The Scholar 1: Entrance
The art school was before me. I took a step, then faltered. It was so...official looking. Could I do this? Go back to school after all these years & so many failures? Maybe it would cost too much. Maybe it had one of those ridiculous peer-reviewed grading systems. Maybe...
No. Stop & breathe. When I'd entered the photo contest & won first prize in 5 of 6 categories, The School of Creative Minds had contacted me personally. When I got to campus, they whisked me to an office & several Very Important Figures looked over my art in silence. I didn't freak; I did figure drawings & portraits. At lunch in a 5-star French restaurant, I ordered something tasty, not too expensive, not too cheap, & held my own in a debate about physics & spirituality. They insisted I go to the main campus for testing. The driver was a leering, bulky, hairy man who murmured very raunchy things under his breath. I teased him right back until he snorted laughter & cleaned up his act.
After all that, now I was frozen in fear? Ridiculous!
I looked around the garden, & inhaled deeply. Oh, such tall old trees; oak, ash, birch, elm, willow, apple, cherry, wisteria & crape myrtle; the song of wind through leaves had me twirling. The garden beds were filled with irises, lilies of the valley, all manner of wildflowers. A path of mint led down to the central fountain. Fountain? Ha. More like a manmade lake, with a beautiful central island, waterfall roaring downwards on all sides. The brick was warm under my feet, the sun warm on my head, & the breezes kept teasing my by blowing at my cherry-print dress, especially around my breasts & up my skirt...
My eyes went-half closed, & I darted around, sniffing flowers, hugging trees. I wanted dearly to strip, roll around in flowers. Creeping up to the fountain, I noticed all the god statues were all anatomically correct...& the male statues ready for action. What if I stripped, climbed in, & went over to sit on, say, Poseidon's lap. Scoot a little closer, open up...
A howling wind knocked me into a bed of thistles, goldenrod & spiky grasses. When I stood up, another wind blew me back into a tree & plastered my dress against my body. A feeling-thought-energy was in that wind, & it was all, "No. Bad. Keep your Promise."
That sure killed my libido cold. Flushing, I murmured "All right, I'll behave." Shoving my hair back, I ran upstairs & entered.
Gliding down-hall, I saw wood walls, hexagon-tile floors, sculptures, linked chandeliers forming a glittery gold serpent on arched ceiling, tall stained glass windows... I dug for my camera. No. I was 5 minutes early. Let the artist out, I'd be 30 late. Moving on, I paused at room 150's stained-glass door & saw, grapes, dancing maidens, foxes & goat-men drumming furiously. Inside was a temple to eccentricity. Desks were covered in papers, disks, films & sculptures. In corners, mannequins in Victorian costume, bird-inspired suits & flame-like dresses. In the windows, birdcages filled with glittery opalescent balls, crumbly books, a bright robin's-egg violin, rainbow-throwing crystals, tinging wind chimes, a waterfall & hibiscus plants. On the walls, paintings of dreamscapes, quotes, glittery spirals & blossoms.
A white-haired man, with loose curls to his collar, was writing furiously on a chalkboard. I read the Baudelaire quote & blushed before checking him out. Tall, slender, form-fitting cream suit, lilac shirt & mint tie. Nice ass; I wanted to cup those perfect buttocks two-handedly & squeeze.
My face flushed in shame, I said, "Hello!" a bit too loud.
He turned & I saw wide wisteria eyes, high cheekbones & full lips in a playful smile. "At last, Alex Endoriana!" he said, voice soft; coming to me, he cupped my chin & kissed my cheeks. I smelled wisteria. "I am Dion Amarandos," he said quietly, his eyes going from mine downwards to breasts, belly, thighs & back up.
Um. Oh? Seeing the promise in his eyes, I stammered, "I, it is good to meet you, Mr...."
"Call me Dion." Taking my hands, he pulled them to his lips, inhaled deeply & kissed my palms. "It is...delightful to meet you. Come, relax; let us discuss your work."
We sat at a wide desk, & I found the sprawl of pictures, photos, CDs, handmade books, and altered book was all my work. After several works, he was bright with joy. "Looking at this is exciting," he said, & showed my image of Apollo in his chariot, singing & playing a lyre. "You capture him in joy; I can feel his laughter rising. " He lifted my self-burned CD of dream tunes. "I listened to this & created a menu based on it. Let's be blunt. You belong here."
"But?" I asked.
"We have two schools, one for ordinary students, and our hidden campus for chosen ones. I want you in the latter, but you applied for the former."
"What is the," I began.
He stood, holding out his hand. "I've seen yours; now you see mine! Let us begin the tour."