Pinnacle (ONGOING)

Chapter Fourteen

     Professor Price had informed us that we would be diving into this new realm of "figure studying" head on without instruction, in order to see where we were in terms of skill level. I felt heady with exhilaration at the thought of showing my skill and gaining respect from my peers.

     "No no no, step back and regard your canvas." He instructed, swiping the parchment from under an unsuspecting fellow's hand, and holding it back for all to see.

     "See how hesitant these strokes are?" He motioned. "You are looking at the subject more than the paper, and it has caused the likeness to be ill proportioned." He continued, the note of scolding in his tone alluding something more suggestive to the mistake than simple error. The man blushed, brought lowly by the frail professor with the lion's constitution. Inside I smirked, smugly assessing my own drawing.

     "Mr. Cardew." Came a voice at my side, and I jumped. Craning to regard Mr. Price whom I had not heard approach. His figure loomed over my drawing with scrutiny in his little eyes.

     "What is this, exactly?" He inquired, gesturing to the juncture of the mans' thighs, which I had not been able to bring myself to observe yet.

     I blushed profusely and began to stammer.

     "This one is fresh off the teat, is he not?" He laughed, causing the other students to follow suit.

     "Son, how old are you?" He clasped his hands together, and I could feel the loaded question riding on its heels.

     "Six and ten, sir."

     "And you have one of these, do you not?"

     I paled, nodding jerkily.

     "Then I suggest you capture the entire likeness." He amended with humor, patting me roughly on the back.

     I forced myself to continue despite every fiber of my being straining to run from the room. I wanted to do anything but stare that ugly little atrocity in the face. In the midst of my efforts however, I made the mistake of taking a peek at my neighbor's work.

     "That is marvelous." I whispered, wide eyed and looked up to regard his profile.

     He was very angelic looking when he was not trying to murder you with his eyes, I thought. Though his soul was black, I added, as he didn't even give the slightest indication that he'd even heard me. I scowled, straightening and continued to sketch the appendage cradled in a mass of ginger hair. Somehow, the task appeared to be less daunting when the urge to best my neighbor burned hot in my blood.

     "Alright, men. Line your studies up on the desks, and we will critique what needs work." Mr. Price called, clapping his hands to draw our attention.

     There was an immediate wave of nervousness that swept over the rabble as everyone hesitantly shuffled to the head of the room, works in tow.

     "I was not finished yet..." A man beside me murmured.

     And though I was not the best in the class, I reveled in the tenderness that swept through me, regarding my work among other mens'. It was a dream come true, as something horrible and nasty inside of me wondered if women really weren't fit to be here.

     "It is all about getting something correct, gentleman." Mr. Price began. "Not what is most aesthetically pleasing."

     "This young man, for example, rushed the latter part of this assignment." He continued, holding aloft my drawing. I bit the inside of my cheek in an attempt to stifle the urge to defend myself and strained to absorb the man's suggestions. This was going to be how it was, I reflected. And if I wanted to learn anything at all, my pride would have to be snuffed out.