So Damn Beautiful (A New Adult Romance) by L.J. Kennedy Page A

student curators will specifically be responsible for
commissioning a series of new works by a small handful of
up-and-coming artists in the community. These will be part of a
permanent gallery in our department, as well as a sculpture garden
on campus. Needless to say, it is an extremely rare and
high-profile opportunity.”
    The muttering in the room became louder.
    “But Quentin isn’t interested in your
experience or how many credentials you’ve racked up so far. He’s
more interested in your ideas. Quentin asked me to select my best
and brightest, those students who have a clear and prescient vision
of the kind of art that is going to skyrocket us into the next
century.”
    I swear, Professor Claremont looked straight
at me when she spoke her next words: “Which is why I’m extending
the invitation to apply to all my students, especially my
ambitious first-years.”
    Then she broke eye contact and addressed the
entire class. “Now, most of you who have any kind of background in
the arts probably think it’s a world fraught with cronyism and
arbitrary trends, but I believe that it is based first and foremost
on vision—not simply the kind of vision required for an artist to
be successful, but also the kind that a curator or artist
representative must be gifted with. Because while the artist may
obtain the bulk of the recognition, a curator who is truly
excellent will be the one making the real waves and affecting
history for decades to come.”
    “Oh no, a speech. Kill me now—or, better yet,
can we get back to Quentin?” Kendra said.
    I ignored her and immediately shot up my
hand. “Professor Claremont, what exactly do we have to do to apply?
And when’s the deadline?”
    People snickered at my enthusiasm, and my
cheeks instantly heated. I slowly lowered my arm as Professor
Claremont replied with a smile, “I was just getting around to that,
Miss Green. All I need from any interested candidate is a one-page
statement, no more and no less, telling me what you think is the
most important collective contribution of New York artists and what
you conceive of when you think of the contributions of future
artists in the community.”
    I cringed. Why did Professor Claremont always
focus so heavily on the future? When I thought of the future, all I
could imagine were barren Martian landscapes and cold, empty space
stations. Maybe I was old-fashioned at heart, but I would have much
preferred to preserve the dying legacy of artists who weren’t cool
enough to be taught in most college classes anymore.
    My heart sank a bit as Professor Claremont
went on with the details. From the buzz in the class, I could tell
people were more than just a little excited. And why wouldn’t they
be? This was less about making a name for themselves in the art
world than it was about starfucking one of the biggest celebrities
in modern history. I may have been ambitious, but I wasn’t about to
sell out my passion for real art by hopping on the bandwagon of
whatever seemed cool in the moment.
    At the end of class, Kendra had already
walked out the door when Elsie approached me, her eyes narrowed
into cool blue slits. She almost looked like one of the angry urban
goddesses Quentin Pierce drew.
    “So, I bet you’re going to apply for the
Quentin Pierce curatorship,” she said, her statement carrying the
hint of a threat.
    I definitely wasn’t a pushover, but my last
experience with a bully had been when I was thirteen and Grace
McGovern, the most popular girl in school, had decided to terrorize
me for six months straight about my propensity for wearing slacks
with a crease straight down each pant leg (courtesy of my mom). I
had been stubborn about not buying into peer pressure, at least at
first, but my general MO after that had been to try to stay as much
on the down-low as possible, so as not to attract the attention of
mean girls like Grace and Elsie.
    “You’re never going to get it—you already
know that, right?” Elsie