Learning to love me

Ciara's POV

I've been to the Grand Canyon's North Rim many times, and I can't even count them. I asked my parents to take me there for my 18th birthday, and although I've already been twice, I'm excited to go again. My dream is coming true in a week. I finished my Bachelor's degree in Art History in June, and after a stressful summer of interviews and applications, I got accepted to Princeton. My friends don't get why I don't want a break or why I want a Master's in Archaeology and Painting. While they're ready to start working, I'm more into the academic side. I guess it's the European in me, wanting to be part of academia and earn a proper Master's degree.

As I was packing my whole life into suitcases, I scanned the old books I kept in folders. I had saved every book about different mythologies since I was twelve, ever since I made up my mind I'd want to become an archeologist and pursue that professionally. I kept them not only for their sentimental value but also for research purposes, as I wanted to visit every site of mythological significance and also do more research about things yet discovered.

I also wanted to become rich and famous. Oh well, a girl can dream.

I put some of them in one of the suitcases. I wasn't sure when I'd be back home, so I wanted to take them to remind me of how far I had come.

As I packed them neatly, my phone started buzzing.

It was my ex, Jack. Well, he was my first ex.

"Hey, I heard you're leaving in a week," he said through the phone, "I want to see you before you go. God knows when I'll be seeing you again, you're moving so far away."

I really liked Jack. We were each other's first loves. We started dating when we were 13, but it didn't work out between us. It's not like we had a big disagreement and broke things off. We just fell out of love, but still remained good friends.

"Yeah, I'm so excited to be going to Princeton. It's the perfect college to pursue painting, it's so well-ranked. And yeah, sure, let's meet up sometime." I said, cheerily inviting him over. Although there was no definite time mentioned; I still looked forward to meeting with him again.

"Awesome." I could hear the shuffling of chairs and a clink of porcelain on glass. He probably took a seat for a cup of coffee. "I heard Princeton was an old convent that had been abandoned and the State just remodeled it and turned it into a university-is that true?"

"Well, i don't know how true that is but I'm sure the Battle of Princeton took place near the university's Nassau Hall.

"I bet it'll give you loads of inspiration. But anyway, what lectures will you be taking?" He asked. He was not a myth enthusiast himself, he was more into economics, but he still wanted to know what I was up to.

"We'd be doing quite a lot that I can't spell out on the phone, it's a long list of activities. We'll be studying Egyptian mythology and we'll be analyzing sites where mummies have been excavated and why those places were chosen,, painting complex ideas, and lots of other boring stuff."

"Doesn't sound boring to me sincerely" He said.

"Well, it covers such a broad time span, It's gonna be a pain in the ass," I said, folding some shirts and placing them in my suitcase. "But anyway, these are the lectures of the first semester. Then the real work starts. We have a final Master's project, the equivalent to a thesis in the second semester."

"Oh, je suis désolé, c'est dur! Seems like you've got the work cut out for you, CiCi." Jack said in his perfect French. Jack is a French immigrant like I am. Maybe that's why we clicked when we first met so many years ago.

"Yes, but I'm excited anyway," I said, smiling through the phone. "Anyway, I'll talk to you later. I have to finish packing. Thanks for calling! I'll text you when I'm free."

He chuckled a little, "Alright, goodbye Ciara."

I hung up the phone and finished my laborious task. I zipped up the bag, as it was thoroughly packed with my belongings; and that was when I received an email, the notification appearing on my phone's notification screen. I unlocked my device and opened the app; it was from one of the professors of the school, Prof. Rufus Woodley. The subject was "Reading Materials - Art History Course 2022/2023". I opened the email, a little surprised that we were already receiving emails from professors.

"Dear students,

For your Art History Course, I expect you to come prepared to every lecture by reading the papers assigned for each one. You can find them on the e-learning platform. As you have surely noticed, the syllabus is extensive and demanding, and even though I expect many of you to know some topics from your previous studies, this course won't be easy. For your first lecture, I'll be asking students at random to answer questions from the first paper. I will be doing this every lecture for every single paper. If you think you won't be able to keep up with the demand, I suggest you drop the class now. There are plenty of other courses to choose from to get an easy A.

See you all next Monday.

Prof. Rufus Woodley."

My eyes widened at the email. Who the hell was this Prof. Woodley? This was such an awful way to "introduce" himself to the class. He didn't have to be so intense, especially before meeting us in person.

I searched for his profile on the University's website. His page had no image, but his resumé was extensive. He was most probably one of those old, grumpy, lifeless professors who found joy in tormenting students. He probably gave awful grades too.

