Progeny

by Erik Schubach

  Progeny

  By Erik Schubach

  Copyright © 2014 by Erik Schubach

  Self publishing

  P.O. Box 523

  Nine Mile Falls, WA 99026

  Cover Photo © 2014 Yeko Photo Studio / ShutterStock.com license

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog, or broadcast.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN 978-0-9911072-4-7

  Chapter 1 - Arrival

  This was so bloody exciting, I couldn't believe I was actually here! I, Samantha Prudence Roth, had somehow been accepted into the New York Academy of Art on a full scholarship!

  I remembered when the acceptance letter came. I must have squealed like a bloody git for ten minutes when I read it. It was one of the few times I had ever seen Mumsy cry. Most people don't think she is very emotional, but they don't know her. Underneath that stoic exterior swirls, more emotion than most people could possibly bear.

  The look of awe that twinkled in her eyes was all I need to know that she was proud of me for accomplishing such a feat on my own merits. If I had just asked my parents they would have paid for the college of my choice, but I was determined to make my own way and prove to myself I could do it with my own abilities rather than just simply because we could afford it.

  The campus was smaller than others, but arguably, some of the most artistic people of our age have spawned from this prestigious art institute. I think I read somewhere that there were less than fifteen hundred students here with no plans of ever expanding.

  I found out that my acceptance came down to the sketch study I had done of the homeless people of Seattle. My aunt Sandra... well she isn't really my aunt, I don't have any real aunts, except maybe one, but there is a select group of women that my parents know, that I love as my aunts. Anyway, Sandra runs the Callahan Foundation. Yes, THAT Callahan Foundation. She's brill and is probably the most selfless person I know.

  She brought me around the city throughout my senior year in high school, introducing me to some of the most fascinating people I have ever met. In most cases, it was a tragedy, the circumstances that had landed them on the streets. But some, like a man named Leo, were almost regal and selfless to a fault. He says he does more good living on the streets now than he ever did patrolling them back when he was a police officer.

  I had sketched the people as I saw them, not as the public sees them. I bound my sketches and presented them to the committee. I was late in my submission because I just had to finish my sketch of Leo to include it in the study. At first, they said they would consider me for next year's enrollment since they had already filled all the seats for the year, and the competition for enrollment was greater than normal this year.

  I was all set to go to the art program at the University of Washington for my freshman year, I had a scholarship offer there. It was my second choice so I could still live at home. But one of the recipients in New York had deferred since they got an offer at the Regency Art College in France. I don't blame the guy, it was a great opportunity. So the acceptance committee had reached out to me!

  Most of the other students had already arrived last week to get settled in before classes start tomorrow. But since I just received an acceptance letter three days ago, I didn't have that luxury. My parents helped me get everything together and take care of everything I needed to with the University of Washington and the scholarship I had there, then I was almost physically thrown onto a plane this morning so I could start this new exciting chapter of my life.

  So now, here I stood, in the large courtyard looking at the campus, with my luggage beside me. I looked at my almost antique suitcase lovingly, Mum called it 'Clunky' but she has never told me why. I get the impression it has something to do with that Karaoke Queen competition from all those years ago. Uncle Tim always smiles when he looks at it too. Fine, he's not really my uncle. Mum says she'll ship the rest of the stuff I'll need in the next couple days.

  The cool breeze on the early morning September air felt refreshing. There were some booths set up on the lawn for freshman check-in, and others for various clubs and extra curricular activities; There was even a military recruiting booth set up. It had a picture of that spectacular bad-ass soldier on the front of their booth, what was her bloody name? The one that has won so many medals for her heroism? McKenzie Meyers! That was it.

  There wasn't a queue, most of the students had already been here close to a week. A bloke stumbled backwards like he was pushed, almost right into me. A strong feminine alto voice rang out, “Now get the fuck out of my sight!”

  The guy hissed, “Bitch!” back at her and made his way quickly from the scene. Then the girl turned to a couple other blokes who were watching and took a single, lunging, menacing step toward them. They left quickly, as well.

  Finally, she turned to look at a fourth boy and tilted her head, almost like it was a question, her eyes not as hard. He just nodded at her with a look of relief on his face. She had an almost evil grin on her face as she turned to walk away. She hesitated a moment as her eyes swept past me.

  By all that was holy, if she wasn't so much of an apparent bitch, she would have taken my bloody breath away. She had an unconventional and hard beauty, not a girly girl femininity that so many others have.

  She was tall, possibly five foot ten or eleven. Few women were as tall as Mumsy. This girl had a striking mane of straight brown hair. The things that stunned me most were her amber eyes. So light they almost glowed with an orange tint, all I could think was that they looked like a cat's eyes.

  I felt the collywobbles fluttering around in my stomach as I took in her feminine but slightly rugged appearance. She had a slight figure with not much in the breast department, but they still gave her a feminine curve under her band t-shirt. I almost snorted, it was a vintage Satin Thunder shirt. Her torn jeans looked almost painted onto her shapely legs, with her black converse sneakers that completed the look.

