Rejection

—In every drop of ink, a universe of stories waits to be told.

Alcott Arts was like a bustling art universe all on its own. Think of it as a quirky galaxy where different cliques of art students floated around, each with their own cosmic style. Here's the inside scoop on the art tribes that turned our campus into a swirl of color and creativity.

First up, we've got "The Visionaries." These were the ones who looked at a blank canvas and saw entire universes hiding in those empty spaces. You'd spot them wearing boho-chic outfits that probably took them hours to put together, but they'd never admit it. Paint-splattered jeans, flowing scarves – they had that effortlessly artsy vibe. Sarah was their star, lost in thought, conjuring magical realms with every stroke of her brush. Seriously, I think she had a map to Narnia hidden in her sketchbook.

Then there were "The Classicists." These were the modern-day versions of those renaissance master painters. They believed in old-school techniques and attention to detail that would put a microscope to shame. You'd often catch them hunched over, squinting at their canvases as if they were deciphering secret codes. Michael was our resident classicist, crafting pieces that looked like they'd been plucked right out of a history book. Seriously, I wouldn't be surprised if he had a time machine hidden somewhere.

Now, let's talk "Expressionists." These guys were like emotional tornadoes. They'd take their feelings, blend them with a whirlwind of colors, and boom – you'd have artwork that was practically a mood in itself. Jenna was their fearless leader, her pieces dripping with so much raw emotion you could practically feel it jumping off the canvas. Seriously, standing in front of her art was like getting hit by a wave of feelings.

"The Innovators" were a special breed. They believed in pushing boundaries and giving tradition a run for its money. These tech-savvy artists were like wizards, using gadgets and gizmos to create mind-bending masterpieces. Alex was their poster child, blurring the lines between the digital and the tangible in ways that left the rest of us scratching our heads. I swear, he must've had a secret pact with some futuristic art robots.

Next, we had the socially conscious heroes, the "Social Activists." These were the artists who believed that art wasn't just about aesthetics – it was a megaphone for change. They'd turn their canvases into platforms for social commentary, tackling everything from climate change to human rights. Marcus was the heart and soul of this group, his art shouting powerful messages louder than any protest chant.

Then came the "Eclectics," a bunch of artistic chameleons who couldn't be pinned down to just one style. They were a mix of contradictions, dabbling in everything from surrealism to street art. Lily was their queen, changing her artistic persona as often as most of us change our Instagram filters. Seriously, she could go from abstract expressionist to avant-garde minimalist in the time it takes to brew a cup of coffee.

Lastly, there were the "Minimalists." These were the artists who believed that less was definitely more. They'd create stunning pieces using just a few lines and colors, making simplicity look like the coolest thing since sliced bread. Ethan was their champion, turning minimalism into a sophisticated dance of shapes and shades. It was like he had a secret pact with elegance itself.

So there you have it, a sneak peek into the swirling galaxy of art cliques at Alcott Arts. Each group had their own style, their own vibe, but together, they painted our campus with an explosion of creativity. And as for me? Well, let's just say I was in a galaxy of my own...

"You done with your painting dork?" Ellie whispered sharply next to me. "You know mine's always better, no need to waste your time."

Meet my sister, Eleanor Rose Evans. You'd think being named after a flower, she'd be more tame. I see more thorns than petals on her. She's more a Venus Flytrap than anything else. She's like the poster child for high society's expectations. Prim, proper, and all that shit. Me? Well, let's just say I'm not exactly ...'student of the year' at Alcott Arts. Though I prefer to think of myself as the black sheep with a rebellious streak that could make a tornado jealous.

Now I'm just going to paint you a picture; no pun intended. We're in class, surrounded by these so-called artists, each painting their little hearts out. The professor, this uptight snob, strolling around, critiquing like she's some kind of art deity. And then, she hits mine.

My painting's a whirlwind of colors and lines, like a graffiti artist had a love affair with a tornado. In a sea of delicate flowers and picture-perfect bowls of fruit, mine's a riotous rebellion. It's a messy tribute to the chaos of life, a finger to the rules. To be honest, I picked up my fountain pen after I got bored and drew some tendrils around the apple and banana. I wanted to give it a gothic look but it ended up looking like my fruits were possessed. And it looked good. Creepy, but good.

Unfortunately Madame Dubois did not think so. Pure disbelief, with a side of snooty. She raised her eyebrow like I just slapped her with my paintbrush. But honestly, I couldn't give two hoots. It wasn't really the first time someone had rejected my art. I mean, I know I'm not Da Vinci but my art was good. And I knew it!

Memories flashed through my mind, like snapshots of rejection. There was that gallery, all fancy and well-lit, where my stuff stuck out like a moose in a flock of seagulls. And don't even get me started on that art fair where my booth was practically a ghost town. People walked by, noses in the air, acting like my work was a stain on their oh-so-refined taste. Their loss.

Next to me, Ellie rolled her eyes. She's the princess of propriety, couldn't understand my art if her life depended on it. Sometimes, I even wondered why on earth we were sisters. And as if the universe didn't hate me enough. She was my twin. I mean, we live in a six-bedroom mansion and our parents crammed us into the same room for 'bonding'. So we share a house, a room, same parents, same school and a face. Why couldn't I have been a fraternal twin?

"Is that a worm in your apple?" she pointed, deliberately making a smudge in the still-wet paint.

"Hey!" I slapped her hand away. "You saw that, didn't you?"

Madame Dubois folded her arms across her chest.

"Oh anything she does at this point would save that monstrosity you call art." she retorted. "I wonder what your parents were thinking sending both of you here. You're a disappointment."

As her words hit me like a verbal slap, a burning wave of embarrassment rushed over me. My face grew warm, and I could practically feel the weight of everyone's judgment on me. My gaze dropped to the floor, my hands clutching my bag so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

But in that moment, a surge of defiance ignited within me. I could feel it welling up from deep inside, pushing aside the humiliation. My legs moved on their own, propelling me to my feet. Anger and determination pulsed through my veins, drowning out the voices of doubt.

"And I suppose you think that I need your approval?" I shot back, my voice tinged with a newfound strength. "I've had enough of this bullshit school!"

Ellie's snide laughter grated on my nerves, like sandpaper against my resolve. Without hesitation, I swatted her hand away before it could reach me. My heart pounded in my chest as I unzipped my bag, my fingers closing around the cool, metallic surface of a red paint can.

Other students snickered, others just shot confused looks my way. I was the circus act, the oddity in their world of pretentious perfection.

My heart raced as I turned towards the canvas that represented everything I resented about this stifling place. With a swift, deliberate motion, I tilted the can, watching as the vibrant red paint cascaded out, splattering over Lily's precious creation, her screams a symphony to my ears as she pushed her stool back. The painting now marred by chaos and rebellion.

My breathing was ragged as I stood there, my heart pounding in my ears. A sense of triumph swelled within me as I lifted my hand, my middle finger defiantly extended. I wasn't going to put up with their expectations.

Turning on my heel, I shouldered my bag and strode out of the classroom. The sound of my footsteps echoed in the silence I left behind, a resounding proclamation of my departure from Alcott Arts and my embrace of a new path, one defined by my own unapologetic rebellion. Yeah...Fuck the whole damned planet! I'm free!

See, my canvas was my battleground, and my brush was my weapon. I'd faced rejection before, laughed in its face, and kept on painting. My art was me and it always would be, raw and unfiltered, a big middle finger to anyone who thought it had to fit in their neat little box.

So here I am, call me a rebel with a cause. Ready to splash the art world with my own damn colors and show 'em that rules were meant to be broken. The story's just getting started, and this tornado's got a whole lotta chaos left to unleash.