As We Burn

Five.

"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.