Royally Yours

Chapter 10

Amara

The first time I met Ben was in art class.

Of course, I knew who he was by that time. I didn't have many friends at that point but even I had heard the buzzing about a certain prince of England attending our school. Even in a school full of children of ambassadors and dignitaries, this was a big deal.

As an exchange student, neither related to politician nor royalty, I had largely stayed out of the whole scene, concentrating instead on my grades. It was one of the few things my parents were strict about, particularly my dad who I did not want to disappoint. Plus I needed my grades up, if I wanted to get into Cambridge for architecture like I intended. I wanted to become a great architect like my dad.

He had always taught me to seek out solutions for the problems in the world, and on our frequent walks together, he would quiz me about what I thought we could to make structures more sound or fix another engineering problem. Often, I got the answer wrong, but he never made me feel stupid for it, only asked my to explain my reasoning and would point out the flaws in it, leading me to eventually come to the correct conclusion. It was one of the reasons I liked algebra, because solving problems reminded me of walks with my dad.

Still, as much as I liked math, I couldn't deny that art class was my favorite. Unlike just about everything else, art came effortlessly to me. I did not have to study too hard, think or analyze in any particular way. All I had to do was look at a picture or a basket of fruit, and replicate it on a canvas. For me, it was therapeutic, because while it took a lot of patience, it didn't really take a lot of thought. I especially loved the feeling of seeing a picture come alive on canvas.

It was while I was completely engrossed in recreating an orange, that I noticed the shadow that had fallen over my palette.

Looking up, I found a tall boy with light brown eyes peering down at me.

For a minute, I didn't say anything. He wasn't saying anything either, but I assumed he needed something. Perhaps, he wanted to borrow one of my paint colors or needed my spot for a particular lighting. Maybe I was bothering him in some way. But, he certainly didn't seem in any hurry to voice his concerns. In fact, he seemed content just standing there looking.

I heard a snicker behind him, which seemed to snap him out of his reverie. Some red spread charmingly over his cheeks before he cleared his throat again and gestured to my painting, " That looks good."

I turned to the half finished painting in question, wondering if he was mocking me. I didn't think it looked particularly bad but it was definitely not my best. Plus, his friends, a group of boys surrounding one of the tables behind him, seemed to find that comment particularly hilarious and snickered even more.

" Thank you," I said back, then glanced around to his table. There was canvas with what looked like a drawing of a misshapen pear and an empty stool in front of it. " Is that yours?"

He looked at the painting and winced. " Yeah," he said, " I'm not exactly what you'd call an artist, but I think its got some... character."

Ah, maybe he wanted painting advice. " It's not bad," I said, " I think maybe you just need to reshape it a little bit. And add a bit more green and a little less...every other color."

That seemed to make the boys who were now shamelessly eavesdropping on our conversation burst out into raucous laughter and his blush deepened. Oh no, I hadn't meant to embarrass him.

" I mean its really not bad, " I said, " It's very interpretationist as well. I don't know much about that so I don't know if its good in that sense."