Chapter One
The Gallery Of Notifications
In an old grey college building, having a final semester exam. The back of my neck tickled. Itching, sweat dropped on the paper.
“Is it A or A? – I mean B” I whispered to myself.
Circling ‘Cold War’ for the answer.
There were only 4 minutes left, as I glanced at the clock ticking. Now things were getting heavy. I started to hear sounds from every corner. Pens clicking, scribbling, papers flipped, doors shutting, as people left. The chairs next to me got emptied and the rain outside got louder, splashing hard on the concrete. The walls seemed to be caving in and the teacher’s steps swarmed the room. The heels hit ‘Click Click’. My knees were getting weak.
‘Rrrrooh,’ as my stomach rumbled. Silence echoed in the room. Embarrassed, I covered the paper with my curly brown locks, as the teacher monitored the room.
I am Emma. For goodness’ sake, I’ve never failed an exam in my life. I am an A-star student, as I preached to myself.
Swallowing the spit down my throat. I turned the paper to recheck my answers however, time was up and I failed.
Passing history wasn’t my parents’ idea, since they were more focused on my English, math and especially biology grades. Their dream for me was to become a doctor when I graduate from university however, I want to be a painter in art museums.
I have told them once and that was the last time I’d tell them. I was in high school at that time and their facial expressions freaked the soul out of me. Mother was telling me to “Never mention it”. Father left his mouth wide open, as tears fell from his eyes. Their reaction was as if someone had died. I wish I could delete that memory.
****
A few weeks after the exam.
I sat in the living room in the dark with a computer and papers scattered all over my glass table. Most of them were homework however, not informed by a teacher but by my parents. The other rest was extra homework.
Slapping my face with my palms, I knew after the exam that misery was the mood for the day. Not that I couldn’t finish all this homework, but the fact that I can never take a re-exam on history for my grades.
‘What’s done is done, ’ I thought.
‘Pipe pipe’ White Light spread in the room. Something popped up on the side of the computer screen.
What’s bothering me now? It took a while for me to realize what I just read.
‘Congratulations you’ve been offered a seat to attend The Chazelle Gallery…’
“AAHAAHH” Screaming. Excitement lifted the weight off my shoulders, raised my hands up high and I jumped on the sofa, laughing like a kid who just got a sugar rush out of nowhere.
Is this what I think it means? I’ve been invited to the most famous exclusive gallery known to earth. ‘Chazelle Gallery’ has the most mesmerizing artefacts with questionable things that seem miraculous. People say, ‘The paintings will change your point of view on life. ’ It is expensive however, it doesn’t bother me, since my family is wealthy.
The gallery is placed only once a year on a random day, only the privileged and well-educated people can go through connections however, it’s hard for them too. Since only a set of people can go, considering everyone in the world wants to attend.
It’s a miracle I got in by just a letter I wrote, about how passionate I am for art and how I always dreamed of going to the Chazelle Gallery.
I guess those people were bluffing about how hard it is to get in.
Getting out my phone, pressing on any contact. Not that I had much. It was either my parents, teachers or cousin Ruby.
I don’t care who’d pick up, I just wanted to share my exciting news with anyone.
“Hey, this is Ruby. Sorry, I can’t pick up the phone right now-” I turned off the phone and called my parents instead.
“Hello Emma. How is?-” Answered mother.
“-Mum, guess what!” Squealing as my hands shake.
“What is it?” My mother was startled.
“I’ve got a place in Chazelle Gallery.” The words came out of my mouth so fast that words muddled up, but luckily, my mother understood what I was saying.
Mother gasped…Silence on the call. Waiting for her reaction.
“Chazelle Gallery” Mother repeated. For a second there, it sounded like she was disappointed, as if she was trying to process the information. I mean, who can believe their own daughter got accepted to go to Chazelle Gallery. Not even the richest person can get in.
“I hope you’re joking.”
“No, Ma. I actually got in. Maybe I can get a few more tickets so you guys can come too-”
“-Do not go. Delete the message and act like you didn’t see it.”
“Ma, are you okay. Did you hear what I said?”
My family and I rarely get a bad reception.