Ceramics

Cermaics - 1

A/N- The (days in class) aren't consecutive, they're spread out among the weeks. So around twice a week or so.

(Camilas POV)

It's my sophomore year in college and I decided to take a ceramics class. Ironically enough, ever since I was a little girl I've always hated having dirty hands. If anything got on my hands I would have to immediately wash it off before I could function again.

That said, I decided it would be best to take a ceramics class.

A beginner's class of course.

I wanted to do something fun, despite the fact that I'm not artistically inclined or very creative.

"Alright class, I'm Mr. Moore and I'm going to assume many of you have never touched clay before." He looks around the room noticing the subtle nods from the various students.

"So in my class, I grade on effort. All I need to see is that you are trying to complete the assignments best to your ability. However, I will still look at your end product because there are a few things I'm looking for when I'm 'grading.' I want to make sure you incorporated the few essential requirements/techniques. The only reason I have any 'necessities' is to help your progression of course, but you won't be marked down if your lacking."

"If you've ever used a pugger raise your hand." The older man raises his hand in a demonstration, allowing a better view of the collection of unique tattoos. I could definitely tell this man was a character.

It was a spacious room, with potter lathes or 'pottery wheels' lined up against the back wall. It had wedging tables on the left and right side of the room, neighboring the various colored glaze buckets. Towards the front of the room, there were lockers for you to store your 'creations' and you could bring a lock to assure your hard work wouldn't be stolen. In the middle, there are three wide and long wooden working tables that seat twelve per table. Finally, there was a separate room on the left side of the lockers where you leave your work to dry out and to be thrown into the kiln.

"Take a seat wherever you'd like and those who've pugged clay before please come up and help distribute some clay to each of the tables."

My shy self sat down at the furthest corner towards the right wall. I placed my backpack on the small shelf underneath the table.

"If you want to save your work and continue it tomorrow, here are some plastic bags to keep in the moisture, wrap it up and stick it in your locker." He points to a big bin.

Just then, a slightly taller girl with black hair took the seat in front of me and gave me a small courteous smile and I returned the gesture, not paying mind to notice anything else about her.

"I usually play music, pretty loud, it helps with creativity and really gets you moving. You're welcome anytime to listen to your own music while working with the clay. Just take off earbuds/headphones or pause your music while I instruct and everything will go smoothly. Today I want you to get used to the clay, so work with it, make whatever you want, and remember to have fun!" With that, Mr. Moore turns on his loud techno-ish music.

I hesitantly reach for a piece of clay, already fighting the urge to put it down and run to the sink to wash my hands.

I'll admit it took me a good fifteen minutes to be semi-okay with the clay.

I tried to make a star... didn't work, I tried to make a triangle... didn't work, tried to make a square... it didn't look right. Maybe this class isn't for me.

'What the hell can I make?' I think to myself.

I look around the room to see all these people making such cool little statues or animals.

'They're all so talented, I'm screwed, maybe this class was a mistake.'

I opted to make a flat circle and then stack other flat circles on top, while the girl in front of me was making an owl. It looked so good like she has experience working with clay as she seemingly used the tools correctly from the bucket placed in the middle of the table.

"That's so fucking good," I mumble, but I think I said it a little too loudly. Mom always said I was bad at whispering.

The girl raised her head and her eyes met mine.

'Her eyes! Holy shit.' That's the first thought that comes to mind, they're very beautiful but also very intimidating.

"Thank you." She gives a small smile, now I really look at her face and it's flawless.

I return the smile with one of my own. I want to talk to her and ask questions, but she busily returns to her work and I don't want to bother her.

I can't help but frown as her hair swoops over her face, blocking my view of her attractiveness, so I gracefully continue making my circles.