  Her face... it was one of those faces that made you smile and not even know why. Like a cute girl next door combined with some dangerous and seductive quality.

  She started moving again and I realized I was staring at her as she left. Leave it to me to find such an abrasive bully attractive. I put her on my 'avoid' list. I prefer to hang around with kind, intelligent people.

  I stepped up to the freshman booth and smiled at the cute boy there. Well hello there! His name tag said Brent, he had some startlingly pretty green eyes. Must have come with that red mop of hair he was blessed with. He was a gangly fellow, but I prefer that sort of character over traditional looks. He was a little older than me, probably a junior or senior.

  I smiled at him and he gave a lopsided smile back. Then I said. “I'm supposed to pick up my new student welcome and orientation packet at the pavilions on the green. I'm assuming that this is the place?” I brushed my pink lock of hair out of my face and over my shoulder with my mass of blonde hair. I knew I should have worn a ponytail today.

  He grinned. “This is the place.” He looked at the few packets left on the table. “What was the name?”

  I felt like a git. “Oh, yes, terribly sorry, my name. Samant
ha Roth.”

  He blushed a little and responded, “Oh don't worry about it. I love your accent.” He grabbed a welcome packet with my name on it and handed it to me. It never ceases to amaze me how many people say that to me. They feel I have a British accent when I speak, but in London we just call it talking. We moved to Seattle a little after my parents retired from the music business. But I was old enough that my accent sort of stuck. I like that because a lot of people say I sound like Mum.

  I took a sly page out of her book and replied. “Thank you... and I don't have an accent, you do.”

  He snorted cutely and blushed at that. I grinned, he was a shy one, that just compounded his cuteness to me. Then he sat up straight like he had forgotten something. “Oh! You are in Schubert Hall, room 301, it is on the packet there. Would you like a student ambassador senior to show you there and give you a tour of the campus?”

  I smiled at him, “That would be brill, Brent.”

  He looked down at his name tag then back at me and his grin doubled, then he motioned to a group of young men and women who were chatting nearby. A cute brunette almost bounded over to us with an awesome smile on her face.

  Brent blushed at her. The shy ones are always so endearing! Then he said to her, “This is Samantha Roth. She just arrived and needs an ambassador to get her situated.”

  The young woman winked at him playfully, I'm sure just to get him to blush more. I like this wicked woman! “You got it Red.” Then she turned to me and put her hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Samantha. I'm June Harris-West. You can call me June or JW. What should I call you? Samantha, Sam, Sammie, Samster, the Samulater, Sam-a-lam-a-ding-dong, or just Hank?”

  I couldn't stop from laughing at the exuberant woman, who reminded me a lot of my Aunt Amber. She looked oddly familiar to me, especially that glint of keen intelligence sparkling in those chocolate brown eyes that seemed to be taking in everything at once. Brent spoke up, “Don't mind JW here. She gives everyone nicknames.”

  She just grinned at that and said, “Just a habit I picked up from my mother. Oh admit it, you're going to miss me around here after I graduate this year, Red.”

  I chuckled again and shook her hand and replied, “Well hi there June. Though I am quite fond of that Hank name, you can just call me Sam.”

  The way she held herself... reminded me so much of... oh! “June, you look so much like Mand...”

  She interrupted while rolling her eyes and holding a hand up as she nodded once. “Yes, yes, she's my mom. Enough of that Hank, lets show you the wonders of the Academy, or what passes for wonders here.”

  I chuckled again, this woman was hilarious. I do remember my parents telling me Mandy Harris had a daughter or two, but I had never met her on any of the trips we made down to Vancouver, Washington from Seattle. I started walking with her, then stopped and returned back quickly to the booth and said, “Thank you Brent. Maybe I'll see you around campus or at a party sometime?”

  His lopsided smile grew on his face and he just nodded and kept nodding as June grabbed my elbow and guided me away and toward Schubert Hall. She whispered through a chuckle, “Oh my, I think you just broke the poor boy, Sam.”

  I smiled back at her then said with a touch of mirth in my voice, “What? He's bloody cute don't you think?”

  She looked back and then at me with a conspiratorial grin. Then she said, “You and I are probably the only ones who would admit to that, but yeah, Red has something special. He'll make some girl a fine catch one day.”

  She looked me over again as if she were adjusting her opinion of me in some way, then she smiled and tilted her head and asked, “Anyone ever tell you that you have an infectious smile?”

  Now it was my turn to blush. I nodded in embarrassment and looked down and said, “A time or two.”

  Then she blurted, “Ah ha! You're just as blush-y as Red! You're almost too easy!”

  I retorted, “I am not!”

  She shook her head in victory with a sly smile. “Whatever Hank. Let's go see your personal slice of hell for the next four years of your life, shall we?”

