Page 13 of Crown Jewels
Nope, I was not going there. I had a class to focus on.
Sitting up straighter I turned my attention to the professor.
“Today we’ll be talking about why the renaissance is known as the rebirth of art.” He reached up to pull down a projector screen and turned off the light. “You’ve all heard of Da Vinci and Michelangelo, but can anyone tell me who painted this?”
He clicked a button bringing a painting of a fruit bowl up on the screen.
I waited a few minutes for someone else to answer before saying, “it’s Fede Galiza. She was one of the first to paint still life and fruit.”
“That’s right Emma,” Professor Winston nodded. “She was a pioneer in her genre, which is why I find it odd that no one in this class, aside from Miss Rose recognized her work.”
I shirked back a little when half the class looked my way. Being the center of attention was not a place I was comfortablein. Yet, I stayed in the bath when Vahn barged in. Why didn’t I jump out and cover up?
“It’s because she’s a woman,” someone in the second row called out. “She was obviously undervalued in her time, like we all are.”
“Because she was a woman.” Professor Winston’s eyes fell on a blonde girl in the second row. “Is that your entire argument Miss Hendricks?”
“Am I wrong?” She asked back.
We all fell quiet, waiting for the professor’s response. Adam Winston was an amazing teacher, but he didn’t like to be challenged, unless said challenge had merit. A lot like someone else I knew.
Goddamnit. I needed to stop thinking about him.
“No, you’re not wrong.” The professor shook his head. “Fede Galiza was a woman trying to make a name for herself in a male dominated society, which is precisely whyyoushould’ve recognized her work Miss Hendricks. Feminism 101 is down the hall, I suggest you sign up.”
The rest of the class chuckled, while Miss Hendricks shifted her eyes away from the professor. That’s when I noticed the slight flush in her cheeks and the irritation in her eyes. She wasn’t staring at the professor like an embarrassed student, it was more like a woman scorned.
There were rumors floating around campus about Adam Winston’s extracurricular activities, but I never thought twice about them. Somebody always had something to say about someone else. People liked to talk, I learned that in fifth grade when I was dubbed a mother killer.
According to the other kids, my mother died giving birth to me. That wasn’t true. She was still alive as far as I knew, but I couldn’t prove it. She left when I was around five, and I hadn’t heard or seen from her since.
When I was little, I missed her. Now I knew that leaving was the best thing she ever did for us. Not every woman was meant to be a mother.
Because of that experience, I knew how soul crushing rumors could be. So, I refused to listen to them. Now however, I found myself wondering if there might be some truth to them.
Professor Winston was an attractive, single man in his early thirties. I could see the draw. But I’d like to think he had more class than to sleep with his students. Maybe that was because he was my favorite teacher, and all I wanted to see was the good in him?
When I cared about, or liked someone, all I saw was the good. My father tried to sell us when we were kids, and he’d probably do the same now if he could. Yet I still answered every time he called.
Mitch kept repeating the same mistakes over and over again, and no matter how bad he messed up, all I could see was the big brother who told me everything was going to be okay when I cried at night.
I told myself that I was just being nice, but maybe I was a pushover. The sad part was that I wouldn’t change anything. I’d still go around smiling for people when I didn’t want to, because that was all I knew. There was only one person I never felt the need to please.
“Now what did all these artists have in common?” Professor Winston asked.
To which someone called out, “They had talent.”
“Yes Mr. Harker, they had talent.” The professor sighed. “But talent will only get you so far. I could write the next great American novel, but if I didn’t put it out there, then no one would know.”
The guy sitting beside me said, “Why spend all that time writing a book, if you aren’t going to put it out there?”
“That’s an excellent question Mr. Gains,” the Professor said while pointing at him. “Why would anyone create something they had no intention of sharing?”
Various people spouted off things like, it wasn’t good enough, or it wouldn’t make them any money, all of which were valid arguments, but they weren’t right.
“Art comes from the soul.” I interjected. “It’s not easy to bare yourself to the world.”
“That’s stupid.” One girl said.
