Fan Fiction ❯ Angel's Art ❯ Chapter 1

Angel's Art - Chapter 1

 

The room was in the shape of a rectangular prism, built of rectangular blocks of equal size, approximately 8 by 14 inches each. But that could be off by several millimeters, making the full dimensions of the room illogical to calculate without accurate readings. Although if she were to do it, it would of course, be 11 times 8 times 14 times 15, times whatever the width of the room was, but since that was made of ceiling tiles and not the rectangle blocks, it threw off her estimations further. By the time Angel's mother invited her to sit down in one of the cushioned round chairs that sat in the room, she had concluded that it was more or less 210 by 88 by 105, giving the whole place a rough volume of 1,940,400 inches, discluding the desk at which the teacher sat and the three seats in which she and her parents were now sitting.

"Perhaps you don't know exactly who our daughter is," her mother was going on.

"I know perfectly well who she is," the teacher replied, whose name was Ms. Portrait; Angel had heard her mother say it a few days ago and recorded it down in her temporary memory, just in case it was important. Ms. Portrait leaned over her desk and took a sip of tea of a cylinder shaped mug, which if Angel were to guess about that...

"The miracle girl she's been dubbed, am I right? Contrary to the belief of my peers, I do watch the news now and then." Ms. Portrait's words interrupted Angel before she make approximations on the radius of the mug's circular shape.

"So you understand," said Angel's father. "That our daughter is far too advanced for a third-grade curriculum."

"And surely you understand, sir," she went on. "That school is not only a matter of mastering logic and facts, although that's certainly a good part of it. It also consists of the arts." For the first time in several days, Angel's ears perked with some interest. She knew what "art" meant of course. She had finished committing all the a-words in the unabridged dictionary to her permanent memory months ago. It was a lengthy task, for although her mind would memorize any definition instantly, she still had to actually read the thing, which took some time. "Art" was one of those simple words, but very vague in its description. Angel was curious to know more about it.

"Arts?" her father exclaimed. "If someone wants to be an artist, they can go to an art school for that. Public school is about educating practical material for the real world."

"I'm afraid I'm inclined to disagree with you," Ms. Portrait said, shaking her head. "Art is an essential part of any curriculum, and no matter how brilliant your little girl is, she still needs a rounded education." She wrote some things down on a piece of paper and handed it over to Angel's father. "You don't have to worry. My class is strictly music, art, and a little bit of creative writing. It will all be very new to Angel and I'm sure she'll enjoy it very much."

"It sounds interesting, Daddy," Angel said quietly. Her father glared at her; her mother looked a bit shocked. It was the first time Angel expressed an interest in something in the past (approximately) 16 days, 9 hours, and 45 minutes. Her mother looked somewhat pleased, but her father seemed unsure of how to react, so he simply said quietly,

"Angel, how many times have I told you it's not polite to speak out of turn?"

"In the past month, I believe four times," she replied, not with sarcasm, but as an honest truthful answer. "But I've also observed you breaking this rule several times, which leads me to believe that it doesn't apply in all situations."

Her father's face turned a bit red and Ms. Portrait giggled.

"Tell me, Angel, how old are you?" she asked. Angel looked over. The teacher had a certain degree of pleasantness in her voice, but she couldn't quite determine what was causing it.

"8 years, 4 months, 21 days," she replied.

"Well," said Ms. Portrait. "Isn't that a coincidence? We have several 8-yeared children in our class as well. I'm sure you'll get along quite well with them."

"This is ridiculous," Angel's father muttered.

"Maybe, but we've tried everything else," her mother whispered back. "Just let her take the course. She certainly won't lose anything from it."

"I suppose that's true," her father finally admitted, and reluctantly pulled out a pen to enroll Angel in the elementary after-school arts program.