  Chapter 2 – Infuriating

  June was nothing short of hilarious with her snarky, sarcastic humor, as she showed me to my room, which she called Cell Block B. After I stowed old Clunky, the overly entertaining tour of the campus began.

  I found out that after she graduates this year, June is going to work with her mother at Harmony Trax and design all the album covers and advertising as their in-house graphic artist until she has her own graphic arts studio.

  She invited me to a senior party this coming Friday night, with her and her boyfriend, as a welcome to the Academy. She said, “Shhhh... don't let on that you are a lowly frosh.” When she wasn't joking around, she was very intelligent and mature, but for some reason I liked the playful June better, probably because it was easy to see her intelligence hiding within her wit and sarcasm. She said I reminded her of her little sister Lizzie.

  She showed me a picture of her beau, William, on her mobile. He was a shaggy looking bloke, a little unorthodox, but a smile to die for. He looked to be the exact sort of fellow I could picture her with, offbeat, but cute.

  A couple times during the tour, I saw that other girl from earlier, confidently sashaying around the courtyard. Everyone seemed to be greeting her as they passed, and when she smiled, it lit up the green. Figures, the bloody bully is popular, how cliché. I caught myself staring at her each time. For some odd reason, she seemed so familiar to me but I couldn't quite place her face. One time I swear she was looking over at me, she better be careful, I'm nobody's victim, that is one lesson my parents have burned into my very being.

  Everyone June introduced me to seemed like good people, that is the kind of company I can thrive in.

  More often than not June had to get me to close my sketchbook, as I was capturing the interesting characters I was meeting, to get me to the next location. For as long as I can remember, since the day Mumsy handed me my first sketchpad, it has been a part of me. Like I am recording my life the way I see it; there is so much beauty all around us that most people don't take the time to actually see. My sketchpad is my journal, my diary, as much as Mumsy's is hers.

  At the end of the day, June sat with me in my dorm room to get to know me a bit, we ordered pizza in as we chatted. She informed me that my roommate would be starting classes two weeks late, so enjoy the privacy while I could.

  The next morning I was extremely nervous as I got ready for the day. My first day of college, these were supposed to be the times that define me, that help craft me into the person I will eventually become.

  I looked in the mirror before I headed out to my first class. I like dressing myself like I am creating something, like when I work on my sketches or other art. I guess it sounds weird, but it is a sign of my respect for others that I try hard to present myself well rather than be a slob.

  Mass of blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, check. Wavy lock of pink hair draped across face, check. Understated makeup, check. White low rise jeans, check. Robins egg blue belly shirt with a white blouse over it, tied loosely at my waist with just enough belly to give a peek of my abs, check. Sneakers and ankle socks, check.

  I turned sideways, as I looked at myself. Trying to figure out if I were pretty or not. It is odd how you can look at others and see instantly if you think they are attractive, but when you look at yourself, all you see are the imperfections. Hmmm... I guess I am passable. I can't listen to all my aunts and uncles when they say I'm pretty. They're just biased.

  If it were true, then why did Kevin dump me after high school graduation? I thought about it and looked at all the imperfections I saw in the mirror. I shrugged and sighed, then shook these thoughts out of my head as I grabbed my canvas book bag and my purse, and headed out the door to Art Theory 101. I could feel my nervousness and excitement building as I marched across the busy courtyard. Excitement was winning out over the nervousness.

  I felt my smile bl
ooming on my lips as I made my way into the Academic Hall, there were people everywhere. I was glad that June had shown me around yesterday as I made a beeline toward my lecture hall. I passed that bully, leaning up against a wall chatting with a group of people. I made a point of not looking at her.

  OK, this is definitely not like high school. The room was about three times the size of a regular classroom, with tiered seating like a mini auditorium. There were maybe a hundred or so seats with those little fold down desktops beside each one. The professor had a desk and a podium at the bottom, with boards and projection screens set up. Music Theory 101 was written on the main board with Professor Duane McGill below it.

  I secreted myself away in the back row and started sketching what I saw. Most of the students crowded the front three rows. Someone sat across the aisle from me and I did a double take. There was the bully, she shot me a smile and I looked away and down at the professor, determined not to look at her. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Gawd that bloody smile is devastating!

  Then a lower door opened by the screens and a man who looked to be in his mid thirties walked in carrying some papers and envelopes. He was dressed in khakis and a nice, light green dress shirt with a darker green tie. Not at all what I would have thought a professor would look like. He was clean cut and looked like a model from some men's magazine with his sandy blonde hair. Were those highlights in it? I'm starting to see why June was saying this was the most popular class amongst the female students here.

  He set his burden down on his desk then walked to the podium and addressed the class. “OK, before we begin. I want to point out that this is Music Theory 101 and I am Professor Duane McGill, please address me as Professor McGill. If your student schedule has anything other than Music Theory 101 on it, please get up and leave now, there won't be much mocking, I promise.”