“Have a seat.” A woman I recognized from my internet research as Cressida Marks, Head of School, sat smiling at one end of a small, rectangular table. Two other people I didn’t recognize were sitting beside her. One of them looked about my age, with flaming pink hair.
For reasons I couldn’t quite put into words, seeing that pink hair in a place that otherwise seemed so conventional and austere put me a little more at ease.
I sat in the chair across from them and placed my glass of water on the table.
I let out a slow breath.
I could do this.
“Welcome, Cassie,” the head of school said. And then, turning to the other people at the table, “Let’s start by introducing ourselves.”
“I’m Jeff Castor,” said the guy to Cressida’s left. He looked about fifty and had on a plaid bow tie with a rumpled white button-down. The absentminded professor vibes he gave off were immaculate. “I’m the vice principal for Harmony’s Upper School.”
“And I’m Bethany Powers,” said the pink-haired woman. “I’m the head of the arts program for the Lower and Upper Schools.”
“It’s great to meet you,” I said.
“You as well,” Bethany said. “So. Tell us a little about why you want to work as an art teacher.” She was riffling through a file full of printouts of the pictures I’d sent with my application. My beach landscapes from Saugatuck. The piece I submitted to the River North Gallery art exhibition. “It’s clear from your portfolio that you have a very specific vision, and that you are committed to a career in the arts. Why kids, though? That’s the piece we’re missing.”
It was a tough question, but a fair one. My résumé was long, but my experience with kids was mostly limited to art nights in the library. If I’d been asked to interview a new art teacher, and someone walked in the door with my credentials, I’d ask the exact same thing.
Fortunately, I was ready for this.
“I work at a library right now,” I began. “On Tuesday nights we have an art night, where parents drop off their kids and we spend two hours making things with them.” I paused, thinking back on the last art event we’d hosted. “I’ve found it incredibly rewarding to help kids who might not otherwise have exposure to artistic forms of expression realize their visions through paint and modeling clay.”
Bethany and Jeff each jotted down a few notes. Cressida Marks leaned forward a little over the table, hands clasped together in front of her. “Why haven’t you thought of teaching art before?”
I considered that. When I’d practiced interview questions with Sam last night, we’d agreed this one would likely come up. The answer we agreed I’d give, though—that I’d just been waiting for the right teaching opportunity to come along, that Harmony Academy was the first school I thought might be a good fit—didn’t feel right, now that I was here.
For one thing, it was a lie. I’d applied to several teaching positions over the past few years and was rejected by each of them.
For another, sitting there in that sparsely furnished conference room, with three people who might be my coworkers soon—if all went well—a better answer finally came to me.
“I didn’t think any school would have me.”
That caused Bethany to look up from her notepad.
“Why is that?” she asked.
We were off the script Sam and I had rehearsed, but that didn’t matter. I knew the answer all the same.
“My art isn’t conventional.” I gestured to the copy of my portfolio in the center of the conference room table. “I don’t paint pretty pictures or make coffee mugs on the potter’s wheel that people can buy for their sisters at Christmas. I take trash, ephemera—things other people throw away—and turn them into something beautiful.” I shook my head. “I didn’t think my vision fit in with the kinds of things kids were taught in art classes when I was in school.”
“But you decided to go for it with us,” Cressida said. “What made you change your mind?”
I pondered that a moment. What did make me change my mind?
Suddenly, I knew.
Frederick, in our living room, telling me he could see that I brought a real, unique vision to my work. The awe in his voice as he said the words. The look in his eyes when he told me that anyone who refused to hire me was a fool.
“I realized that I’m good, actually.” I smiled and sat up a little straighter in my chair. “And that Harmony would be lucky to have me.”