Mikhail Crowne's Academy for the Gifted and Talented - Part One

Mikhail Crowne's Academy for the Gifted and Talented. 1

That was where Anastasia Petrov would start attending school in just a few days, the same Academy in which her mother and father had gone to school, and eventually gone on to become great people. It was a huge, rich, private art school in the middle of nowhere, but it wasn't by any means normal. 2

Anastasia didn't care how normal it was, she just wanted to get out of her house. And, more importantly, away from her parents. 3

No, she wasn't the “average teenager” who hated her parents and thought they were just so devastatingly uncool. Anastasia didn't have anything against how her parents acted, they acted how was socially acceptable for people of their class- it's just, what was acceptable for them, and how they wanted Anastasia to act, wasn't something she could quite grasp. 4

She didn't like the parties. She wasn't a big fan of the important events held in the ballroom, where hundreds of men showed up in expensive tuxedos and hundreds of women showed up in even more expensive gowns. Sure, she knew how to walk the walk, talk the talk, which spoon to use for soup, how to hold her glass- it'd all been engraved into her mind ever since she was little. She even knew how to ballroom dance and waltz. But that didn't mean she was happy with it. 5

Her mother had graduated from the choral program at Mikhail Crowne Academy, and her father had graduated from the band program there. Her mother was a soloist, and her father was mainly a pianist, although he played a large assortment of other instruments, too. Anastasia's mother, Clara Petrov, was really quite proud of her career as a famous soloist. Had you ever gone to an opera in Europe, you may have spotted the scene where a beautiful woman comes out onto the stage and sings a long, dramatic solo, and the entire time, everyone is ooh-ing and ahh-ing, goggle-eyed, completely entranced by her voice. 6

That would be Anastasia's mother. 7

As soon as Anastasia had learned to talk, Clara had paraded all over the house, repeating “She's going to be a singer, she's going to be a singer!”, over and over again. All throughout her childhood, that was something that Anastasia had heard on a regular basis- “You're going to be a singer, I know it!” Clara and Anastasia's father had been proud of her for her singing voice before she even could sing. Thus, she grew up a singer. All through her life, she couldn't remember a point where she didn't have some high-class singing teacher visiting her at least once a week. Sometimes every day. Consequentially, Anastasia was very good at controlling her voice. She always hit the right pitch, she never went flat, and sight-singing came just as naturally to her as breathing. 8

But, that didn't necessarily guarantee that she was good. 9

All through her singing career, from when she was a lolliloping toddler, to an acne-ridden 14 year old, to now, an almost sixteen-year-old young woman, her singing had always only been average. 10

Even then, no one singing teacher had dared confront Clara Petrov and tell her that her daughter was anything less than the next Clara Petrov herself. If Clara had any inkling that Anastasia's teacher might have their doubts, she'd quickly bin them and hire a new, more expensive one, always using the excuse that “A singing student can only be as confident in herself as her teacher.” 11

Because, really, when your mother is Clara Petrov, anyone would be willing to take you in as their singing student, even if you sound like a tone-deaf frog with throat problems. 12

Anastasia was completely aware of this, but didn't really mind, although she sometimes felt sorry for the singing instructors that were fired. She enjoyed singing, it was a nice way to express emotion, and really, she wasn't bad, she just wasn't great. As long as her mother didn't know that, everyone was happy.13

Really, when you have two widely known parents who both graduated from part of the music program of one of the most notorious art schools in the world, your life is surrounded by music. It's practically destiny to go every single day hearing music. Anastasia Petrov had nothing to complain about. But... she didn't feel like she had much to celebrate, either.14

Which was why going to this art school was going to be such a positive change for her. She could make friends for once (her mother had always thought of public schools as unsanitary, and private schools as too unfashionable, which left Anastasia to be home schooled), and she would be free from the grasp her parents had on her. Really, she loved them to pieces, but she would really like to have the freedom to wear what she pleased and go outside when she wanted to. They controlled practically every aspect of her life except for when she decided to go to the bathroom.15

And when she escaped to Mikhail Academy... all of that would... disappear. 16

Freedom. 17

She was so close, she could practically taste it. 18

And so, Anastasia Petrov sat on her bed, pamphlet to Mikhail Crowne's Academy for the Gifted and Talented flat in her hand, smiling as if the very Earth itself had gone to the limits of the universe just to get her this gift. 19

In front of her, two of the maids were carrying out a trunk of clothing. Anastasia folded the pamphlet and slid it into the pocket of her pleated, probably expensive pants, and was just about to get up and help carrying things out when her mother bubbled into her room. She was giving orders about how to set up Anastasia's things in the small moving truck to two different people at the same time, both men, who were trailing behind her with small notepads, scribbling down every word she said as if they were words from God himself. 20

