Dear Adelaide

Chapter Two: Annalise, Arse, and Marylin

I sit at the admission guidance office, staring at the family picture in front of me, and the guidance counselor prints out a sheet of my rearranged schedule. My login for my email is still being set up since I am an international student, so I will have it on paper.

"Well, this is better. I am glad they had some room in this class," she reaches over to hand it to me, "you're going to love it, I hear it's wonderful,"

I like her accent.
Everyone here seems to have an accent of some sort, whether it's British or Scottish or somewhere in between. I wonder what I sound like to them.

I only smile and look over at the addition of the poetry class I have been meaning to get into. The class was full when I first applied, but there are a few openings now, by some miracle.

"Um, I have a student coming, a senior. She will gladly take you to the poetry classroom as well as some of the other classes in that hall,"

"Oh, I don't want to be a trouble—"

My sentence is cut off by the sound of the door opening behind me. A woman with straight black hair and expensive brand clothing walks in with a smile. I watch her interact with the guidance counselor as if they have known each other their whole lives. I sink a bit in my seat, blinded by her extroverted presence. It dawns on me that I am truly an outcast. Her swift head turn in my direction snaps me out of my pity party.

She takes a look at me and extends her hand, "Hello, I am Annalise, but I also go by Lisa,"

I take her hand, "Adelaide,".

"What?" she leans closer.

"Adelaide," I say a bit louder, embarrassed at my inaudible introduction.

"That's a beautiful name. Shall we get going?"

I nod and thank the guidance counselor on our way out. Annalise begins to talk about the school's history, even though I have done extensive research enough to tell her the information she might not know. We go into different classrooms like business administration, social studies, theology, and the list goes on. Though I am grateful for this tour, I am not showing the enthusiasm she expects because I've already seen these rooms before. I can tell by her displeased frown she is not found with my lack of reaction and interest.

"And here," Annalise opens the door to a vast lecture room, "is the poetry lecture hall,"

Now I am astonished.
The wood of the lecture hall seats is polished and covered with navy cushions. The floor is sparkling clean, untouched by literature students.

"It's beautiful," I say.

"Ah, finally. She speaks!" Annalise gleams, "I was starting to think you were losing interest in the school,"

I laugh, breaking the tension, "Oh, no. You're doing an amazing job, Annalise,"

She glances at me as if she thought I was being sarcastic. I display a genuine smile and she mimics me, nodding in approval.

We continue down the hall, not passing any doors of classrooms until we reach the multi-color glass-stained double doors. There is a lot of light coming from behind them, making them seem as angelic as church windows with biblical images.

"Behind these doors lies the Art room," she gently pulls the doors open, "It almost has the greenhouse architecture due to the extreme size of the windows, but it's quite a beauty,"

I hadn't seen this on the tour either.

I am amazed at the light at illuminates throughout the room. The messiness of paint of aprons and unfinished art pieces, clay dried from sculptures.