Conversation with the artist

Leaving the cottage you turn your steps towards the lake, enjoying the warm afternoon sun as you walk. A long lawn leads down to the lake, with woods extending on either side of it. You see no sign of another person, but the view is so pretty you decide to walk down to the shore anyway.

The lake is mirror smooth, the trees and sky reflecting on the water, and the afternoon light making the scene glow. You can see why an artist would enjoy the view, and feel sorry that Ami Lee has missed it, despite how you feel about the caricature she drew.

As you turn away to head back to the main campus you see a backpack laying on the grass some distance along the shore. Curious, you walk in that direction and find yourself looking at a black haired girl working on a sketch pad. Her body had been hidden by some rhododendron bushes. You watch her for a moment, seeing her intent on her work before approaching, your footsteps silent on the grass.

As you get closer you can see she's sketching the lake, using coloured pencils, her deft hands capturing the beauty of the scene. Not wanting to startle her you clear your throat and see her go still, listening for a moment then turning her head carefully to look at you.

She is evidently asian, her porcelain features classically pretty, and she regards you with dark almond shaped eyes. Her raven hair is highlighted with a single streak of neon pink. She doesn't appear in the least alarmed by your appearance, but seems to be evaluating you carefully.

"Good afternoon," you say with a smile. "Are you Ami Lee?"

"I am. Good afternoon to you. Who are you please?"

"I'm Dean Hawkfeather, the new Dean of Students."

The effect of hearing your name is electric. Her eyes widen and her mouth makes a little moue of shock. She puts her pad down hastily and gets to her feet, giving you a little nod that looks almost like a bow.

"Please to meet you sir," she says with a deferential half smile. "I am sorry for not recognising you."

"Pleased to meet you too Ami. I need to talk to you for a minute."

"Yes sir," she bobs her head again. You pull the cartoon out of the envelope and show it to her. Her face registers dismay as she looks at it, then at you, her pale cheeks colouring.

"Did you draw this Ami?"

She nods, obviously embarrassed. "I did Sir. Last night. Some of us, the girls that arrived early, were having party and chat in our rooms. We were talking about new men teachers, and being silly girls, saying silly things. I always carry a sketchbook, and I made cartoons as we talked. I do that. Too much says Mrs. Sommersby-Walker."

"And you taped it to my door today?"

She looks utterly horrified, and shakes her head vigorously, her straight black hair rippling. "No sir. Last night I forgot my sketchbook when I went back to my room. When I remembered I went and got it. Today when I came here I found that a page had been torn out. The page with that cartoon."

"Weren't there two cartoons on that page Ami?"

Her blush deepens and she bows her head in shame. "Yes sir. Have you seen the other sir?"

"The were both taped to my door a short time ago."

"I did not do this sir. I made cartoon, but it was in fun, to show the girls as we were being silly. I made other cartoons too," she says, gesturing at her sketchbook.

"Show me please," you say, thinking that her story has the ring of truth. With another little nodding bow she picks up her sketchbook and flips back a few pages before stepping towards you and holding it out. You see a cartoon of a drunk sprawled in an alley, a bottle in one hand, his other groping at a disgusted schoolgirl. You glance from the sketch to Ami and see her bow her head in shame, before turning the page and showing you another cartoon.

This one is of a handsome athlete in a baseball uniform, his shoulders impossibly broad, his crotch bulging. He is surrounded by kneeling, worshipful schoolgirls, all of them looking at him with adoring eyes. As you look closer you see that one of the kneeling figures is not dressed as a schoolgirl but in an austere grey suit, and is a very recognisable likeness of Headmistress Naylor.

You look at Ami and she bites her lip and looks down, obviously dismayed and ashamed.

"I draw a lot Sir. I make cartoons when I listen. We were being silly schoolgirls and saying silly things, and I drew these, and the one you have. They were for me, I meant no harm."

"You showed them to the other girls, didn't you?"

"Yes Sir," she nods. "I did and we all laughed, but no harm was meant. It was just girls on their own, being silly and excited. I am very sorry you saw it sir. But I did not put it there on your door."

"Whose room did you forget your sketchbook in?" you ask.

"Margot and Tiana's sir. Margot Childers and Tiana Willes."

"When you went back to get it were they the only girls in the room?"

"No sir, there were others. Chanel Vallon was there and two or three others. I do not remember all of them. But why would they take the cartoon sir?"

"To tape it to my door, obviously. As you say Ami, silly girls do silly things. I suppose when you were all chattering you speculated that I was a wild and savage Indian."

She bows her head again, blushing furiously. "That was said sir. And that Mr. Carter was a drunk, and Mr. Watts was handsome and a famous player of baseball. Not much was said of Mr. Sharp, and I did not make cartoon of him."

"And this is Ms. Naylor, in the cartoon of Mr. Watts?"

"Yes sir. Margot said that Ms. Naylor had made a speech to the softball players and said how lucky they were that he would coach them. She said the headmistress..." her voice trails off to nothing.

"What did she say Ami?"

"That Ms. Naylor was 'creaming her panties' talking about him," she blushes harder and gives an embarrassed giggle. "It was silly girl talk sir. That's all. I'm sorry I made the cartoons." She looks up at you with plaintive eyes. "Am I in trouble Sir?"

You look at the dismayed Chinese girl, taking in how sincere her contrition is. Her exotic beauty also registers on you, and you note her swelling breasts under a silken top, and well formed legs extending from a pair of tight shorts.

"No Ami, not this time. But be more careful what cartoons you draw. And where you leave your sketchbook. You're a talented artist, but you wouldn't want it to get you into trouble."

"Thank you sir," she pauses, looking at you with her dark eyes. "May I have the cartoon of you back sir?"

"No, I think I'll keep it and the other as a souvenir," you smile. "Perhaps one day when you're a famous artist they will be worth a lot of money."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir. I'm so sorry for the trouble sir."

You nod at her with a tight smile and turn back up the lawn to the main campus.