Volume 1, Flashback 4: Nature Is Apparently Open to Interpretation (Patreon)

Link to previous flashback: https://www.patreon.com/OneDropRain/posts/volume-1-3-169119674/

Seven years and five months before The Event

Ms. Constanzza’s class took place in a fairly large room where, in addition to a desk and seat, each of us had access to painting tools stored inside it and a canvas on an easel. This time, however, every one of us handed in the assignment we had prepared beforehand as we entered. The subject had been how we saw nature.

I gave her the painting I had made based on the sketch I’d prepared earlier, depicting the boys arguing in the common room. I expected her to fail me, but I was hoping she would notice the way I had shown the wildness of the heart, born from human nature, creeping into a space completely separated from nature in the literal sense. And in that sense her failing me, would be in truth her failing to see the truth.

Whether that actually happened didn’t matter all that much to me. What my mind was focused on, and what I was waiting for, was now also in other people’s hands, but not only theirs.

After taking my seat, I looked around the room, where the other students waited intently for the verdict. My gaze settled in turn on Bobby, Cory, and Timothy, hoping that at least one of them had decided to test whether straying from the assignment would earn criticism or praise. And yet, despite everything I had been taught about controlling my emotions, my eyes kept searching until they found Sasha Vale sitting diagonally across the room, a few desks away from me.

This time she was wearing a light summer dress with a small coat over it, and the outfit left very little to the imagination, fully showing off the advantages of her figure.

Yesterday, we had spent two hours in the sanctuary I had shared with her, and despite my completely failed attempt at flirting, I thought we’d had a good time. Afterward, I had walked her back to the entrance of the girls’ dormitory, and the graffiti design we had created together had actually turned out pretty damn good.

Today, however, she hadn’t spoken to me even once. And it was occupying far too much of my attention.

Ms. Constanzza started with straightforward works that approached the subject in the most basic way. Flowers. Grass bent beneath the pressure of the wind. A river winding through a mountain stream. A wall of rain churning the surface of the water.

She analyzed each of those works, pointing out mistakes in technique, approach, or perspective, but not once did she criticize the shallow interpretation of the essence of the assignment. Quite the opposite. When it came to that aspect, she seemed to have nothing but praise.

And finally, she reached a piece that made her eyes widen, along with her mouth, which whispered some kind of curse.

“Cory?” she asked lightly, getting up from her desk as she had with every other assignment. She turned his work around and hung it on the board with four magnets—one in each corner. “I hope you understand that I can’t give you a passing grade for this?”

She pointed toward the painting, which showed Cory himself lying on a bed and covered with something resembling an animal skin.

His musculature was heavily exaggerated and enlarged, but thankfully, he had shown enough restraint not to paint anything below the waist.

All the girls giggled except Sasha, who turned her gaze away and lowered it toward her desk.

“Why?!” Cory practically jumped out of his seat, slamming a hand against the desk. “The proportions are perfect, the lighting is fantastic, the linework is outstanding, not to mention the colors. Everything you were praising in Caroline’s work just a moment ago is here in mine too, except mine is actually done well. What’s wrong with it?”

He was so worked up that droplets of spit flew from his mouth onto Bobby, who was sitting in front of him. Bobby grimaced and began wiping it from his neck while shifting slightly to the side.

“Cory. What was the assignment?” Ms. Constanzza asked, standing there with one foot tapping against the floor and her arms crossed over her chest.

Her long pencil skirt, sweater over a collared shirt, and slender frame, combined with the posture she had taken, made her look like an exclamation point waiting to explode.

“Well… something about nature…. Oh! How we see nature,” Cory muttered under his breath.

“And this is how you see nature? Your own body covered with a cowhide? What exactly is that supposed to symbolize, Cory?” she began, spreading her hands, but quickly brought them back together and waved one finger through the air in a dismissive gesture. “No, actually, I’m sorry. I don’t want to know, Cory—your work is completely off-topic. Sit down, unless you have something else to add.”

“No,” he said through clenched teeth and sat down, glancing over his shoulder at me only once.

I gave him a mocking, patronizing smile, which made him boil even harder, but unfortunately those feelings still didn’t spill over. Something more was needed to push the situation further.

“Maybe next time someone will appreciate your imagination,” I whispered just loudly enough for him to hear.

“Or maybe yours?” he replied at full volume, turning toward me.

“Excuse me?” the teacher said as she was returning to her desk for the next assignment.

“Julian Porter seems to think my work isn’t good enough, ma’am. Funny, I know. Maybe we could see his work, since he’s so clever?”

“We’ll get to Julian’s work in due time.”

“No! Please, ma’am. I need to know what he painted.”

I watched Constanzza glance between me and Cory, who was getting more worked up by the second, and in an effort to defuse the situation, she began going through one assignment after another until she apparently found mine.

“Fine. We’ll make an exception this time,” she replied, standing and hanging my work on the board in the same way she had his.

Whispers immediately rose and spread through the room.

“Quiet, please,” Constanzza said, looking at my piece. “A very interesting approach, Julian. Definitely the most unusual of everything we’ve seen so far.”

