"Mr. St. Clair here will be teaching the last half of the class today, as I have a personal appointment," the professor explains.
I must be cursed, I think to myself, as I try to calm down by collecting my things from my school bag. I don't even know why Crispen's sudden appearance has me so worked up in the first place - why every time our eyes meet, I feel like I've been caught, like I've been seen, why his stupid blue eyes feel like a spotlight. The way he looks at me makes me feel as though he has me all figured out and all of my secrets lay open at his feet for him to inspect. I hate it. I decide to pretend as though Crispen isn't even in the room as I focus on the professor's words. The first half-hour of the class actually goes relatively smooth, as the professor covers the basic subjects we will be studying this semester. Thankfully, Crispen is seated facing Professor Anderson, and the topics are generally interesting. I find I am able to focus as the professor explains that our final project will count as an entry to a campus wide art contest.
"Each year, the Arts Council at Laurelwood U hosts a contest called The Creative Minds contest. This year, they want you to dive deep into the things you would naturally shy away from. Your insecurities, your traumas, your pain - they want it all on display, they want to see how it makes you creative. This project can be multimedia, from photography and videography to sculpture, acrylic, anything. The deadline for this project isn't until closer towards the end of the semester in November, but it's something to start thinking about," Professor Anderson explains. "Oh, and the prize for first place is an all expenses paid trip to the Louvre, in Paris."
With this revelation, the class wakes up, and Professor Anderson smiles in satisfaction. People whisper and gasp, and even Crispen's head lifts a little from his lap. Ava shoves my arm gently, and I look over as she mouths wow. I smile back, even though all I feel is nervousness. Focusing on my trauma is the exact sort of thing I want to stay away from, and this program was supposed to take me away from those dark memories. At the same time, I've always dreamed of going to Paris. Not only is it the home of some of the world's greatest art, it's a photographer's dream. The gothic cathedrals, historic landmarks, romantic ambience, and of course, the Eiffel Tower. I could really revamp my photographic portfolio in Paris. I almost laugh at the foolish thoughts, knowing they are simply fantasies. I doubt my photos of the sunset are going to win me a trip to Europe.
"Oh, well that's all of my time for today," Professor Anderson announces, looking down at his watch. My throat begins to tighten once more. "Mr. St. Clair here will take over to begin our first lesson. I will see you all next week." The professor packs up his stuff as Crispen stands up from his seat and walks towards the front of the class. He nods a goodbye to the professor as he heads towards the door. It's odd; I would've expected him to be a professor's nightmare.
"Today we will be reviewing the relation between your traditional art mediums and their relation to photography," Crispen begins in a clear, deep voice. It's jarring to hear him speak so professionally. His hands move as he speaks, and I notice his nails are painted black today. "Obviously art is subjective, and anything can be art. But what is it that art and photography have in common?" The class is silent, until one girl finally speaks up.
"They both contain imagery?" her delicate voice asks.
"Too basic, think deeper. And remember to raise your hand if you wish to speak," Crispen says firmly. I hold myself back from rolling my eyes. I bet the only reason Crispen has this position of professor's assistant is just so he can boss people around.
I think I would enjoy you serving me, the memory of his comment echoes in my ears. I clench my jaw, shifting in my seat.
"Emotions," Crispen says quietly. "All memorable art evokes emotion, sends a message, or strikes a nerve in the viewer." His eyes land on mine as he says this, and I look down at my blank notes. I quickly scribble art + photography = emotion on the page.
Crispen moves towards the professor's desk and switches off the lights in the room. After a second of pure darkness, I hear a click and a projector lights a square on the board at the front.
"We are going to go through some historically popular imagery, and I want you to tell me what the image makes you feel, or how the artist has used their medium to portray their emotional message." I watch him as he speaks, the soft light framing only half of his face. The rest is hidden in the dark. His eyes remain focused on the board. It's almost like a game we play - he watches me, I look away. And once I know his eyes are elsewhere, it's my turn to look. I can't help but admire how passionately he speaks about the lesson; he's obviously knowledgeable in what he's teaching.
We go through images I've already seen before as my classmates explain the emotions it makes them feel and try their best to sound like experts. I feel a tap on my leg, and turn to see Ava holding out her phone to me.
"Put your number in," she whispers. I take her phone, smiling slightly as I enter my number. I hand it back to her.
"The only emotion I'm feeling right now is bored out of my mind," she says. I try to hide my smile and whisper back, telling her to send me a text so I have her number.
"I thought I made it clear when I said raise your hand to speak, Mr. Ambrose," Crispen interrupts. His head, like everyone else's, is now completely turned towards me.
"S-sorry." It's so quiet, I can't be sure he heard me. He continues going through the imagery as I sink in humiliation and anger. What a fucking prick. This is university, not elementary school, and he isn't even a real professor. But I guess men get off on ego trips in every stage of life. How does he even know my last name? My thoughts are interrupted by my phone vibrating in my pocket. I take it out and place it in between the pages of my notebook.
Does TA stand for Total Asshole? Cause wanna be prof here is doing a great job at it! Ava texts. My scowl fades back to a small smile.
You have no idea, I text back. She sends a question mark in return.
He's my roomie, I explain.
I watch her read the text and she turns to me with wide eyes. Her fingers tap away quickly at her phone screen, her long nails making small clicking noises.
WTF? That's going to be so awkward later. But I'm here to save you - party tonight at Blaise's place. Down to make some new friends? Her message reads.
