"And time!" Professor Kiennen called to the sound of resentful murmurs. "Paintbrushes down. Leave your paintings at the easels. Please make sure you've put your name legibly on the canvas before walking out. Enjoy your Holidays! See some of you next semester."
Camila put her paintbrush down and stared at the painting before her. It was finished, more or less, and the arrangement of blue hues on the canvas actually looked presentable. She made sure she'd signed the corner as legibly as possible, and retrieved her messenger bag from beneath the stool.
"Karla Cabello, please come see me before you leave."
For a moment, Camila thought she'd heard wrong. That the professor had called a name that closely resembled her own, but wasn't. Yet as she looked around, she noticed the looks the other students were throwing her way and she knew it hadn't been a mistake. Professor Kiennen had called her.
Swallowing nervously, Camila made her way past the rows of others' finals and waited for the students saying goodbye to the professor to disperse.
It was the first time the professor had ever called her to his desk after class, and she hoped desperately that she wasn't somehow in trouble. Had she forgotten an assignment? Had she accidentally looked around while painting, leading him to think that she had copied someone else's work? She tried not to think about it, as she waited.
The last of the students finally left the room, and the professor turned ice blue eyes on her.
"Karla," he said, in a voice that gave no indication whether he was mad or not.
"Yes, Professor?"
He nodded as he turned to look down at something on his desk. Camila tried to see what it was, to gain a clue as to what was coming, but nothing popped out. "You submitted a piece called Silence, did you not?"
Camila nodded, her heart beating somewhat erratically. She tried draw forth a memory of the painting but came up blank. "I did."
"It was..." He paused to look up at her. "...inspired."
Camila let out a breath. "I'm sorry?"
"I'm not in the habit of repeating compliments in order for young, inexperienced artists to feel boastful."
Camila swallowed again.
The ice blue eyes regarded her quietly. When he spoke again, his tone was unreadable. "I would like to feature your painting at the Student Art Show next week at the Hederman Gallery. You may pick three other pieces, approved by me, of course. Your pieces can be put for sale, if you wish them to be. An expert from the gallery will work with you to determine an appropriate cost for each piece. I will not bother to ask whether or not you are interested, as you would be a fool to refuse. So, please be back here Monday morning, at eight sharp, with the pieces of your choice. Bring several options, as I'm very picky and short on time. Good day, Karla."
It hadn't hit her yet, what he'd said. Not fully. But she recognized that it was a good thing, and responded accordingly. "Thank you, sir! I will be here Monday at eight."
He had already dismissed her and his disinterest was evident by the way he turned his attention to student work left in the room. She watched him with interest, knowing she should leave, but wanting to see what he thought of her final as he passed it. To her disappointment, he barely gave it a second glance.
She left, then, and walked out of the room. In the hallway, she paused to absorb what the professor had told her. Inspired, he'd called it. Inspired.
She smiled and continued on her way to the subway station. Her art had been chosen. Hers.
She walked in a daze. Picturing her art pieces framed and on display. She imagined people walking around them, stopping to look and point and comment. She placed herself in the background, a proud observant. She would be poised and confident. She would politely offer compliments on others' works. She would shake hands and answer questions and try not to let her excitement show instead as arrogance.
