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“You,” I said to my goddess, “are going to get me into Amahi University of the Arts.” I hoped. “Just hold still and let me make you look beautiful.” She didn’t reply, which was a relief. Smart clay can talk.
The goddess was my audition project, an ancient-style head-and-neck bust now ready for painting. I wanted to give her shimmering opal-colored skin, white with orange and green fire. My project would show off one of my best skills, painting, while also proving I can sculpt classic forms. If I did really well, my project could be the Grand Award winner, and I would find it displayed in the center of Mowbry Hall’s lobby on registration day. Assuming I did well enough to get in at all.
I snapped a cartridge of pure white smart paint into my airbrush and pressed the trigger to start the base layer.
“Stop! White is not a skin color!” The airbrush vibrated in my hand as the smart paint spoke.
I frowned. “Paint has auto-correct now?”
“You must use pink or brown tones for skin.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “She’s a goddess with opal-colored skin. She’s not a human.” I pressed the trigger again.
“I’m not coming out of this nozzle until you use me appropriately. You can apply me to clothing on your sculpture. Not skin!”
“She’s just a head and neck. No clothing!”
“Then sculpt some if you want to use me. Otherwise, I stay in the cartridge.”
“Please,” I begged. “This is my audition project. They said the school’s smart supplies verify that each student did the project without help. It has to be my vision!”
“Well...”
“You’re not putting white paint on my face!” My sculpture twisted away from the airbrush. “I need to be beautiful.”
I looked at the distorted face. “You’re not so beautiful now.”
“I’m memory clay! I can snap back into place. See?” And my sculpture was now its original shape.
Were the school’s art supplies supposed to act this way? I ran from my workshop to my room and re-read the instructions the school had sent to me. Finding nothing, I searched their website. Nothing there either.
Was this part of the audition? Maybe Amahi wanted students to prove that they could work as a team, even when some members were disagreeable. Could I persuade my supplies to follow my vision?
I could show them what opal-colored skin would look like. Grabbing my makeup kit, I applied a white base to my face, then added dustings of orange and green glitter. But it looked clownish on me. I washed off the makeup, and reapplied it using a foundation that was closer to my skin tone. Eventually I had a look that I liked, natural but with plenty of shimmer that suggested the opal I loved.
I walked back to my workshop and posed for the sculpture. “I can make you look like this. Will that do?”
“I’ll be beautiful?” asked the sculpture.
“Max beautiful,” I replied. The sculpture was satisfied.
The smart paints needed more persuasion. We finally agreed on a light brown base tone with shadings that suggested, although they didn’t exactly match, a gorgeous opaque pink opal in a photo I found online. The paints agreed it was possible the goddess could wear makeup similar to mine, so I was allowed to add paint layers that had subtle sparkle. I finally finished my project.
But I still liked my original idea. Perhaps I could use it in a future project. Maybe the paints would accept white opal skin for an alien. I said, “Her name was Anthalla. She was an ambassador who sought help from Earth for her starving people. But first she had to unite the people of Earth.” Lame, but I’d work on it.
#
Several days later, I drove to Amahi University and gave my project to a friendly woman in the Admissions office.
“When my supplies argued with me, was it part of the test? To make sure I’m good enough to attend Amahi?”
The woman looked around. The other people in the room were busy, so she leaned over and whispered, “Just between you and me, we used a new supplier this year. We instructed them to program professional-level smart supplies with only our verification process, but they used their new line of student smart supplies that feature ‘helpful suggestions.’ We’ve received so many complaints from prospective students and their parents that we won’t use that supplier again. But you finished your project, so you don’t need to do anything else right now.”
“Do you think my project’s good enough to get me into Amahi?”
“Oh, honey, I’m not one of the judges. But I’ll make sure it gets to the right place. We’ll send you an email at 8 am on July 15 to tell you whether you’re accepted.”
#
I got in, I got in!
#
On registration day, Mom and Dad let me enter Mowbry Hall alone while they went to the cafeteria for coffee. They knew I needed time by myself to process all the changes that were coming into my life. My dorm was across campus, but Mowbry Hall, where most freshman art classes were taught, would be my true home for the next year. I would find my parents when I felt ready to show them around.
As I climbed the steps, I wondered who had won the Grand Award. Could it be me? It didn’t matter that much, just getting into Amahi was so utterly spectacular. But still, could I be the winner?
I walked into the lobby and gasped. Heading straight for the middle case, I stared in awe. It wasn’t my project, but that was okay, because the Grand Award winner was max amazing.
For my audition project, I neutralized the argumentative nature of my supplies by using negotiation. That technique is often the best solution for problems, but in this case it forced me to compromise my vision. The winner, who also chose smart clay and paints for his project, did something better. He harnessed their argumentative nature as a key component in his design. Somehow he got the paints and clay to argue with each other, creating a dynamic sculpture that continuously changed shape and color as each one tried to correct the “mistakes” of the other.
I smiled and said, “I can hardly wait to start classes here. I have so much to learn!”
The End
PROBE
