ART PROFESSOR

Chapter 4

CHRIS

I was really looking forward to working today, ready to dive into some teaching. But guess what? I only got assigned to lecture one class, and it happened to be the year 4 class, not just any year 4 class but the artistic (drawing) department. The Head of the department, Dr. Williams told me that this year four students had been getting their lectures from a part-time professor for a few weeks now, and he wanted me to become their permanent art teacher, which honestly doesn't sound too bad to me.

So, I walked into the classroom and was met with a sea of students. There were guys and girls, of all kinds of skin tones, just hanging out, chatting, and having a good time. But you won't believe what my eyes caught on – there were these two students, I think they were in their twenties, and they were actually kissing right there in the middle of the class.

I mean, I'm not a prude or anything, but seeing that in a classroom was a bit surprising. I had to shake my head and focus on the task at hand. After all, I was there to teach them about art and ignite their creative sparks. I cleared my throat, and the noise level in the room slowly died down as all eyes turned to me.

"Hey everyone, good morning!" I greeted the class with a friendly smile. "I'm Chris, but you can call me Professor Jefferson. I'll be your new Art teacher."

The students quickly settled into their seats, and I could feel their curious gazes on me. Being in front of a new class always made me a bit nervous, but I was determined to make a great first impression.

"As you may have heard, I'll be taking over as your permanent Art teacher," I continued. "I'm really excited to get to know all of you and help you explore your artistic talents."

I could see a mix of reactions in the room – some students looked genuinely interested, while others seemed a bit indifferent. And of course, there were a few who exchanged amused glances, probably still buzzing from the whole kissing incident.

I decided to dive right into the lesson. "So, let's start by talking about what art means to each of you. Who can tell me their thoughts?"

I was hoping for some responses, and I was pleased when a blonde girl in a California sweater vest raised her hand. But her answer caught me off guard.

“Hey, Mr. Chris, I don’t think you got the memo – this is the year four department, not the freshers,” she retorted in a tone laced with sass and a confident edge.

Right away, I could sense her personality. You know how every class has its own mix of characters? Well, I figured she preferred, belonged to the category of those young, confident ones who think they're the queen bee or the bad girl type, someone who loves throwing shade just for fun. But hey, I knew I had to address this.

I kept my smile on, removed my glasses, and in a composed tone, I asked, "Mind telling me your name?"

“The name's Vicky, but everyone calls me V,” she replied with a hint of attitude.

"All right, Vicky," I began, "firstly when we're in the classroom or anywhere around school, it's 'Professor Jefferson,' not 'Mr. Chris.' And secondly, when I throw out questions, I'm hoping for thoughtful responses, not just random jabs or thrash talks"

I could tell she was a bit taken aback, and maybe even annoyed. But I wasn't about to let any attitude throw me off. I'd dealt with all sorts of students before, and I knew how to hold my ground. Honestly, I wasn't trying to embarrass her, I just wanted to set the tone for a respectful classroom environment.

I noticed her trying to regain her composure in front of her friends, with an 'I don’t care' attitude. But it didn't bother me as long as my message got across to the whole class.

As I was about to give them some advice and basic guidelines for the art world before getting into the actual teaching from the curriculum, I caught a glimpse of a woman sitting with a mixed expression on her face. She seemed troubled.

Her eyes carried a sense of depth like she had experienced a lot in life. They were a rich shade of hazel, and they held a hint of sadness. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her face with natural elegance. There was a slight curve to her lips as if she was caught between a smile and a frown. She had a graceful posture, even in her distress, which added to her appealing presence.

I couldn't help but wonder what might be bothering her as I spoke to the class. Her gaze wandered, lost in thought, and I could tell she was struggling with something. Maybe it was a personal matter or something related to the class. Whatever it was, it intrigued me.

I really wanted to know what was bothering her but it was my first day and it wouldn’t seem okay to be prying into my new student’s personal issue even though as their teacher, I guess I’m entitled to help them.

Amid my teaching, the class speaker unexpectedly broke in, delivering a message that instantly diverted everyone's attention. "Gina Porter, your father is here to see you. Report to my office," the announcement crackled faintly as it reached our ears.

Immediately, the young woman I had noticed earlier, Gina Porter, stood up from her seat with a complex expression etched on her face. It was evident that the news wasn't positive. She swiftly excused herself from the class, leaving me with a mixture of curiosity and genuine concern for her well-being.

The name Porter sounded familiar, and then it struck me – John Bryon, the prominent businessman known to hold considerable influence in the county. I had heard about his daughter attending the university but I had no idea that this seemingly troubled young woman who had garnered my attention earlier was none other than the daughter of this prominent figure.

It was surprising to realize that the troubled student in front of me was connected to such a powerful and well-known individual. Her struggles and emotional turmoil suddenly took on a different light. I wondered what kind of pressure she might be under, considering her family background.