and Prints... they all sound amazing. I don’t know how I’m going to pick just one to focus on.
You wish you could do a lot of things.
John’s voice pops into my mind out of nowhere. I shake it away irritably. I’m not going to think about John right now. Or later, for that matter.
“For your first month, you only have one piece of homework,” Benedita says. “And that’s to come up with an idea for an exhibit. This is an exercise in creativity, so don’t be limited by feasibility orbudget. At the end of the month, you’ll each present your exhibit idea to the group, for feedback and discussion.”
An interested murmur passes through the room—several interns sit up a little, looking pleased, as though they already have great ideas. I feel a stab of nerves—all I can think of right now are exhibits of barrels. But I’m sure with a little bit of time, I can come up with something great.
Benedita pulls down a projector screen at the front of the room, and for the next hour, we watch a video on the history of the Met. Notebook Girl (whose real name, I think, is Lydia) scribbles furious notes, as do some of the others, but I just rest my chin in my hands and listen. Every word is like a balm on my soul. I’ve always wanted to be a part of something big and important, and watching the video, learning about all the amazing artwork and sculpture and pieces of history the museum’s housed... it’s every bit as wonderful as I always hoped.
