Portrait

"Remember tonight... for it is the beginning of always" ― Dante

Stepping out of the rental car, my heart ceased at the beauty I saw before me. I looked up at the imposing building in front of me. Grand, stone walls covered in leafy vines, lined with rows and rows of roses. I couldn't believe it, but this was to be my new school.

I looked around for a moment before taking my suitcases out of the car and placing it on the cobblestone walkway. I reached into my pocket and grabbed a section of the cash my parents had sent me with.

"Ici, l'argent," I said, "Here. The money" It always made me nervous having to deal with money in France; I always worried I would mess it up, seeing as how I spoke very little of the language.

I had been lucky enough to get the scholarship that I did. I won it after sending my art into a worldwide contest-- the piece I sent had been a self-portrait. I knew my parents would not have been able to afford to send me here if I had not.

The art program that I had managed to earn a spot in was known throughout the art world. It was almost guaranteed that if you did well here, at L'art de le monde academy for boys that you would go far in the art world. This was my shot at getting my art onto the world stage with my art.

The only drawback to my situation? I was a new international student, arriving in my junior year, three weeks into the term. I knew it would be difficult to "fit in," but I was there to make art, not friends. And well, if I had to get through a lonely year or two for my artwork? So be it.

I felt the anxiety building up in my gut I pushed open the large wooden doors. Several boys who all chattered loudly were lounging on the various couches and seats in this lobby/common room. Some of them sat properly with ties done perfectly, others on the floor with shirts half unbuttoned, and ties lose around their necks, but both groups of boys were smoking. It shocked me to see that. Then I remembered where I was, not only in France but at a school that was a hundred years old and prided itself on being "traditional and classic."

The whole room smelled faintly of smoke, and I expected to hate it, seeing as how bad the few friends I had at home who smoked smelled. But somehow mixed with the smells of the boys' good hygiene, expensive cologne, and the vague fragrance of old wood, I didn't mind the smell at all.

They must have noticed me because they paused their conversation. Some of the boys who were laying down, sat up to get a better view of me. Their eyes lingered on me, and I immediately felt self-conscious in my plain black shirt and jeans.

I did know whether or not to try and introduce myself. A few of the boys turned back to their conversation in french. One of them, however, kept his narrowed grey eyes trained on me.

But before I had to deal with the stares for too long, a tall older man came into the lobby from around the corner.

"You must be the new etudiant," He said with a thick accent. Thankfully, I knew the word "etudiant"-- student. He pulled a small note pad out of the pocket of his long back sweater jacket and flipped through it for a moment. He pushed his small thin-framed glasses up his nose before he spoke.

"You are Tomas, non?"

I nodded at him. He handed me a key that he pulled from the same pocket he had taken the notebook from.

"Follow me then. We will go to your room." He started to walk towards the grand staircase. Behind me, I was sure I could hear the whispers of the boys. They spoke in French, so I couldn't exactly make out what they were saying, but for some reason, I knew they were talking about me.

Don't look, just keep walking, don't look back, I told myself, but I couldn't help it. I could feel someone's eyes boring into my back. Right before I stepped off the platform and onto the safety of the second floor, I turned around.