“Anastasia, darling!” She burst as she swayed towards Anastasia and slid her Gucci sunglasses on top of her head. “The Academy just sent me pictures of your room, it looks wonderful, simply wonderful!” She oozed. Clara had gone head over heels to make sure that Anastasia got one of the rooms in the top floor of the main building, where the dorms were bigger and closer to the classrooms. Normally, the dorms for the students' were on a first come, first serve basis, but Clara had pulled a enough strings and pulled enough dramatic stunts to get Anastasia the last Dorm A room they had left, all to herself. Anastasia was inwardly grateful, but sincerely wouldn't have minded having one of the Dorm B rooms, either. She also wouldn't have minded having a roommate, as long as they were tasteful.21

Clara sat down next to Anastasia on her bed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and turning her face towards Anastasia. 22

Her dark eyes sparkled. “Anastasia, I know you're going to love it at the academy. I just know it.” She said confidently. Anastasia smiled shyly and averted her eyes downward. “But what's even more exciting than the magnificent choral program and singing classes?” Clara asked. “Even more exciting than the grounds, the new people? Even more exciting than the entire experience itself?” Anastasia looked up at her mother, questioning with her eyes, even though she already knew exactly what her mother was going to say. A small smile graced Clara Petrov's face. “Meeting the infamous Mikhail Crowne himself,” she whispered breathlessly. “He's the most amazing man you'll ever meet, Anastasia, and that I can guarantee. He's brilliant. Simply brilliant. A genius of his own kind.” Clara spoke of him as if he were a god, and Anastasia inwardly frowned. There wasn't much of a chance that she would even meet him in the first place- after being slightly skeptical about her mothers' fabulous stories about Mikhail Crowne, she had done some research on the Internet, and it turned out that the founder of the school rarely visited at all. But when he was around, Anastasia thought, they must practically worship him. 23

As it turns out, Mikhail Crowne seemed to be a very hard person to tie down. One year when he was in his early twenties or so, Mikhail had shown up out of nowhere with billions of dollars in the bank, bought an extremely large plot of land, and hired a multitude of workers to start building the academy from scratch. The media had gone on a rampage, hoarding him with questions at every waking moment, but hadn't gotten very many questions answered besides “What are you building?”, “What is your name?”, and “How much will this cost?”. He had rarely even visited the building site. 24

As soon as the academy was settled down and students began enrolling, Mikhail was off again, and no one ever knew wherever in the world he might be, the only time anyone knew of his whereabouts, besides his favorite butler, Hunley, of course, would be when he was visiting the academy for the holidays or something of the like. He was known for giving charities blank checks and being slightly reckless with his money, and yet he always seemed to have more. 25

Even if he did spend recklessly, there was no doubt in Anastasia's mind that the academy would keep him rich forever. At fifty thousand dollars a year, it was nowhere near a cheap place to attend school. Most of the student body were on partial or full scholarships. Not including Anastasia, of course. Her parents were willing to pay in full. 26

Anyway, that was basically all the information Anastasia was able to gather on Mikhail Crowne, despite the dozens upon thousands of websites there were that at least mentioned him, if not dedicated to him. There weren't any pictures of him, surprisingly, so Anastasia had to depend on her mother to give her a description of what he looked like, if she wanted it. But she didn't want it, so she didn't ask, and wasn't told. 27

“Now, Anastasia, I know you're not going to be able to see me or your father for quite some time after you start at the academy, but don't worry, dear, if you miss us too much, just inform us in one of your letters or calls and we'll do what we see fit to get down there and see you, okay?” Anastasia nodded. The academy didn't allow parents to be there unless it was parent-teacher conferences, the Mikhail Crowne Academy Auction (where the painting students sold their work, etc), or the first/last day of school, with the exception that they could come if their son or daughter had been seriously injured or was extremely ill. However, the students were allowed to go home during the holidays, and even weekends, if they wished it (in which case, Anastasia would have been surprised if they did), and then of course there was summer break where everyone was sent home. 28

Despite this, her mothers' willingness to come to the rescue whenever needed was almost in vain. Not only was Anastasia not really one to get homesick, but she was also looking forward to not seeing her parents for a few months. The more room she got to breathe, the better. And besides, she thought, even if she did get homesick, she doubted that her mother would be able to come to the rescue as soon as she claimed she could. For much of her time, Clara Petrov was preforming in operas all over the world, and anything besides doing an opera had to be scheduled months in advance.29

Clara Petrov stood up and turned towards Anastasia. “Ana, darling, I have your new outfit for your first day at the academy picked out. Please come and try it on, dear.” Anastasia nodded and stood up as well, following her mother through the winding, grand hallways to the master bedroom. She was almost afraid of what she would see- not that her mother had bad taste, her mother was the most fashionable woman she'd ever known, but Anastasia's sense of fashion was slightly different. She'd never let her mother know that, though, and she always took the clothes her mother bought her without complaint. 30

When she walked into her mothers' room, Anastasia wasn't surprised to see something straight from the Vera Wang runway lying on the bed, waiting for her to put it on. She almost cringed. It was beautiful.31

But once, just once, wouldn't her mother let her fit in? 32

Just once, couldn't she wear jeans and a t-shirt?33

Lying on the bedspread was a grass silk tulle pleated dress with a forest metallic bouillon bib, and a burnished brass lash bracelet was next to it. Anastasia could've sworn she saw the exact outfit on a Vera Wang runway model only a few weeks ago. 34