My stomach twists in anxiety. I would just embarrass myself further at a party, but it would save the awkward confrontation that's bound to happen with Crispen if I stay home tonight. Plus, there is my commitment to breaking away from the old Parker...
Maybe. I don't have a car. Plus, it's a Monday night? I reply.
I can pick you up from your place around five, and then we can get ready together. Unless TA has to read you a bedtime story? Ava texts. I turn to her and roll my eyes.
Fine, five. I reply. I put my phone back in my pocket with a shaking hand. I'm really testing my anxiety lately, from burning buildings to university parties...but isn't this what I wanted? I spent so many years telling myself that Laurelwood would be the time I finally became the person I wanted to be. The carefree boy who parties with his friends and embraces new opportunities.
Suddenly the lights in the classroom turn back on, and I wince.
"Well, we finished a little early but I won't tell if you guys don't," Crispen says as he turns off the projector. I check the clock, and can't believe it's been almost two hours. I join everyone else in standing up, packing my things while doing my best to keep my face down. I've barely written any notes in my notebook. By the time I manage to peak, Crispen has already left the room.
"I've got to go meet up with Blaise to make sure he still has the place for tonight, but text me your address okay?" Ava explains as we walk down the hallway. "And you can tell me all about your mean new roomie," she taunts. I force a small laugh and say goodbye as she heads the other way. I have one more class left in the day, and I'm praying Crispen will not make an appearance. As I walk to my next class, I think about the party I agreed to and how unprepared I am. I haven't drank in years and I have no experience with parties, but the spontaneous part of me is curious to try. It's not that I wasn't invited to parties, I just never went. I think what's held me back so much is the fear of ending up like my mother. What the alcohol infects me with uncontrollable rage, too? What if I can't make it to the afternoon without any liquor in my system? I'm not sure if I'm ready to test that just yet. The only type of substance I've really used was when I took a few puffs from Elliot's joint the night of my mother's worst incident. It was the only way I was able to get some sleep, even if it was only for an hour. I force the thoughts out of my head, and speed up towards my second class of the day.
By the time I get back home, it's almost three in the afternoon and I have two hours until Ava arrives. I set my things on the kitchen counter and take a seat on the living room sofa, placing my face in my hands. I can feel the anxiety I managed to avoid coming back to life in my nervous system. I pull out my phone, and scroll through my pretty short contacts list. Most of the people on it cut all contact the day high school ended. I find Elliot's name, and hit call.
"Park, everything ok?" He answers. Of course he thinks something is wrong, given our history.
"Hey Elliot, yeah everything's fine. Just thought I would check in," I say, hoping he doesn't hear the wavering in my voice.
"Oh, good. Are you settling in OK at the new place? Did you meet the housekeeper, May?" He asks.
I forgot she comes on Monday's, but it explains the fresh lemon scent and the sparkling clean surfaces.
"No, I must have missed her today. I did meet Crispen though,"
"Uh oh," Elliot laughs.
"Yeah. Turns out he's actually the professor's assistant for one of my classes. Oh, and he's a total prick,"
"Really? He was always been decent around me,"
"Well apparently I get special treatment," I say.
"Did you really call just to check in?" Elliot asks after a small moment of silence. I bite my lip in hesitancy.
"Well...," I take a deep breath. "There's this party tonight,"
"Ouuuuuuuu," Elliot taunts. I can hear his smile through the phone.
"Yeah, but I'm so anxious for some reason. It's not usually my thing-"
"Parker. Let me stop you there," my brother interrupts. "Of course parties aren't your thing, you've never even had the chance to see if they are your thing. We spent most of our high school years dealing with mom's pity party at home."
"Elliot, she lost dad-" I start, coming to my mother's defense - although I know she doesn't deserve it.
"I know and it sucked, I know that. But it's not an excuse to act the way that she does. I still have the damn scar from-"
"I don't want to talk about it," I stop him. Elliot takes a deep breath before continuing.
"All I'm trying to say is that most kids have those formative years to figure out who they are and what they want. From what you've told me, Eastview Parker isn't the Parker you want to be anymore. As cliché as it sounds, listen to your heart. Do what scares you, but in a good way. Picture the Parker you want to be, and follow him."
I'm surprised by Elliot's words, not only by the maturity of them, but by the way they resonate with me.
"You're right," I admit.
"Aren't I always?" He teases. "Have fun tonight. Don't get too drunk - it's still only Monday. And if you meet a hot guy, use protection."
"Okay, okay! I got what I called for!" I yell at him. I do not need to have that conversation with my brother. I tell him I need to get ready soon and we end the call. I sit in the silence, pondering on Elliot's advice.
Who do I want to be?
Unbreakable is the first word that comes into my head. Unbreakable. For so long, I've let the actions of others completely shatter me. My fathers absence has left a blistering hole in me. My mothers drunken words have chipped away at me. Elliot's achievements and major success has cast a shadow over me. For years I've used these things as excuses to hide away from the world, frozen in my hopelessness. Maybe I was just afraid that putting myself out into the world would completely destroy me, once and for all. Do what scares you, but in a good way, Elliot's words whisper in my ears, and visions of the night I met Crispen flash through my eyes. The feeling of his hand in mine, his eyes lingering on my skin. That scared me, in a good way. These thoughts solidify my decision - I'm going to the party tonight. I'm going to do whatever the hell I want and I won't care what anybody else thinks of it. Tonight, I'm going to be unbreakable - and I hope Crispen will be there to witness it.