Chapter 1: Something New

“Holy Fuck!” Steve gasped as he rounded another corner in the stairwell, the third of seven, before he reached his destination.

There were several other students who were either ahead or behind him, all rushing to get to Sculpting and Canvas 201E, room 734B, not A.

“Why did the elevators need to break down today?” he grunted, re-shouldering his book bag and as he plundered upward. Two floors to go, one floor.

With squeaking shoes, owing to the downpour that came out of nowhere, Steve speedily made his way past the other open classes. He rounded the corner and tried the handle.

“Thank god, not locked”, he muttered twisting the door open and glancing up at the clock. It read 6:00pm, not 5:50pm like it did on his and everyone else’s mobile phones.

“Late again?” came a lilting voice to his left. It was the Asian girl he had sat next to for the better part of this semester.

“You wish, Kim. It’ll take more than a broken elevator to stop me getting to this class. Steve grinned, shaking his shaggy dirty-blonde hair at her and managing to land a few droplets on her sweater.

“Ohh! You splashed me.” She cried out, raising her arms up in defense. She added, “And you smell like a wet dog.” And feigned to waive her hand across her nose.

“Yeah? Well, you smell like wontons”, he stuck out his tongue and she threw her eraser at him playfully.

They both looked at each other and grinned, the clock now reading 6:00pm. Precisely the time when their instructor, Associate Professor Pamela Connors, locked the door.

Connors, a slim woman of 33, today wearing a dark pencil skirt, thin leather belt, heels and white blouse, checked her watch and clicked the lock once she reached the door.

*BANG BANG*

Steve and Kim look at each other, knowing what was to come.
“Come on, let us in Miss, the elevator was busted. Again. How is that our fault?” Came the faint whine of several stragglers through the locked door. Fellow classmates could only make out partial faces from through the small rectangular window, their eyes hopeful. But they knew: nobody ever got up to open the door to admit entry after AP Connors locked it. Never.

Their teacher ignored the noise and proceeded as per usual walking while she talked, “Today students, we will be moving on to the next section of our syllabus: canvas art”, she said, continually oblivious of the still-pounding fists on the door, which seemed to be growing fainter and fainter as the defeated students knew there was no hope once that door was locked.

“Hah, serves them right; we should all know by now she’s a stickler for time.” Said Kim uncrossing and re-crossing her legs on her stool and tapping her foot again to an invisible rhythm.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Umm, it’d be nice if she’d change her friggin’ wristwatch to the right time, like everyone else.”
He pointed to his cellphone, noting the time discrepancy. Now it was Kim’s turn to roll her eyes.

Professor Connors continued. She stepped into the center of the class, for all the present students were in a giant circle, with a small stool sat atop a small wooden plinth.

“Today we will be switching from modeling clay back to pencils; I think some of you are really weak here. And if you want to pass my final, you’ll take this gift and not disappoint me next month.”

“Ohh, I wonder if it’s another guy?” said Kim, resting her head on her hand and looking dreamily at the center of the room.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you!” scoffed Steve, unslinging his book bag and removing the necessary items for today’s illustration.

Steve was a sophomore at a liberal Arts school, with aspirations of becoming an animator. Why in hell he needed to still be working with clay and pencil was a complete mystery to him. Besides, he was a killer-genius with a Mac anyway. When the hell would his degree finally specialize to more computer courses, not these designer shit courses. They were so archaic!

Steve was 19 and of average height and build. He had a clear complexion and loved his shaggy hair. He had strong wiry arms and legs from running on the track and field team. But since the season had ended, he had developed a little pot belly from overindulging since he was no longer in season, training.

He came out of his reverie as Professor Connors slapped her hand on the stool in the center of the room, snapping his and all other’s wandering attentions.

“As I was saying, your usual model for this class has taken ill and we have a temporary replacement. He is new and you will show him every courtesy that I have come to expect from you.”

A few of the girls sniggered into their hands, Kim was one of them.

“Hah, remember Mopey-Big-Eyes?” she said, spreading her eyes wide and mimicking overly-large glasses with a vacant expression on her face.

“Who could ever forget the only model we’ve had who was a narcoleptic and fell asleep and fell off the damn stool.” Said Steve laughing slightly.

Professor Connors had walked over to her desk and grabbed a stack of papers.
“Ugh, this isn’t good.” Said Kim nodding her head to the stack of papers that was now being handed out.

Papers meant more work, new work. Harder work.

“I am asking of you to focus your skills on drawing the male anatomy and lower body region. You will of course, illustrate the usual anatomy, but for this assignment, you will draw the muscular anatomy. Here—Veronica.” said Connors handing half the stack of papers to a particularly large girl, who was meant to distribute the papers to her fellow students.

The class groaned.

“In particular, you will focus on the leg and thigh muscles, including lower abdominals and genitalia.” Said Connors handing the remaining stack of papers to a particularly sulky boy whom Steve did not know very well.

At this last sentence, Steve perked up. Steve was gay and had just gotten out of a really lousy relationship with a kid studying Engineering.

As Professor Connors passed Kim and Steve, Kim let out an excited squeak.

“Oooh, you know what this means?” She tittered.

“Yeah, I do.”

The fact that they were focusing on the lower anatomy meant that they were going to have a particularly well-endowed model today. And that meant they were usually really old.

Kim nudged Steve in the ribs, “No enjoyee-artee-classee-for-youee.” She said, mocking her own heritage for his amusement.

But he just sighed and waited for Professor Connors to finish so that he could see the model and get it over with. ‘Why couldn’t the faculty pick a hot guy once in a while? Give the girls something nice to look at, and him also’, he thought. Instead, they seemed to always find the oldest, most saggy-balled or low-titted women on the planet.

“You will be working with this model for the final four weeks of term. There will be one week of review of clay and oil paint. We will be bringing back Stephanie; and then your final, for which we will be using an entirely new model.” Said Professor Connors.

Steve re-arranged himself on his stool, adjusted the easel the way he always liked it and turned sideways to await the horror show that he and his fellow classmates would be forced to obsess over, for the next month.

“Shoot me now.” He mimed putting two fingers to his temple, making Kim laugh.

Professor Connors motioned over to the dark corner of the classroom. There, shrouded in a long robe sat a man. Steve sat up a little straighter despite himself and noticed he was also hooded as well as cloaked. Very mysterious.
The man got up and approached the center of the classroom. His movements were slow and graceful, like a runway model. He pulled back the hood and shook the outstretched hand of Professor Connors, who gave a brief smile in return. He undid his robe, handing it to her and sat on the center stool in the pre-arranged pose he and Connors must have discussed at an earlier time: The Great Thinker.

Steve looked up and had to catch his breath.

“Oh my god.” He breathed, his mouth agape.

“Woah. Hells Bells—He’s fucking hot!” said Kim, a little too loudly, for the model turned in her direction, and the briefest of smiles played across his face before resuming his position.

‘But he was so much more’, thought Steve. This was an Adonis. A Greek God. And for the next four weeks, he would be enjoying art class very, very much.