All I Needed To Know [6]

Le Sixième Chapitre

Upon walking into my classroom I was approached by a younger-looking woman, maybe in her late 20’s or early 30’s, with thick auburn hair that flowed to her elbows bright green eyes, and a wide, toothy grin. She asked for my name, and as I told her she scanned a sheet on her clipboard, directing me to my seat. I sat at the table, where another girl was already sitting. She turned to me and smiled politely.

“Hello.” She greeted. You could tell by her accent that she was French, but had known the language a lot longer than some others at the academy. “My name is Aimee. And you are…?”

“Jolie.” I answered, mirroring her smile. “Hi. So I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this summer.”

She nodded, rolling her eyes a little. “Oh, yes. I’ve been coming here awhile. The teachers, they never switch the seats.” She flipped a section of straight, blonde-hair-with-black-lowlights over her shoulder. I wasn’t sure whether to take this as a burn or not, so I shrugged it off.

“So, um, how long have you been doing photography?”

“Ohhh,” she waved her arms dramatically, “as long as I can remember. My mother, she has framed my photographs of our dogs and cats from when I was just small, just three years old.” Aimee waited for my response, and when I had none, nonchalantly added “How long have you?”

I shrugged. “Awhile. I don’t think I’m really that great but, you know, I love it. And my family is so supportive.”

“Yes, yes, a supportive family is great and all. But you yourself need to believe you are the best. I mean, look at me,” she fluttered her hands around her face in a flourish, “I believe in myself, and I am such a successful photographer.”

I pretended to clear my throat, stalling as I considered what to say next. I really didn’t have a lot more to say to this girl. All she wanted was to talk about herself, and that subject I had pretty much lost interest in entirely. Luckily, when I was in my second “hmmph,” the woman who had greeted me on my way in stood at the front of the classroom and began to speak.

“Bienvenu, young artists! Welcome! My name is Ms. O’Toole, and I will be your instructor in the art of photography this summer.” As Ms. O’Toole continued her introduction to the class, I gazed around the room. The walls were white, but far from bare, covered with photographs of all angles, colors, and subjects. One was of a rabbit mid-spring, the setting sun’s light streaming from behind its foot. Another was of a simple daisy, but looked as if it were taken with old, worn film, and in black-and-white.

There was even a photo of the Eiffel Tower, two lovers standing in front and color-rotated to give it a yellow tint. This was the photo that caught my eye. It wasn’t the most unique, especially compared to the toilet bowl filled with Skittles, but there was a certain aura of it that drew me in. The couple pretended as if they were completely unaware of the camera, or, well, maybe they really were. Instead of smiling at the camera or gaping at the landmark that stood behind them, they looked at each other, locked into an embrace that one would long for in negative thirty degree weather. The both of them were beaming, yet not grinning. It was as if whoever took the picture had captured the exact moment where, despite the fact that they were standing in front of a famous structure and surrounded by a beautiful, historic city, the only thing in the whole world was the person standing right in front of them. Just by looking at that one photo, by seeing that one captured millisecond, you could see those two people were madly in love.

Ms. O’Toole clapped her hands together, breaking my daze. “Well, I have a fun little assignment to sort of break the ice with the rest of the academy and get us all warmed up, alright?” She paced to the other side of the room, opening the door. Students from various classes came flooding in, some with instruments, some with paint-splattered hands, and some who were already wearing some sort of stage makeup. “I have gathered some random students from other majors in the building who you will pair up with. Each of you will create whatever your type of art may be, your partner being the subject. You in my class, I am hoping, will be photographing your partner in some way. Let’s get started.”

Aimee sat up a little straighter and rubbed her palms together, as if physically warming up for her next task. Ms. O’Toole began to assign partners. “Carmela Morayta, you will be paired with Patrick Boyle… Jolie Thomas, you will be paired with Travis Dupont… Neville Waller, you will be paired with Damisi Kabbah…”

My heart stopped. What did she say? No, I must be hearing things... I looked up to see Travis standing in the mob by the doorway, half-smiling and waving at me timidly. So I had heard right. My mind swirled as I got involuntarily pink in the cheeks and hoped he didn’t notice. I heard Aimee let out a disgusted “Ugh” beside me. I turned toward her and cocked my head a little.

“Of course, Travis has to get paired up with my table partner.” I felt a little relieved she had referred to me as her table partner, but was surprised at her disgust towards Travis.

“Oh, you know Travis?” I prompted casually.

“Unfortunately…” She sneered in his direction. I followed her line of sight to see he was still smiling at me. Not directly, more like a gaze. Our eyes met, and he immediately ducked his head down, embarrassed. “He’s my ex boyfriend.”