Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) by Devon Hartford Read Free Book Online

Childress would come by and encourage me, but he was working with the other students. Finally, the timer beeped. Adonis began dressing, not that I cared. I felt like a failure.  
    The other students folded their pads closed. I did too. I didn’t want anyone to see my horrible drawing.  
    I glanced at Kamiko’s pad. She was adding final touches without having to look at the model. Her drawing was amazing. It looked like Adonis, right down to his facial features. How did she do that? She’d even pulled out a blue colored pencil at some point to do his eyes. She got that right too.  
    The face on my drawing was a black smear. I know, because I had rubbed it out with my fingers earlier.
    I wasn’t an artist. Who was I kidding? I belonged in accounting, with smelly coffee feet, taking notes on a laptop like everyone else. I wasn’t meant to do something special or romantic like art.
    Emo. Goth. Witch. Sorceress.
    Shit, I was none of those things. Those things had a spark of originality. I was completely common. I couldn’t make anything magical. I was plain old Sam Smith. Boring CPA.
    Adonis walked out of the room. Hourglass Flamingo had her arm around his waist and her breasty minion in tow.
    Blue Eyes took the last of the magic with him when he’d left the room. Well, except for Kamiko’s drawings, which were pretty damn magical. Unlike mine.
    College sucked ass. What was I thinking when I decided to move across the country, leaving everything behind? Did I think I could change my life so easily? My parents had been right all along. I was nothing special. Why bother trying? I should go home and be miserable in familiar surroundings. At least I knew how to do that.
    Professor Childress folded his arms across his chest. “How was your final drawing?”
    I sighed heavily. “Not so good.”
    “Can I see it?”
    I was reluctant to unveil my failure. “It’s not very good.”
    “I’ll be the judge of that. Let me see it.”
    Great. Now he was going to judge me. Have at it. I lifted back the pages until I revealed my final drawing.
    The professor stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “Mmm-hmm. Mmm.” He cocked his head. “Mmm.”
    What the hell did that mean? “It’s horrible, I know.”
    “Horrible? Is that what you think?”
    “You don’t have to say anything.” I hoped he didn’t hand me a bunch of b.s. fake praise. I hated the “everyone’s a winner” syndrome. Not everyone could take first place. Or second, or third. Or twentieth.
    “Have you done much drawing in the past?”
    “A little. Sometimes I draw in my sketchbook.” I fidgeted. Get this over with already!
    “Your line work is very strong. See your s-curve on the extended leg over here? It’s confident and true.”
    “Yeah, but the rest of the drawing’s terrible!”
    “It’s fine to take note of your failures. In the beginning stages we have many. Don’t forget to celebrate your successes as well. That one line shows me you have talent. You have only to develop it.”
    “But everyone else’s drawings are so much better than mine. Kamiko’s—”
    “You’re referring to the young asian girl?”
    “Yeah.”
    “She showed me her sketchbook before class. What about her?”
    “Kamiko’s drawing’s are so good. I can’t compete with her.”
    “You’re not competing with her. You’re competing only with yourself. Kamiko has had years of vigilant practice. Your goal is not to best her. You goal is to improve. Remember the beautiful s-curve you drew on the extended leg?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Next time, strive for two beautiful lines. That’s it. Let the rest of them be messy and terrible. It’s through the process of making countless mistakes that we approach, but never achieve, perfection. We get better one step, or in this case one line, at a time.”
    “Really?” Was it that simple? Maybe it was. “Thanks Professor Childress!”
    “See you next class. What was your name?”
    “Samantha Smith. People call me