I'd find out soon enough what this Prof. Woodley was all about.

Ciara's Perspective:

After a long and tiresome flight, I finally arrived at my apartment near Princeton late on Saturday afternoon. Despite the weariness, the anticipation of exploring the new city kept me wide awake. Upon reaching, I was pleasantly surprised to find my two flatmates already there, and we hit it off right away.

Jeffery, a freshman studying Psychology, generously assisted me in moving my belongings up the stairs and into my bedroom. Meanwhile, Deyah, a sophomore majoring in English Literature, took charge of cooking dinner for the three of us. Despite being older than both of them, that first night made me feel like they were taking care of me, helping me settle into this new chapter of my life.

As I unpacked and organized my room to my liking, I took the opportunity to learn more about my newfound companions. It was fascinating to discover details about the various courses offered at Aberdeen, offering insights into each other's academic pursuits.

"You already have papers to read? That's rough." Said Jeffery as she leaned in the doorway. "I hope Psych isn't as intense."

"Oh, that doesn't sound so bad to me. We have to read five books per week... Gotta love English Lit." Added Deyah.

The girls went to watch a movie in the living room while I finished decorating my room and making it my own. I put fairy lights on the windowsill, put my favorite paintings I made on the wall (some I hung up, some I just leaned against the wall on the floor), and added my soft sheets and blankets to the double bed. Once I was done, I thought about joining them, but I had the sudden urge to paint something.

I sat by my desk which was in front of the window. I took out my watercolors and paintbrushes and went to work. I decided to paint the view from my window, which looked upon a brightly lit street.

I signed my name on the bottom of the paper and the date. It wasn't my finest work, but it was decent. I let it dry on my desk and decided to get on with the readings for my Art History lecture.

I was almost finished with "The Intellectual Life of the Early Renaissance Artist" by Ames-Lewis, but I still had a few chapters to get through. I highlighted the parts I found most interesting, and indeed it was an enjoyable read. I just hoped Professor Woodley wouldn't go too hard on us.

On Monday morning I woke up feeling anxious. New school, new friends, new teachers, new everything. It was all super overwhelming. I managed to eat a slice of toast and some chamomile tea before walking out the door, my laptop inside my tote bag. The weather was decent except for the wind which made my hair look a mess. It was only a 20-minute walk to Princeton though, so I hurried my pace.

Princeton College came into view when I turned a corner. It was stunning. The old yellowing stone, the tall buildings, the cobbled side talk, the big trees lining the pathway to the entrance. It really did look like a convent from the outside, but the many students walking towards the gate at 8:30 in the morning made it quite clear this was no convent anymore. I tugged at my tote, holding the straps close to me I just had to find my classroom and pray I didn't get lost.

The building was intimidating. As soon as I stepped inside, I knew I'd have trouble finding my way to class.

"Excuse me, good morning, could you help me find classroom... AB455?" I asked a random girl who was standing in the entrance hall. She had a small cup of coffee in her hand, those you get from a crappy machine.

"Oh, no way! I'm going to that class too. Master student in Archeology?" The girl asked, her eyes bright.

"Wow, how lucky was I to find you? Yeah, I'm studying Mythology. You?"

"Pre-history." She replied, taking a sip of her coffee. "I'm Nia, pleasure to meet you."

"Ciara, likewise."

Nia was a tall young woman, about my age from the looks of it. She was wearing a baggy knit sweater and some jeans, nothing too striking for an art student. Truth be told, compared to our surroundings, every student looked a bit underdressed.

"Ok so, the Arts building, AB, is just this way. They tucked us art students at the back of the University campus, go figure. They obviously had to put the Law and Economics students just down the corridor. I feel immediately disrespected." Nia commented and I couldn't help but laugh at her remark.

"Imagine some fancy people walking in the main building and seeing undergrad art projects hanging from the walls. That would be pretty embarrassing." I said, walking beside her.

"I guess you're right. But not just undergrads, we have some pretty eccentric classmates, especially from your branch. The painters are always so... different. You look pretty normal to me."

I had to agree with her. For an art student, I wasn't that creative in the way that I looked or dressed. I kept my hair short, above my shoulders, and I always styled it the same way. My clothes were basic as well, nothing too colorful or with flashy patterns. I did, however, like to wear make-up, but not too heavy. Just a simple, small, winged liner, mascara, concealer, and some pink lipstick, close to the color of my lips. I liked blending in. Besides, I didn't have to be loud and flamboyant for my art to be good.

