The amino group of an amino acid . . . Ugh. Even daydreaming has to be more useful than this will ever be to me. The girl's pink downturned lips curved upwards into a crooked smile as a strong beat began to pound steadily through the bright kitchen.
She found herself standing in the middle of the room, kimono-clad arms overhead, hips swaying smoothly through moves much too risqué for the fifteen year old. But she looked unbelievable. Her close-to-perfect figure twisted and twirled effortlessly. Keeping her eyes closed, she banished all thoughts of amino anythings. I wanna fuck you like an animal. I wanna feel you from the inside. I wanna fuck you like an animal. My whole existence is on. You've got me closer to God. Her lips formed Trent Reznor's lyrics as the ever-present crease between her eyebrows began to smooth out.
The wrinkle reappeared as a loud knock sounded through the house, perfectly on-beat with the loud bass rhythm of Closer. Dashing over to the CD player, she shut off all sound. Red fingernails scraped against silky fabric as the black kimono was more tightly secured around her waist.
Across tiled and hardwood floor, tiny feet ran to open the front door. The parentals will not appreciate me answering the door like this when I'm home alone. Oh, fuck 'em. I'm bored.
"Hi," her surprisingly rich voice said in greeting to the tall man and woman standing on the blue porch.
"Hello, Alice. I'm Lydia, and this is Thomas. Could we speak to you for a moment? Your parents will have called to tell you we were coming."
Immediately, Alice became wary of the strangers. "Your parents will have called" seemed too convenient. But as if on cue, the phone began to ring. Alice bit her lip and gestured for Lydia and Thomas to come in. Cursing as she realized her real guard dog was in the backyard barking his ass off; she hitched her robe up and ran into the kitchen to answer the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey, sweetie. Some people will come to visit you in about an hour. Go get dressed now because I know you're in that kimono of yours. Their names are Thomas and Lydia. I'm not going to tell you what they're coming to tell you, but it's all good news, I promise."
"W-well, I guess they're early because some people calling themselves Thomas and Lydia are sitting in the living room right now."
"Oh . . . You shouldn't have—"
"I know. I know, but they knew your name, so I let them in," Alice smoothly lied. "I'll see you at lunch, Ma?"
"Ugh. Yes. Bye, sweetie."
"Bubye, Mom."
Alice took advantage of the privacy provided by the kitchen to rearrange her messy raven-black locks and wipe underneath her eyes for makeup she had forgotten to take off the night before. Smiling sweetly, she glided back into the living room where the guests were laughing at her West Highland Terrier's antics.
The red-headed woman looked up as Alice arrived. "She is adorable. What's her name?"
"Billie Holiday." Alice wondered how the hell the woman had known Billie was a girl. She wouldn't have known with all the junk caught in Billie's much-too-long hair. Maybe her parents were sending her to a veterinarian school. Lame.
This time the man swung his waist-length dreadlocks behind his shoulder and said, "So you really do have good taste. Naming your dog after a famous jazz singer certainly shows that."
Not sure how to respond to the strange comment, Alice laughed. "It fits. You heard her howling. But anyway, um—did ya'll want anything to drink or eat?"
"No, thank you," both guests recited automatically.
"Sit down, Alice. We have some things we wish to speak with you about." Perching on an empty rust-red armchair, Alice wondered at the nerve of this Lydia lady, inviting her to sit down in her own house.
Once Alice was settled, Thomas began. "We're both professors at Der Künstler-Akademie. You may have heard of it."
Alice's jaw dropped. Shit yeah, she'd heard of it. Who hadn't? It was a school formed in Renaissance Germany for musicians, singers, dancers, artists, and whoever else to be trained. Recently, it had been on the news for its revival due to a nameless donor. Now, although the old name remained, the school was for "little pubescent world-changers" as that idiot Bill O'Reilly had coined the students of Der Künstler-Akademie. It was a school of excellence. Seasonal performances were held and had been recorded on our TiVo for the two years the school had been in major operation. Attendees of the school held debates with politicians all over the world, fluent in their languages and about 20 million others. These kids were eloquent, mature geniuses. Alice had so many daydreams about attending the school that her nighttime dreams often centered on Der Künstler-Akademie. There was no way these people were going to tell her what she so wished they would. Was she, the hick from Memphis, Tennessee, going to get to attend the school of her dreams?
"Yeah. Um . . . I've definitely heard of Der Künstler." Alice was aiming to impress with her easy pronunciation of the German words. She'd said it to herself enough that it came easily.
"Good. We don't need to explain what it is you're being invited to attend then," the red-headed Lydia said to Molly with a smirk.
Not being able to contain herself, Alice shrieked. "No fucking way! Oh, sorry. I'm excited. Oh my God. You're joking. This cannot be real."
Both of the teachers laughed. "We're serious. After having spoken to past teachers and friends of yours, we are positive that you would be a valuable addition to the student body of Der Künstler-Akademie. We've been sent many a video of you singing and accompanying yourself on guitar. Besides having an exceptionally unusual and beautiful voice, guitar seems to be remarkably easy for you, especially since you hardly ever practice. Imagine what you could do if you did practice. You've got quite a lot of talent, and you're obviously a born performer. We've also heard from your belly dancing teacher, Amber, that you are really good at shaking your ass."
Giggling nervously, "You might be thinking a bit higher of me than I deserve. I mean, I'm not that good."
"Yes, you are, Alice. We know how to choose students, and we've never found anyone like you yet. You'll be a rare one at the school. Your grades at previous schools show that you are intelligent. You seem to win awards and make outstanding grades with very little effort. You will have to labor a bit more at Der Künstler-Akademie. Things will not be easy anymore, but I am confident you will excel. Also, we have no students from the southern U.S. in attendance right now. Your accent will charm enough people alone to get you by." Thomas winked and grinned.
Looking at the friendly faces of the people offering her a chance to be anything she wanted, to travel the world and in the end, change it, Alice became overwhelmed. She blushed furiously as she realized there were tears in her dark blue eyes. She looked down at her lap, turning even redder when she saw that her blue lacey bra was no longer concealed by her kimono. With a subtle shift in positions, Alice made herself decent.
Red fingernails clashed with pitch-black hair as she ran her hand through her wild mane. At last, Alice looked up at her future teachers. "Okay. I'm assuming I'll start in 10th grade. Next year."