“Do you like it?” Her mother asked, beaming and clasping her hands together. 35

“It's beautiful, mom,” Anastasia answered, trying to keep her voice level and simultaneously keep a look of disgust off of her face. 36

“Well, go try it on, then!” Clara gushed, shooing Anastasia into the bathroom that was built into the bedroom. Anastasia trickled through the doorway and shut the door slowly and quietly behind her. 37

The first thing she did was sulk. She hung the dress on the hanger attached to the back of the door, then sat on the 99.99% germ-free (thanks to all the anti-bacterial that her mother made the maids clean it with) tiled floor, crossed her arms, and pouted.38

She bit her lip. It was all she could do to keep herself from crying like the spoiled little girl she knew she wasn't. She just wanted to look normal for once. 39

Well, she didn't have a choice, so she might as well try on the dress. She stood up and stripped down to her undergarments, but after she took the dark green dress off of the hook, she saw the back and realized it was partly open, so she couldn't wear a bra with it. 40

Ah, well. Her breasts weren't that big anyways. 41

Quickly, she unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, the pulled the dress on over her head. After adjusting it a little bit and folding her clothes into a neat pile on the counter, she turned and took a look in the large mirror over the sink and counter. 42

It looked completely gorgeous on her. That just made her hate it even more. 43

It was a full length dress, you could just see her toes at the bottom. Her waist-long, dark brown, wavy hair complimented the dress perfectly, and her light brown eyes and olive skin stood out from the contrast. Anastasia groaned and buried her face in her hands. 44

“Anastasia? Have you tried it on yet?” Her mother called from the door. 45

“I'm almost done!” Anastasia lied. She leaned against the door and slid down, sitting on the floor again. She had a pair of jeans and a casual t-shirt that her mother had bought her a while back for her to go outside in on particularly “messy” days, maybe she could stash it in a carry-on bag and change into it as soon as her mother left. But even then, people would still see her in the dress. 46

“Anastasia, you're taking much too long...” Her mother complained from the door. Anastasia jumped. 47

“Oh, yeah! I'm done!” She yelled through the door, her voice slightly shaky. She took hold of the door knob and pulled herself up, quickly brushed off the front and back of the dress, then turned the knob and walked back into her mothers' room. 48

“Oh, Anastasia, dahling!” Her mother said loudly, crushing her daughter with an over-dramatic hug. “You look marvelous!” Her mother praised, pulling away from Anastasia and holding her at arms length. She quickly turned and picked up the bracelet from on the bed. “Here. You forgot your bracelet.” She gently pushed the bracelet passed Anastasia's fingers and onto her left wrist. 49

“Um... don't you think it's a little too.... formal?” Anastasia asked quietly. 50

“Of course not, Anastasia!” Her mother said loudly. Her mother always spoke a little too loudly. It came with her dramatic nature. “It has Mikhail Crowne Academy written all over it!” Anastasia didn't ask any more questions. Her mother began walking out of the room, so Anastasia followed her. 51

As they were walking down the hallway, Clara's three inch heels clicking on the floor, she noticed that Anastasia's feet were bare. “Anastasia!” She said suddenly, causing Anastasia to inwardly cringe, “I want you to wear those golden-colored flats that I bought you a while ago, okay? They'll match the golden design at the top of your dress.” Anastasia nodded, and continued staring at the ground as she walked. 52

She wanted to shrivel up and die. Sometimes she hated how her mother acted. She was just so... overbearing. Just listening to her talk was overwhelming sometimes.53

“Are they already packed?” She asked quietly. 54

“No, I don't believe any of your footwear has been packed yet, love. They should still be in your closet, along with a few of your clothes, as long as the maids haven't finished packing those yet.” Anastasia nodded and made a beeline to her room. 55

When she entered, she almost frowned. Her room was no longer recognizable. The bed was still there, but blankets and sheets no longer covered the puffy white mattress, and the canopy was gone as well. The bureau was still there, but was no longer filled with clothes. Her desk was there, but was no longer filled with writing utensils and paper and covered in personal trinkets. The only reason these things were left was because Mikhail Academy's dorms already had beds, bureaus, and desks in them. Everything else? Gone. 56

She walked over to her closet. It was nearly empty, the maids had cleared out all the extra clothes that couldn't fit in her bureau, after all, and a few pairs of shoes were left, including the ones that her mother wanted her to wear. She slipped them on and then walked over to her bare bed, delicately climbing onto it and laying on her side, curling up into a ball and watching the maids come in and out as they needed. 57

It wasn't long until they were done and no longer had reason to enter her room, and so Anastasia switched to gazing out of the window ahead of her on the wall near her closet. She could see the small moving truck in the long driveway, and a trail of people going in and out like ants, loading up her things. 58

Maybe she would miss this place a little more than she liked to admit. It was home.59

But she was going to make a new home for herself at Mikhail Academy, so she decided not to whine. She knew that going to the academy would probably be one of the best experiences of her life, but for now, she let herself deal with the leaving-home blues.60

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