Aveline’s brown eyes were fixed on her new Art History text book beside her notebook as she scribbled vital notes in her neat, flowing handwriting. Mr Styles’ voice echoed through the room explaining the key concepts of the topic they were going to be studying this term: Anthropology of Art. Obviously Aveline knew that this is University and not Sixth Form or High school, so she had her timetable planned out, printed and stuck on every surface she thought would be helpful in reminding her of her strict schedule; she knew that the homework, course work, assignment and essays will pile up fast if she didn’t stick to it but already three days in her new school and she had already missed a day and needed to catch up.
Loads will argue and tell you that a subject like Art is a route for only that have failed in lower school, but for Aveline, it was different. She had always wanted to study a picture. She wanted to explore the different ways in which you can create something beautiful; something different; something that can tell a story and be interrupted by millions.
Instead of becoming a police man and serve the country like her dad, or a nurse like her mum and help the ill, or a computer engineer like her brother, she wanted to create stuff for people to see. Whether it was a painting of a bowl of fruits, a photograph of two lovers tangled in each other’s bodies or a collage of her summer vocations in the exotic part of the word, she wanted to do it.
Aveline was trying her hardest to focus on Mr Styles’ voice and catch up with the fast pace he was talking in to write it down in her notebook. But by now, she was far behind. Her face wore a worried look but soon faded as the boy next to her nudged her by the arm and offered his book for her to copy from. She thanked him shyly and quietly as she picks up her ballpoint pen and continues to write.
What would someone like Mr Styles do at a University like mine, she thought. Of course she had heard some background information on him. He was a very intelligent man with many qualities and roles. He was a very successful entrepreneur; being one of the most important men in the word; and richest. He’d studied Business, Law, History, Art and more. When he got tired of a subject or a thing he would change it. Who wouldn’t if they had the power and money?
She was too busy writing and when she finished, a class of 15 students and 2 Professors where staring at the girl next to her. The girl’s face reddened by the second, embarrassed. Mr Styles and the other Professor, Mrs Goldstein, Aveline’s Fine Art’s teacher, observed the class and when the girl who flushed red like a tomato admitted that she did not know the answer to Mr Styles’ question, they scowled towards her and scanned the room looking for someone else. They stood perfectly still, hands behind their backs and faces dead straight.
Mrs Goldstein knew Aveline very well; she taught her extra art lessons when she was in High School. It was safe to say Mrs Goldstein loved and believed that Aveline was a smart girl and without doubt she will bring something new to the university she will be studying in for the next three years. Confident in her intelligence, the female Professor whispered lowly to Mr Styles that he should pick Aveline to answer.
After an intense 5 minutes of silence pass, Mr Styles’ voice and eyes was directed to Aveline.
”Maybe Miss Watson can answer my question.” He said coldly.
Aveline was taken back from his seriousness and played with her tangled fingers that were in her lap. How was she supposed to answer the question when she didn’t even know the question? The boy that was kind enough to lend Aveline his book nudged her once again and whispered softly to her, “Just tell him a clever fact about Leonardo da Vinci.”
”Jayce - don’t tell her the answer.” He was annoyed and by the look that played on Mrs Goldstein’s face, she was as equally annoyed and disappointed in Aveline.
”I don’t know,” her voice was barely audible.
Of course Aveline knew one, he was the first one to come up if you searched Anthropology on Wikipedia; but nothing clever or intelligent or something that will sweep Mr Styles off his feet and make him think she’s the cleverest student in his class.
”I won’t accept ‘I don’t know’ as an answer, Miss Watson,” he demanded. After a fairly short pause, he continues, “Are you even sure you should be in this class, Miss Watson?” He ridiculed.
Her face flushed red instantly, embarrassed and humiliated. Her face heated crimson and tears threatened to escape from her almond shaped eyes. A small voice came out of her mouth saying, (even though she knew that her answer wasn’t intelligent nor clever) “He painted the ‘Mona Lisa.’”
Mr Styles scoffed, like he did with the other girl, at her reply and picked up the white chalk and started writing again.
Aveline was frightened from Mr Styles and wanted to dig a whole and run away. Forever.
A few minutes later, Mrs Goldstein exited the room letting out a loud sigh. The tension from the first lesson was palpable. Aveline didn’t dare to make eye contact with Mr Styles’ cold, powerful, emerald eyes; instead, she focused her eyes onto her notebook once again. Flipping to the back page, she began doodling whilst Mr Styles’ continued to talk about the importance of Anthropology in art and in the society we live in today.
Jayce’s fingers brushed away a strand of Aveline’s brown wavy hair that seemed to distract her from finishing her colourful pattern that was coloured in oil pastels. He smiled playfully towards her and gave her a thumbs up, indicating that he’d seen and liked the drawing.
Aveline was a beautiful girl. Brown eyes, brown mid length wavy hair, and a body that was not too skinny nor curvy, it was the perfect combination and everyone saw her beauty radiating, glowing, from her. Despite the fact that she was a shy, a very, very shy girl, she still managed to attract people. No wonder Jayce fell for her beauty instantly - Not that he wouldn’t be that nice, helpful or generous if he wasn’t attracted to her beauty.
By now, Aveline didn’t care if Mr Styles caught her doodling in her book or not listen to him (though she would probably frightened if he did catch her). She just wanted this day to finish. She would probably hate every Thursday in this term knowing that she’ll have to spend it with him.
”Miss Watson?” His harsh voice rang through classroom as everyone stopped fidgeting and sat on their best behavior. A couple of eyes turned to look at Aveline and offered her a sympathetic look.
”I’ll expect to see you in my office after class.”