Beca had been instilled with the amazing ability to create at an early age. From her years as a toddler, Beca would pick up markers and make little doodles that wowed her family and friends, and that support only grew as the years went on.

Gradually, paint and pen strokes became an outlet. Each stroke held a story, a line of thought, a feeling, and Beca was well versed in their language. In the oddest sense, she became addicted to art. While most kids were drinking at parties or sleeping with their best friends ex's, Beca was at home sorting out her feelings through wild shapes and abstract thoughts. Sometimes these artistic doodles were complex, lengthy, and obnoxious, but other times they were simple and obvious. Beca preferred the simple sketches herself, but found that she created more elegant pieces in the times her mood and demeanor began to fall apart. She couldn't control it- but when she got wrapped up in her work and emotions, she just let it all pour out of her.

It was with these over-the-top pieces that she used to apply to the Barden Institute of Art.

Barden, the Big Kahuna of all Art Schools within Atlanta… BIA, or "Bye-Ah" as the population called it, had been nothing but a thought for Beca until she entered high school, when she realized that it could actually be a dream-come-true.

Remarkably, the response to her application was speedy and, yes, unbelievably positive; because not only had she gained an admission into the prestigious school, but she had earned a $48,000 scholarship as well. And here's something about Art Schools and scholarships: if the school gives you one, they really want you. So, not only was Beca accepted into BIA, but BIA was begging for her to attend. That truth made the small girl's heart soar.

What Beca did not expect, however, were the first-year classes she had been forced into. She imagined that BIA would be a fun place where she could pick her classes and shape her future... Focus on a Major... Stuff of that sort. She was thinking Communication Design, something that could get her on the map and money in her wallet. Nowhere in there had she wanted to focus on Fine Arts- but apparently, that was what the school wanted for her to do. Nearly all of her classes revolved around either English or Observational Drawing. Don't get the wrong idea, Beca was good at both... But she hadn't planned on dedicating an entire year on the two subjects.

Especially not Observational Drawing.

In high school Beca loathed still-life drawing. Like really, who gives two shits about a box with a kettle on top? No sane person, that's for sure.

So anyways, Observational Drawing. There were two main focuses in their first few weeks: still life and normal life... AKA, gestures. AKA naked people. Just thinking about it sent shivers down Beca's rather shy and self-absorbed spine. She for one did not enjoy staring at naked people. (There were times she would say different, but those will be ignored in this case.) She felt like it would be a major invasion of privacy... Like, really. Would you like to be looked at as you twirl your naked ass up on a podium? Probably not.

They had been warned before-hand that the class would be required, but at the time Beca brushed it off. She figured it wouldn't bother her when the time came... Which obviously proved to be false.

So she sat, quirked at a 20° angle in the sights of the wooden stand that would soon be supporting a naked model. Anxious and dark eyes scanned the room as Beca tried to find their future subject, but no one was in the room except for a pack of thirteen students and her professor, Carl. Beca felt like she was going to melt, her hands clasping gently at her board on and off out of habit. Beside her, Jesse (whom she had met during orientation) fiddled with his supplies; trying to sort his charcoal pencils from his charcoal sticks.

"Did you buy newsprint?" His soft voice whispered suddenly, eyes never leaving his charcoal. With one quick glance Beca could understand the reason for his asking. Where she had placed a pad of NewsPrint, he had placed a pad of Sketch Paper. "I totally forgot," he admitted, "I only have this expensive stuff."

Beca cocked a brow and released her board, gaze falling slightly to his hand of charcoal. "I see."

"Can I please borrow some? Trade?"

Strangely enough, Beca found herself smiling. Jesse was a nice guy; innocent. But apparently, he was a doof too. "Yeah, sure." The brunette flipped open her pad and tore out a good twenty sheets of her cheap paper. "You owe me, though."

Grateful, Jesse took the paper from her grasp and clipped it to his board. "Deal."

Beca grinned and returned her attention to the objects in front of her. Everything felt so different and out of place compared to what she was used to… Compared to High School. Granted, everything looked a lot like High School with it's desks opposed to lecture halls, but still… Whereas she was used to the clean construction of an actual school building, BIA was constructed completely with cement floors, plastered walls, and not to mention there was paint everywhere. But that said, the oddest thing was how everyone treated each other. Wherein High School had cliques and groups, College had nothing. There were just groups of friends and acquaintances… For once, Beca didn't feel like she was being judged every time she was caught doodling in a notebook because, yes, so were fifteen others. Hell, even the teachers were doodling every now and then.

"Alright," the exasperated voice of Carl Prescott started, "looks like I've given you guys enough time to set up." With carefully maneuvered steps, Carl moved his elderly and large self across the floor and to the spot in front of Jesse. "Today we are working on Two-Minute Gestures. So, work fast. Don't pay attention to detail," his eyes latched onto Beca for a time longer than necessary, "just draw the basic outline and shapes. Gestures. Got it?" The class nodded in approval, most of them even shifted their seats to prove how ready they were. Beca didn't know what she had been expecting; some large reveal of sorts, maybe, but suddenly there was a lean ginger, no older than twenty five, across the room. She scanned the room with indifference- paying no heed to any of the students within the classroom. Beca could feel her heart thrum in her chest as the red-head got closer to the stand, and at some point Beca even had to drop her eyes to the pad in front of her. She felt so strange watching this woman clad in a blue bathrobe. Beca could't help but wonder what was going through the ginger's head at the time. Was she embarrassed? Or was this just another job?

Just as Beca looked up the robe dropped to the floor. With a small gulp, Beca readied both herself and her charcoal before looking up to meet her model.

Her beautiful, flawless model.

The fear that had previously overtaken the girl dissipated quickly, leaving a sort of numbness in its wake. All of a sudden Beca wasn't scared… Uncomfortable, sure. But with how many others in the room, surely someone else felt the same. Gripping her charcoal tightly, Beca began to make lines on her paper; starting with the head. The simple circle flowed out of her with ease before leading down into a sole movement line: curving towards the bottom left of her paper where the Woman had majority of her weight focused. Stroke after stroke Beca mirrored the Woman that was standing in front of her; back taught as she did a semi-lunge forward. Her form was elegant and dancer-esque… It was then Beca began to wonder what the Woman was doing in a place like this. A place of outcasts.

"Switch!"

Beca flipped her paper over and started again, taking in the new shape of the Woman. This time she had picked up a stick to use as a prop that she had placed horizontally against the back of her neck- using her forearms to keep it in place. The Woman looked like a mix of a Stick-Fighter and a Supermodel.

For every pose the Woman did after, Beca began to relate her to different people in different situations. It was a fun little activity that kept her from looking at her junk, but it was helpful too. Beca could feel her imagination expanding along with her Gesture-Drawing capabilities.

Oddly enough, Beca was growing excited for their next Gesture class.

This went on for another two hours until Carl hollered out a long and proud, "good job!" And on cue, the entire class began packing up their belongings, making sure to leave out their most successful drawing for the professor to collect.

As Beca placed her pad into her supply bag, she turned her attention to both Carl and the Woman. She was robed now, rushing into the dressing area at the back of their classroom, eyes lightly fixed on Carl. "Thanks again, Chloe. Great job." The Woman, Chloe, nodded gratefully at his praise before going into the room.

It was then Beca realized that she had not heard the woman speak once.