At seventeen years old, Elena knew she just wasn’t the college type. Truly academic subjects such as math and science stressed her out. English and history were better, but they just couldn’t hold her attention for any amount of time longer than their fifty-five minute class periods. She didn’t know what she wanted to do after high school and she had no idea what her future held.

She wasn’t like her older sisters. They knew what they wanted. Her eldest sister, Nicole, pursued an English degree and a career in copywriting with some fiction on the side. Her other sister, Francesca, was very passionate about psychology—specifically using therapy animals to help communicate with autistic children. Their dreams seemed lofty yet attainable, and it never occurred to Elena that they were only attainable because they actively pursued their aspirations, always keeping their goals in mind.

Elena just didn’t operate like that and it made her feel inadequate. Nicole and Francesca always wanted the best for her and encouraged her completely when she suggested going to beauty school or joining a vet tech program in place of a traditional four year education, but those suggestions always stayed in their planning stages; she never actually went for anything.

She could never really say why she didn’t join any professional education programs other than they just never felt right. In fact, just about the only time she ever DID feel right was when she was focused on her art.

For years, Elena secretly honed her sketching and painting skills, keeping them under wraps, even from her sisters, for fear either that her talent would mean expectations or that she never really had any talent at all. The latter could never be the case. Elena was a truly gifted artist, and had she shown her sisters, she would’ve learned that her fears were unfounded.

When her schedule called for an elective during her senior year, she jumped at the chance to take an art class. She wanted to learn some of the basics from someone who went to school for art specifically, and she wasn’t disappointed. Roosevelt High’s art room was fantastic. A large grey kiln sat in the far corner next to a long wall lined with cabinets full of art supplies—paints, pencils, charcoal, clay, brushes, knives, everything. In the center of the room, six large paint-speckled tables were placed erratically, waiting for students to fill their seats and create.

Elena loved her teacher, Mr. MacDougal. He showed them technique, taught them about all of the varied styles, and fostered their creativity. Most of all, though, he really saw something special in her. There were times when she’d stay after school to continue working on her projects, and those were the days that she confided in him, telling him how she didn’t want to go to college, but was unsure of where to go next, telling him about her sisters and the pressure she felt to follow in their footsteps. So he had an idea. He suggested art school. He even said he’d help her put together a portfolio and write as many letters of recommendation she needed.

Art school. It never even crossed her mind that she could go to art school, though many of Nicole’s friends from college were art majors. She shared her idea and sketches with her family that night. They were simultaneously pleasantly surprised and awed by her rudimentary skills. They agreed that art school would be completely and totally worth her time. She researched. She set her sights on Hunter College, The School of Visual Arts, Bard, and Nicole’s alma mater, Hartwick College. With Mr. MacDougal’s help, she was able to submit a stellar application with an even more stellar portfolio, complete with shining letters of recommendation, to each school. She got in. she got into ALL of them and that alone surpassed her wildest dreams for her education.

Elena settled on Hunter College and set out to call the Upper East Side dorms her home. She felt comfort in knowing that Nicole lived just a thirty minute subway ride away in Brooklyn and that her parents were close by, but she also felt that exhilaration that comes with setting out on your own for the first time. Her sense of adventure had been ignited by her move and she was ready and willing to explore her new neighborhood, meet new artsy friends, and officially start exploring her creative side. For once in her life, she didn’t feel that nagging deep down inside to measure up to Nicole and Francesca. She felt alive. She felt like she was charting her own course and it really was the right one.

Just after she finished unpacking and setting up her dorm room, she decided to take a walk around campus and find something to eat. The late August evening air was comfortably heavy and inviting. It felt electric and she couldn’t decide if it was because she was in the city or because there was a summer thunderstorm looming in the distance. She didn’t care. She rounded the corner and set her sights on the art building. Large, spherical, and covered entirely in windows, it was even more fascinating to look upon as a student than it had been when she, Nicole, and Francesca took a campus tour that past spring. The whole building was dark but for the copper wire string lights someone had hung from easel to easel in the painting studio. There were shadows moving around slowly in those lights and occurred to Elena that someone was in there working.

Although she was filled with apprehension, she opened the door and went inside. She crept through the echo-y building, trying not to make too much noise and interrupt whoever it was that was working. As she entered the studio, she felt that she had come to a fairy land. The twinkling lights cast just enough light to produce a warm glow, the mason jars full of glitter along the interior wall seemed to come alive in that glow, calling to her to play. Someone had set up rows upon rows of flowers along the windows and they shone vibrantly in the moonlight filtering through. The room smelled beautifully of vanilla and oil paints. In its center stood the artist who would become her teacher, best friend, and muse. Her name was Petra and she was fixated on a ten foot by ten foot canvas, arms crossed, red curly hair falling out of its bun, with a paint brush in her mouth.

Elena approached Petra first with trepidation and then with confidence. She introduced herself and was excited to learn that this unfailingly cool and hypnotic woman was to be her very first teacher. They sat on the floor surrounded by Petra’s paints and sketches and talked the night away. By eleven o’clock, Elena’s stomach was rumbling so loudly that Petra’s concentration was broken.

“Girl, we’ve got to get some pizza into that body before you keel over.”

Elena felt like she had found her little niche in the world and was looking forward to beginning. But first, pizza.