Monsieur Étienne gave us a lecture on the importance of letting our personas reflect through our artwork, saying that it'd be a worthless mess of paint if it hadn't any character. I was a good artist. But I also wanted to learn how to be a great artist, but Tori's words rang in my ears. I saw her work beside me. She was a good artist, too using greys and whites to create the perfect gloomy landscape, if an artist likeherwas intimidated by River then how talented could he really be?
I glared at him. He was my competition. I made it my mission to know what was so good about him and his work. After all, he was just a human boy, like everyone else in this class. But it was becoming more and more difficult to deny that It was as if God had carved him differently and paid more attention to detail while creating him. His cheekbones were sharp, his eyes the palest shade of blue in existence, his hair the darkest brown….almost black. His lips, however, validated his humanity. They were full, tinted rose and vulnerable.
"Miss Nnandi!" Monsieur Étienne called, pulling me out of my trance. "Why don't you show everyone a piece of yours so we can properly welcome you to our class?" He suggested.
"Of course." I agreed confidently, reminding myself that confidence is always crucial.
I took out my painting, the one that earned me a place at this academy, in the hopes that it would speak for itself. I stood up and made my way to the front of the class, unveiling my painting for everyone to see. It stirred an uneasy feeling inside of me. I felt as though I were standing here naked in front of everyone to make judgments on my bare body— because my art was an extension of my very being.
Monsieur Étienne took a long, contemplative look at my piece. The ambrosias I'd painted began to reflect in the stormy grey of his eyes.
"What is the name of this piece, Miss Nnandi?" He asked as his expression varied from shock to wonder.
"Lost Girl," I replied bluntly, not making eye contact with anyone in the class just in case they didn't like what they saw.
"Are you the girl in this painting?" He asked with a contemplative finger on his chin.
"I was, once." I replied honestly, clearing my throat, "Not anymore."
"Ahh, I see, tres bien ma fille!" He clapped, and the class did so as well, almost mechanically. I looked up and took notice of River’s usually expressionless face. His jaw tightened, and he looked intrigued yet slightly bothered. And just as quickly as the signs of emotion flashed through his eyes, they also faded away, and he went back to his usual unbothered expression.
"Merci Monsieur, it means a lot to me," I assured him. He placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered something only meant for me to hear.
"You're very talented. I expect nothing less of perfection from you."
I nodded. Expectations of perfection were nothing new to me. I made my way back to my seat. I turned to notice River's eyes still on me. I turned to him and gave him a slight cocky smile. He narrowed his eyes at me before facing the front. He thought I didn't notice— but he smiled back, just a little.
Once art was over, I made my way to the cafeteria to get something to eat, I was starving, and I hoped they'd at least have something good. I got two slices of toast and strawberry jam. Just as I was about to take a seat at an empty table, I heard a voice call out to me.
"Where're you going Armani? come and join us!" Keomi beamed, and I smiled, slightly relieved that I didn't have to sit alone on my first day.
Just as I made my way over to them, I noticed that there was someone else seated with them, the other girl from the photo whose name I couldn't quite remember. She was gorgeous and there was no denying it. Her thick curls of strawberry blonde hair swept past her shoulders like carefully spun bundles of gold. Her eyes were a fierce forest green and demanded attention, her skin a fair ivory and thin lips rambling on about God knows what. She wore a revealing black top and a denim Calvin Klein jacket that hung just above her jeans. Her confidence was undeniable and radiated through me.
"Geneviève, I'd like you to meet our new friend, Armani," Merilla spoke, and the girl looked me up and down as though she were scanning me for any imperfections.
"Hey, it's really nice to meet you," I said, taking a seat at one of the two empty chairs beside Fabian.
"The pleasure is all mine." She replied, reaching outwards to shake my hand, her palm was cold to the touch, and it made me want to jerk away for a second. Her voice carried a thick French accent yet was clear like bubbling silver.
I took a look at Fabian, and he gave me a reassuring smile, kicking playfully at my foot underneath the table.
"Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, vacationing in Bali with the governor's son Pierre, I would let him tie me up, but heaven knows he couldnevertie me down." She chirped excitedly,
"Was he good?" Merilla asked curiously,
"Mer!" She chuckled, "Honte à toi à lady never kisses and tells."
"How'd you end up on vacation with the governor's son?" I asked, and she shot me a slightly irritated glare.
"Papa and the governor of Gotland county are old friends." She clarified, and I nodded.
"American?" She asked bitterly,
"Kenyan," I corrected, taking offence to her condescending tone.
"Oh wow, that's very far away. How did you end up here?" She questioned, taking a sip from her flavoured water.
"I'm here on a scholarship for my art– this is an arts academy isn't it?" I said with a slight laugh.
