ENGLISH version Sky and Isla

1. Isla

Isla had always seen the world in colors. They formed the most delicious words: carmine red, indigo blue, cadmium, magenta, cyan. Or, defying conventional color theory, she sometimes gave them whimsical names: ice-cream green, water-light, the brown of a bird's wing, love red. When she looked at a color, she saw the exact pigments needed to mix it on a canvas. It was like cooking - or magic.

She sometimes found it hard to understand people who couldn't see from colors what they were made of, who had to ask in art class, "Which colors do I mix to get green?" when the answer was obvious to her. Equally hard to grasp was how some people didn't see the difference between water-light and ice white. But as a future art teacher, Isla knew she would need patience and understanding in abundance. Not everyone was as fascinated by color as she was, and few spent all their free time with a brush in hand. At least her current teaching practice students were more interested in painting their own faces than in watercolor sketchbooks.

She sighed and glanced at the antique mirror in the hallway one last time before hurrying to the tram, already at least five minutes late from it. Her vintage sage-green blouse, dotted with orange flowers, matched perfectly with her 1950s-style circle skirt, leather belt, brogue shoes, and vintage bag. The first week of her August teaching practice was almost over. Eight more hours of noisy, paint-splattered, cigarette-scented teenagers lay ahead, after which she could lock herself away for the weekend with her cats and Emily Brontë.

A student party was planned that evening, too. Markus had invited her to the pre-party, but Isla much preferred being at home, immersed in the parallel universe of novels. Her pale face looked back at her from the mirror, slightly mournful.

"Cheer up a little, Isla," she murmured to herself, chuckling when her own voice sounded just as glum. At her feet came a pathetic meow as Usva and Savu, her six-month-old kittens, came to bid her farewell. Usva, a curious gray tabby with blue eyes, and Savu, pitch-black and far more cautious, looked like a soot ball straight out of a Studio Ghibli film.

"Eight hours and then I'm back," Isla promised her little ones as the door to her haven clicked shut behind her. Tampere was unusually bright and sunny that day, yet the approaching autumn could be felt in every corner: in the hurried, tense people returning from holidays, the scents of crisp apples and fallen leaves, and the colors. Colors! Isla smiled, realizing that she was dressed like walking autumn herself: orange, muted earth green, and leather brown.

"Isla! You too! We're packed like sardines in here!"
Marjatta, Isla's fellow student and future physics and chemistry teacher, pushed determinedly through the crowded tram to greet her friend.

"Phew, tell me about it! Only a few stops left," Isla said, counting silently to ten to stave off a panic attack from the crush of people. Marjatta fortunately distracted her.

"How's your teaching practice going?" Marjatta asked, though Isla guessed she wasn't really interested in the answer. Marjatta was bubbly and talkative, probably eager to tell Isla about her first week.

"It's going... well, though I'd much rather paint my final project than argue with teenagers over whether they want to practice shading a sphere or cube or play Candy Crush on their phones."

"They don't play Candy Crush; that's our millennial thing," Marjatta laughed at Isla's naivety. "They watch TikTok makeup tutorials, send selfies on Snapchat... or set fire to test tubes in my chemistry lab, causing small explosions."

"No way!" Isla shuddered. Even in her class, at least once someone had spilled flammable linseed oil on the floor or clogged the drain a couple of times, though she had avoided bigger disasters. Marjatta's eyes sparkled; she clearly enjoyed recounting how one of her most energetic seventh graders had overheated a chemical mixture, requiring a foam extinguisher.

"When you mix red and green, you normally get brown. But in your class, you get an explosion," Isla said, amused.

"And that's just the first week of term!" Marjatta grinned. Isla exhaled aloud.

"I can't wait for the weekend."
"Same here! You coming to Markus' pre-party? And then straight to The Bookworm?"
"I'll skip," Isla smiled gently. Parties with Markus, who was a bit too friendly, and a crowd-filled club, The Bookworm, didn't appeal to her after a tough week. Marjatta looked disappointed, but Isla reassured her: "Another time. I need to catch up on my final project."
"You're always so responsible," Marjatta said. Isla thought to herself: "Responsible, yeah right..." Really, she just wanted to lie on the couch with The Governess and her cats all weekend.

At the tram stop in front of the white, bleak school building, they parted ways. Marjatta headed toward the physics and chemistry wing, Isla toward the art classroom. Sunlight poured into the white hallways. While working in art field was her dream come true, the noisy, energetic school days were exhausting. She had worked four years toward this goal, but now that it was coming true, she hesitated. Was this really what she wanted to do for the rest of her life? Ideally, she would just paint at home. But few made a living in the art field, and Isla lacked confidence. She loved familiarity, safety, routine, and certainty. She hated dealing with uncertainty.

She pulled on her painting coat, splattered with colorful paint. Better that getting splattered than her genuine 1950s skirt. Wearing vintage treasures at school was risky with turpentine and oil paints around, but so be it. She had already sacrificed one too many dresses to paint splashes. The school day went as expected: students restless and chatty, causing her a headache, or maybe it was half the bottle of turpentine that got spilled on the floor. She exhaled in relief when the last group of students finally left at three pm. leaving her alone to listen to the ticking clock and the pounding of her head.