All their eyes were fixed on the phone. The room had fallen into thick silence and with each passing minute, the atmosphere felt heavier.
"It's taking too long," a bespectacled girl broke the silence, her eyes restless behind round glasses as she checked her wristwatch.
"How many minutes left?" another female voice came from across the room.
"Actually, only fifteen," the girl replied, adjusting her glasses with a single finger.
"Fifteen? I thought we still had more time," said the girl across the room, who was still only a teenager.
"They usually call between 4 and 5 p.m." The bespectacled girl pushed the glasses higher up her nose ridge. Her eyes shifted from the teenager to another girl in the room. "Emma, are you sure you sent your best pieces?"
"Ofcourse." Emma said and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"But why's it taking-"
"Try to be patient, Hellena.You're making me more nervous." Emma said, shifting restlessly on her bed. She sat upright with the phone cradled in her palms like a newborn baby. It was a big desk telephone that once belonged to her grandfather, which she still kept for memory.
Her bespectacled friend Hellena squeezed in beside her and clutched a pillow like it was a lifeline. On a sofa across the room, Misty, Emma's younger sister of fifteen years old sat knees drawn up to her chin, and eyes glued on the phone.
Lying on the floor was a child no more than five years old. One tender hand supported her chin as the crayon in her other hand made a mess in a small drawing book. A tiny bandage covered a small spot near her elbow, yet her face glowed with such innocent delight it suggested nothing but joy.
She glanced up from her drawing as though she had remembered something.
Her innocent soothing voice floated through the air:
"Auntie Hewy, did you send the picture of that boy smiling with the hand like this?"
She threw her small hands up and teethed in the air.
"It's not a picture, it's a painting, sweetheart," Emma said and added, "You mean 'The Laughing soul'. I did my dear."
The curtains were half-drawn against the afternoon sun and dust motes floated in the slanted light, gleaming like sparks of gold.
Today was the day.
Crestfield Academy of Fine Arts didn't send out letters. It was always a phone call on the first Thursday of June and always during the hour between 4 and 5 p.m.
Crestfield graduates had their works hanging in Paris galleries and their designs paraded on Milan runways. The academy was a factory of dreams, and those admitted were treated as prodigies before their careers even began. Students aspiring to join the academy always had to apply with a portfolio exhibiting samples of their work. Emma was positive she had chosen and sent in her best art pieces. But the path into Crestfield was so narrow she didn't know if she would make it.
"Do you realize," Hellena said, "last year only twenty five students got in. Twenty five! Out of nearly three thousand applicants."
"Please don't remind me," Emma sucked in a deep breath. Her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Her grandfather's old-school phone still remained clutched in her sweaty palms. "I'm trying to forget about the odds."
"Shhh!" Misty hissed. "What if you miss the call because you are talking too loud?"
Emma chuckled nervously.
But the phone stayed still. And minutes dragged on.
Emma feared it was past time already.
Soon hope dwindled and a hint of worry was clear on her face.
Amidst the awkward silence, Hellena was constantly checking her watch and this was driving Emma crazy.
Misty resorted to biting her finger nails silently. Even the little girl lying on the floor had stopped drawing, like she knew something was going wrong.
Fearing to see her failure reflected in the eyes of her little niece, Emma shut her eyes and threw her head back against the wall.
She stayed like that for a while.
But she knew.
Any second from now...
Hellena's voice would break the bad news: 'It's past time.'
She was about to give up all hope when a piercing sound crashed the silence in the room.
TRRRRIIIIIIING! TRRRRIIIIIIING!
Everyone screamed at once. Emma fumbled so hard she nearly dropped the ringing phone. Her heart pounded hard as she reached for the huge hand-held receiver.
"No. Put it on speaker!" Hellena shouted.
"Shhh!" Misty hissed again.
Everyone was on their feet; Misty on the sofa, Hellena and Emma on the bed and Emma's niece on the floor.
"Hello?" Emma's voice trembled.
"Congratulations, Miss Emma Hedwig," an official sounding voice of a young man blared on loud speaker and the room fell dead silent. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen..."
Before the sentence was finished, a burst of laughter erupted from the other end of the line. The sparkle in Emma's eyes died instantly and her broad smile slowly faded.
She stared at the phone in confusion. All around her, the other girls eye-balled each other with the same look of confusion.
"Got you!" Her brother shifted to his normal voice. "Crestfield called and said you didn't make the list. So stop dream-"
The room broke into a cacophony of angry voices and a series of insults.
"That's not funny, Jordan." Hellena screamed.
"I'm going to murder him." Emma hung up, dropped the phone on the bed and was already halfway to the door.
"He's in his room," Misty said, grabbing a pillow and also running to the door.
Before the chaos could settle, the phone lit up again.
Everyone froze.
The girls exchanged wide-eyed looks.
Emma eyed the phone curiously. Was this it? Was she finally chosen?
"Hurry! You're going to miss it!" Misty clapped her hands.
Emma swallowed hard as she padded across the room, heart pounding and eyes locked on the phone. It was either this or time was surely up.
With fingers trembling, she answered.
It was real this time.
A calm female voice from the Crestfield Admissions Office delivered loudly the words she had dreamed about for weeks now:
"Congratulations, Miss Hedwig. You have been admitted to the Crestfield Academy of Fine Arts. You will receive further instructions through email."
The call cut immediately.
The girls screamed and jumped. Pillows flew up in the air like confetti. The room became charged with emotion and soon the girls huddled together in a tight hug. Even her niece rushed in and locked her cute little hands around Emma's legs.
Emma's eyes turned glassy and her heart swole with gratitude. For once the world had chosen her.
She couldn't believe she had made it to such an elite school.
Still locked in that hug, her ears were bombarded by Misty and Hellena's voices as they spoke rapidly out of turn:
"Congratulations!"
"You made it. You actually-"
"I'm so happy for you, sis."
"I knew, I saw your pieces."
. . .
Emma didn't know it yet, but this moment of triumph was the calm before a storm. Life was clenching back it's fist. And when it struck, it would shatter everything she thought she had built.
As they broke the embrace, Emma's gaze drifted down and something caught her attention.
She stared, confused.
The hem of her cream-colored dress was smeared with a bright red stain.
Blood.