Art student Reese Persinger's work has always lacked something-passion, depth, a spark she can't quite capture on canvas. But when she takes Professor Victoria Hayes's Modern Art history course, inspiration strikes like a lightning bolt. Victoria is...
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"I walked out of the classroom feeling like I'd just stepped off a rollercoaster, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and my stomach twisted in knots. "God, I am such a fool," I thought, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. I continued to walk to my next class hoping my day would get better and not be late for this class.
I soon found my next class and wasn't late. I walked in and went up to my friend.
"Hey Reese, how was Ms. Hayes's class? I can't believe you survived," Heather teased me. I have heard bad things about Ms Hayes and how she is strict and shows no remorse I was hoping it wasn't true.
"I don't even wanna talk about it. I felt like I was going to die any minute in that class," I whined. I sat down and pulled out a notebook. Heather laughed at me, "I'm so glad I don't have her. She is so hard to pass. You know, she failed a lot of kids last year".
My heart dropped at what Heather said. I was already nervous, and now I am even more nervous. I already made a bad impression, and hearing this made me even feel more hopeless.
Heather frowned as I started to bite my nails. I felt like the classroom was getting louder and I couldn't hear my thoughts. Heather reached for my hand and looked me in the eyes. "Wow, calm down, Reese. It was just the first day. Just stay out of her sight, and you do good, okay?" Heather reassured me. I felt my heartbeat start to slow down I started to feel better.
"Luckily, this teacher isn't such a pain in the ass. All you have to do is take a few notes and easy A," Heather said. I smile a little, happy that I know I passed one class.
My mind slipped back to Ms. Hayes's last class and how she had a way of commanding attention. Unlike this one, the professor walked in and, similar to Ms. Hayes, launched into a speech about what to expect. However, his presence felt lackluster-he was older, and the stale smell of cigarettes clung to him, reminding me of the smoky diner my dad used to take me to. I found myself zoning out, tapping my pencil on my notebook, waiting for him to wrap up so I could escape into my thoughts again.
"God, this teacher is such a bore," I whispered over to Heather. She nodded, stifling a yawn. I drifted back to thoughts of Ms. Hayes and found myself scribbling absent-mindedly. Before I realized it, I'd drawn a full sketch of her-right down to the way her navy blazer hugged her frame, the crisp white blouse underneath, and those high-waisted black trousers that added to her air of authority. It was strange, but maybe... she could be my muse.
I felt my cheeks burning red and butterflies in my stomach I tried my best to ignore it.