She studied the painting, which did indeed depict our common room with the boys arguing inside it, but the colors I had used and the way I had layered them over the dark outlines of the figures and the room created the impression of looking at a mountain landscape, with trees across the lower portion and a stormy sky above, lightning striking directly at the point where the argument was taking place.

“Maybe next time your parents can get you into modeling school,” I whispered to Cory while the teacher discussed my style and what she liked about it.

And that was the match that finally ignited the fire of jealousy already burning inside him.

Cory shot out of his seat like he’d been burned and came at me swinging.

At first, I went down to the floor and let him attack, protecting my face and blocking his punches with my forearms bent at the elbows.

But once I heard the teacher shouting at him to stop, I made one quick move after a block and drove my elbow straight into the center of Cory’s nose, knocking him off me.

“Get up! Both of you! You are to report to the headmistress’s office immediately! This kind of behavior is unbecoming of students attending our distinguished institution!” Constanzza shouted, standing over us and wagging a finger.

I shoved Cory off me, watching as he crawled away dazed, clutching his nose, and glanced only briefly toward Sasha, who finally smiled at me.

This time, I didn’t return it. Instead, I got to my feet and, bowing slightly to the teacher, apologized.

“A security guard will come for you in a moment and escort you there,” she added. “I am deeply disappointed by this behavior.”

I spent roughly the next half hour waiting outside the headmistress’s office, rubbing my shoulders and waiting for my turn to speak with her.

The reception area was decorated as though we were inside a modern art gallery. Steel mixed with bare, pale walls and glass, while the walls themselves were covered with examples of modern art—nothing that could be clearly tied to any specific concept in reality.

Just mixtures of shapes, colors, and lines that were supposed to reveal their true nature only once someone really studied the piece. I thought there might be something artistic in that, but personally, I preferred art that revealed at least one familiar face at first glance and then showed you its second self once you looked deeper. When the first impression showed nothing but chaos, it didn’t speak to me at all.

My thoughts, focused on the artwork, were interrupted by the movement of the door opening. Cory stepped out first, followed a moment later by a beautiful thirty-nine-year-old woman with golden-blond hair pinned into a bun and lips that had clearly been artificially enhanced.

Her cheekbones stood out slightly, and her blue eyes were observant yet warm. She had a shapely figure emphasized by a tight cream-and-black dress that clung closely to her body. Had it not been somewhat forced upon me, I probably wouldn’t have minded ending up in bed with her—my body’s reaction made it perfectly clear that the idea would bring me undeniable pleasure.

For a moment, as she let the other boy leave, she fixed her gaze on me and lightly bit her lower lip.

“Julian Porter?” she asked in a voice slightly too high-pitched to match her appearance.

I nodded without smiling, stood, and walked over to her.

“That’s me, Headmistress,” I replied, looking directly into her eyes and maintaining eye contact until she finally turned and gestured for me to come inside.

Her office was decorated in a style similar to the reception area, but instead of artwork, photographs of her were everywhere.

I noticed that in the pictures where she appeared in more official, formal settings, she wore her hair down, while in more private photographs, as well as at school, she kept it tied up. That struck me as somewhat strange.

After she indicated the chair in front of her desk, I sat down, while she slowly walked around to the other side at the limited pace allowed by the dress constricting her legs, then took her seat across from me.

“I’ll get straight to the point. I received a report about the incident and spoke with the boy who started it. Is it true that you verbally provoked him?” she asked, leaning closer, presumably to draw more attention to her cleavage.

If she was already trying to charm me, then the information Penrose had given me—how to behave, what color shirt to wear, which cologne to use, what hairstyle and posture to adopt—was all actually beginning to work.

“That’s true, Headmistress.”

Hearing my answer, she raised her eyebrows.

“You realize there’s no way to confirm that?”

“I’m confirming it. I have no intention of hiding it. I think Cory is a mediocre artist and doesn’t deserve to be here.”

“I like your honesty, but in that case you will have to be punished,” she replied, placing the tip of her index finger against her lips before shuffling through some papers on her desk.

“I understand. I’ll accept any punishment that doesn’t involve making me stop painting.”

“Admirable dedication. I can see I’ll have to familiarize myself with your work, young man.”

“Good to hear,” I replied as coolly as I could, even though her gestures and appearance were having a very stimulating effect on me. “What will my punishment be?”

“We have zero tolerance for physical violence, so the student who carried out the attack will be expelled from the school. Your case is different, however, so you will receive one week of detention.”

“So during that time I won’t be allowed to attend classes. Is that right?”

“Yes. Since you did show a certain degree of civic courage, however, I will personally prepare some extracurricular activities for you that might interest you. What do you think? Would you like to take part in something like that?” she asked, leaning back slightly while maintaining eye contact with me the entire time.

“If they’re related to art, absolutely. I don’t want to waste my time.”

“Excellent,” she added, clasping her hands together and looking me over once more from head to toe. “Report to my office tomorrow at eight o’clock. That will be all for today.”

“Yes, Headmistress,” I replied with a nod in her direction.