to the sink — as if that's where he'd been headed all along — to clean up his hands. Seth and Mari smashed their eyeballs and glasses flat. And everyone else flew into their seats. (Except for Ashley, who was already in her seat.)
"While you're working today," Ms. Baehr said, ignoring all the confusion, "I want to find out how each of you is doing with your piece for the show. I'll walk around and talk to you privately. Feel free to interrupt me if you need help with anything."
Since Ashley and I were at the worktable in the front of the room, Ms. Baehr approached us first. "Ashley?" she said. "You've definitely decided to go ahead with the fire hydrant?"
"Yes," replied Ashley. "And this is it. I mean, the beginning of it." She indicated the lumpy clay that was slowly gaining form in front of her.
Ms. Baehr looked at it for several seconds. Her face was expressionless. At last she said, "You do realize that this is an odd choice for a sculpture, don't you?"
Ashley frowned. "Well," she said slowly, "I think it's just different. I want to do something different."
"Wouldn't you like to finish up the eagle you started? It was lovely. It would be perfect for the show."
"No." said Ashley. "It's too . . . commonplace. I really want to make a statement with my work."
Ashley bit her lip and I knew she was afraid that Ms. Baehr would tell her she couldn't work on the fire hydrant. But I kept wondering what kind of statement a fire hydrant would make. I could tell Ms. Baehr was wondering the same thing. She usually keeps an open mind, though, so all she said was, "Very well."
Then she turned to me.
I was working on my hand sculpture again, and Ms. Baehr said, "Beautiful, Claudia. That's coming along fine."
"What, this?" I replied. "This is just a practice piece. It's not for the show. I don't know what I'm going to enter."
"You'd better choose soon, Claud, and then get cracking," said Ms. Baehr kindly. "But I like the hand. Why not enter it?"
"I — I want to make a statement, too," I said with a sidelong glance at Ashley.
Ashley smiled. I knew she was pleased that I was listening to her, my mentor.
But Ms. Baehr sighed. "Okay, Claud." She
straightened up and walked over to Fiona McRae's table.
"Hey, I'm proud of you!" Ashley said to me, speaking softly so Ms. Baehr wouldn't hear.
"Really?" I replied, glowing.
"Yes. And — well, I never got to tell you the idea I had this morning. We got interrupted by your, um, friends. My idea is that if you don't want to sculpt an inanimate object, you could make a statement by sculpting a concept."
"What?" (There was that word again. Thank goodness someone had invented it.)
"You know, sculpt 'love' or 'peace' or 'brotherhood.' "
"I ..." I had absolutely no idea how to do that and no idea what to say to Ashley.
"Oh, don't worry. I don't mind if you use my idea. Really."
"Well, I ... um, I don't know what to say. Um . . . I'm speechless."
Ashley laughed. "I think you should try it. Anyone who can see power in a stoplight ought to be able to come up with a great visual representation of a concept."
I cleared my throat. "Oh, right. How — how would you sculpt love'?"
"With gentle curves and tender feelings."
Well, that was no help.
"Hmm," I said. "I'll think about it." I turned back to my hand. What I really needed to think about was how to tell Ashley that I wasn't going to sculpt a nonliving thing or an idea. I just couldn't do either one. The problem was how to tell her without looking too stupid.
"Hey, Claud?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to come over to my house sometime? I could show you some of the sculptures I'm working on at home. And also the studio my parents are having fixed up for me. It's on the top floor of our house, where the best light is. I'll be able to paint and draw and sculpt there. A whole room for my work."
"Gosh, that's great!" I exclaimed. "Sure I'll come. I'd love to see everything."
My doubts were replaced with excitement. Ashley, a great
"While you're working today," Ms. Baehr said, ignoring all the confusion, "I want to find out how each of you is doing with your piece for the show. I'll walk around and talk to you privately. Feel free to interrupt me if you need help with anything."
Since Ashley and I were at the worktable in the front of the room, Ms. Baehr approached us first. "Ashley?" she said. "You've definitely decided to go ahead with the fire hydrant?"
"Yes," replied Ashley. "And this is it. I mean, the beginning of it." She indicated the lumpy clay that was slowly gaining form in front of her.
Ms. Baehr looked at it for several seconds. Her face was expressionless. At last she said, "You do realize that this is an odd choice for a sculpture, don't you?"
Ashley frowned. "Well," she said slowly, "I think it's just different. I want to do something different."
"Wouldn't you like to finish up the eagle you started? It was lovely. It would be perfect for the show."
"No." said Ashley. "It's too . . . commonplace. I really want to make a statement with my work."
Ashley bit her lip and I knew she was afraid that Ms. Baehr would tell her she couldn't work on the fire hydrant. But I kept wondering what kind of statement a fire hydrant would make. I could tell Ms. Baehr was wondering the same thing. She usually keeps an open mind, though, so all she said was, "Very well."
Then she turned to me.
I was working on my hand sculpture again, and Ms. Baehr said, "Beautiful, Claudia. That's coming along fine."
"What, this?" I replied. "This is just a practice piece. It's not for the show. I don't know what I'm going to enter."
"You'd better choose soon, Claud, and then get cracking," said Ms. Baehr kindly. "But I like the hand. Why not enter it?"
"I — I want to make a statement, too," I said with a sidelong glance at Ashley.
Ashley smiled. I knew she was pleased that I was listening to her, my mentor.
But Ms. Baehr sighed. "Okay, Claud." She
straightened up and walked over to Fiona McRae's table.
"Hey, I'm proud of you!" Ashley said to me, speaking softly so Ms. Baehr wouldn't hear.
"Really?" I replied, glowing.
"Yes. And — well, I never got to tell you the idea I had this morning. We got interrupted by your, um, friends. My idea is that if you don't want to sculpt an inanimate object, you could make a statement by sculpting a concept."
"What?" (There was that word again. Thank goodness someone had invented it.)
"You know, sculpt 'love' or 'peace' or 'brotherhood.' "
"I ..." I had absolutely no idea how to do that and no idea what to say to Ashley.
"Oh, don't worry. I don't mind if you use my idea. Really."
"Well, I ... um, I don't know what to say. Um . . . I'm speechless."
Ashley laughed. "I think you should try it. Anyone who can see power in a stoplight ought to be able to come up with a great visual representation of a concept."
I cleared my throat. "Oh, right. How — how would you sculpt love'?"
"With gentle curves and tender feelings."
Well, that was no help.
"Hmm," I said. "I'll think about it." I turned back to my hand. What I really needed to think about was how to tell Ashley that I wasn't going to sculpt a nonliving thing or an idea. I just couldn't do either one. The problem was how to tell her without looking too stupid.
"Hey, Claud?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to come over to my house sometime? I could show you some of the sculptures I'm working on at home. And also the studio my parents are having fixed up for me. It's on the top floor of our house, where the best light is. I'll be able to paint and draw and sculpt there. A whole room for my work."
"Gosh, that's great!" I exclaimed. "Sure I'll come. I'd love to see everything."
My doubts were replaced with excitement. Ashley, a great
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