“Davanté, you were supposed to meet with Mr. Parkman last week. In fact, you haven't met with him at all since the GSP was assigned!”
Mrs. Beauchmont looked at Davanté disapprovingly. She uncrossed her arms, stood up, and walked to the window sill to look out.
Without turning to face Davanté, she said, “This is not good. It's too late to pair you with a mentor now.”
“Mrs. Beauchmont, I can make it up. I really don't need a mentor,” said Davanté.
“Oh, yes you do. The GSP guidelines require it. It’s the only way we can ensure that your work is original,” replied Mrs. Beauchmont.
Davanté did not know what else to say. He could not fail. He had to graduate. He suddenly regretted his neglectfulness.
“Okay, this is what we're going to do,” said Mrs. Beauchmont. “You will report to me. Every Friday after school, report here.”
Davanté's heart sank. Mrs. Beauchmont was just too strange. All of his friends would make fun of him if they found out that his GSP mentor was the school witch.
“Um, okay,” he muttered.
“Good. That settles it. Now, since you are here, where are you on the project?” Mrs. Beauchmont asked.
“Well, I have an idea,” said Davanté.
“Yes?” said Mrs. Beauchmont.
“My idea is to create a collage on a big canvas or a wall,” said Davanté.
Mrs. Beauchmont frowned. “You mean graffiti?” she said.
“Oh, no. I'm using oil paints. So, I guess it has to be a canvas,” said Davanté.
“Okay, well what does the collage consist of?” asked Mrs. Beauchmont.
“I-I don't know yet,” said Davanté.
Mrs. Beauchmont leaned back in her chair with a loud sigh. Davanté noticed pictures lining the bookshelf behind her head.
“Who are they?” he asked, pointing to the picture frames.
“Oh, those are my children and grandchildren,” replied Mrs. Beauchmont.
Davanté was surprised to learn that she had children. Mrs. Beauchmont did not resemble a typical mother or grandmother. She was always put together and never looked hurried or frumpy. Davanté noticed that even her shoes were pristine without a scuff or mark on them.
“Davanté, this is what we're going to do. Now, every employee at a job has to prioritize his work. He has to put things in order and address each part until the task is completed. Do you understand that?” asked Mrs. Beauchmont.
“Yes,” said Davanté.
“So, what we'll do is break up your project in pieces and work on each piece,” said Mrs. Beauchmont.
Davanté nodded his head in agreement.
“Now, since you have yet to start, let's see your outline. Do you have an outline of what you think you will paint?” asked Mrs. Beauchmont.
“Oh, yeah. I have it in my sketchbook. But it's at home,” responded Davanté.
“Fine. Bring your sketchbook next Friday and we'll review it,” replied Mrs. Beauchmont.
Davanté began to feel tension rising in his stomach. “Um, Mrs. Beauchmont?” he said.
“Yes?” replied Mrs. Beauchmont.
“I never show my sketchbook to anyone. It’s really personal,” said Davanté.
“Mrs. Beauchmont smiled. Her eyes twinkled with delight.
“Well, I guess I'm your new best friend,” she said.
Davanté nodded his head reluctantly. He did not have a good feeling about this arrangement.
“Mrs. Beauchmont, are you sure we have to do this? I mean, aren't you really busy? You're not even an art teacher,” said Davanté.
Mrs. Beauchmont stood up and walked over to Davanté. She sat next to him on the empty plastic chair.
Davanté could smell her perfume, reminding him of blooming roses. Her face was aglow with a thin layer of perfectly applied makeup. Her lips were ruby red and she wore pretty dangling gold earrings. Despite the rumors, Mrs. Beauchmont did not look like a witch. She looked like a happy, pretty and positive Black woman.
“Davanté,” she said. “You are right. I am not a teacher. And I am very busy. And we don't have to do this.”
But,” she said, raising a beautifully manicured index finger. “We will try anyway.”
“You see, the ones who make it, I mean, really make it, are those that make an extra effort. They persevere despite the hardship. That's what we're going to do. And I have a feeling it’s going to be spectacular,” Mrs. Beauchmont said with a smile, revealing gleaming white teeth.
Davanté could not help but to catch her optimism. He left Mrs. Beauchmont's office feeling uplifted. It was a long time since he remembered feeling this hopeful.
Eight
Being Davanté Page 9