When we arrived at the Arts Building, we walked towards our classroom. It was an amphitheater, with rows of built-in semi-circle tables going all the way around. The room had the capacity for about 20 students, but there were about half when we walked in. Nia and I sat in the middle row, taking out our laptops and turning them on. The lecturer hadn't arrived yet, so we continued chatting away.

"Did you read Prof. Woodley's email?" I asked Nia. She rolled her eyes.

"Unfortunately, I did. What a way to set the tone for the rest of the semester. But I did read the whole thing and took some notes. God, I hope he doesn't pick me."

Suddenly, a flock of students came inside, filling the rest of the seats. Behind them walked a tall man, probably in his early thirties dressed in a suit. The clunk of his shoes dulled the whispering voices of the students as they settled down. The man carried with him his laptop and a file which he lay open on top of the speaker's podium at the front of the class.

"Holy hell, is that our professor?" Asked Nia, her eyes widening. I was just as surprised as she was.

He was drop-dead gorgeous.

"Alright class, settle down. First of all, good morning everyone, welcome to Art History. I'll be your professor for this course. You can address me by Professor, Sir, or Dr Woodley, anything else is unacceptable." He said, his deep, commanding voice reaching every corner of the room. "I hope you have all received the email I sent you a week ago and have prepared for this class accordingly. I did receive a few replies, asking why I chose to conduct my evaluation this way. News flash, you're all adults, you're now Master students, and you shall be treated as such. For that reason, I expect nothing from you except hard work and dedication. You might not see it now, but this course is fundamental for your development as the artist you want to become. Like an old professor of mine used to say, we must understand the past to understand the present and create the future."

His strong words lingered in the air, the room dead silent. If my anxiety had been high this morning, it had only increased by a thousand percent.

"I'll begin by taking attendance and then we'll look at the content for this course in more detail." He looked at his papers and read aloud. "Vera Stone."

"Present."

"Matt Dixon?."

"Present."

"Ciara..." He paused. I knew exactly was coming. "Lotus."

Like every teacher in my whole life, he pronounced my last name like dot. I was afraid to correct him, but I had to do it or else he'd pronounce my name wrongly for the rest of the semester. I raised my hand shyly and cleared my throat.

"It's pronounced Lotus Professor, like Cactus."

He snickered, amused by my correction. "Alright, Ciara Lotus Like Cactus." He said, marking me present on his sheet. "Is it French?"

My cheeks flared up. Why was he making fun of me on my first day, in front of everyone?

"I'd assume you'd know since you're teaching a course where half the terms are in French."

Nia kicked me under the desk, trying to hold in her laughter. I could hear some students holding in theirs as well, whispers coming down the levels of the amphitheater-like a wave. Maybe my comment was a little too much. Yeah, most definitely. I regretted it as soon as it came out of my mouth.

"Looks like I'm not teaching adults after all. We'll talk at the end of the class, Miss Lotus."

He continued to take attendance, and my nervousness skyrocketed. I looked at Nia, the girl I had met just 20 minutes ago, searching for comfort and words of encouragement. She had a devilish smile on her face.

"Look, it isn't that bad. You're gonna be up close and personal with him."

Needless to say, her words had the opposite outcome of what I wished.

The class continued smoothly. After taking attendance and not making jokes anymore about anybody's names, Dr Woodley dissected the syllabus and explained how the grading was going to work. As expected, individual participation was graded as well, and that included the oh-so-dreadful surprise questions about the papers.

The professor changed the PowerPoint slides until he reached one with the cover of the paper we had to read. Everyone immediately tensed up.

Dr. Woodley took a step down from the podium, coming closer to the front row. He looked serious and unfriendly. Was he happy to be teaching this course or was he just doing it because the faculty was forcing him?

"At the beginning of the fifteenth century, painters and sculptors were seldom regarded as more than artisans and craftsmen, but within little more than a hundred years they had risen to the status of 'artists'." He began, pacing back and forth, his voice strong and confident. "This paper explores how early Renaissance artists gained recognition for the intellectual foundations of their activities and achieved artistic autonomy from enlightened patrons. Now, since this is the first lecture, I'll be going easy on you. For today, I just want you to give me your opinions on the text, highlight the most important parts, and share your own conclusions about it. Is there anyone who would want to take the lead?"

As predicted, everyone went silent. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on me.

Oh no.

"Miss Cactus, since you have already given us a piece of your mind, why won't you go first?"