17: Courage

- Teaching... here? In Alfea?
Flora's incredulous tone got a small laugh from Faragonda.
- Yes, darling, here at Alfea. It looks incredible but even we, sometimes, enroll new staff. And there’s no one who I’d be more pleased to have in the whole teaching body. Obviously that's not a decision to make impulsively... I only wanted to ask you in person.
- Teacher in Alfea...
She had already briefly been one, after she achieved the Enchantix, but in that case she was sharing the chair with the others. To become a teacher of Flowermagic would've been another thing, only hers: a big responsibility, a very important step she never planned in her life.
- You will have your own apartment, the management of the greenhouse and the study plans... that’s the basic offer I give to all my teachers, but of course there's always place for personal needs.
- Of course... – murmured Flora, listening to only half of the headmistress's words.
- I see my request upset you more than I expected, Flora. Take your time to think about it. You can stay here and talk with Eldora... and if you have any questions I'll be at your disposal.
The girl rose and faced Faragonda.
-Thank you, miss headmistress. I'll think about it thoroughly, but regardless the answer, I consider it an enormous honor.
The woman leaned towards her and took her hands
- Nothing for me is more satisfying than seeing my students blooming and being happy.
The confidence Faragonda's words gave her left her as soon as she closed the studio's door behind her, replaced with a rain of whispers in her mind.
You don’t have enough experience. You won't gain any respect. You're too young. You don't know enough things. You can't compare yourself to Eldora. You're not made for teaching.
She closed her eyes and sighed. Those murmurs were right: she’d better refuse.
She slowly walked across the desert courtyard's corridors, seeking comfort on the flower beds and sat on the grass with her legs crossed, without sandals, absentmindedly caressing the fresh stems.
She sighed again, her gaze lost on the far treetops. Her nostalgia for that place had an almost tangible taste: the afternoons doing homework, the fresh air's comfort after the long lesson hours, the incursions in Selvafosca, looking for new flowers or plants to study.
At least Faragonda was right about that: her passion for plant world had always been enormous, since she was a kid. She used to follow her father everywhere, in their garden, and listen for hours to his explanations, learning plants' names and properties and falling in love with every flower that bloomed under her father’s care. The family's photo albums where full of pictures where, dirty and smiling, they showed a new little plant to the camera.
Then came Miele and the student became a teacher: the little sister was a bit clumsy and she got distracted very easily, but that made Flora's satisfaction over her results even bigger. She started to understand her father better and sometimes she found herself daydreaming on having a little girl with dark hair next to her to whom repeat those tricks, those nursery rhymes that Rhodos used to teach her to memorize those concepts they repeated together.
That thought made her blush. Sure, she had always thought that sooner or later a child would have arrived, but the one in her daydreams had Helia's dark hair... She shook her head, as to shake that picture away from her mind. She was too, too young.
Teaching to a kid? She laughed: Faragonda was offering her a whole class. A classroom full of young enthusiasts about Flowermagic, with their favorite flowers... And that image bloomed without any effort in her mind: a class of kids around Miele's age, listening to her, asking her questions, taking notes, showing her the result of her work. She felt a twinge of desire.
The image of the class, her class, triggered a new wave of murmurs: a sister is a thing, but a whole classroom? And the experience? And her magic level, which she didn't feel fully complete yet? And then, and then... and then that twinge, which was becoming stronger and stronger, overwhelmed that negative hum, transforming in a strong, clear, brave voice. The whispers were still there but they were nothing but a tickle, a distant worry, weak voices opposed to the reply that seemed more defined every second.
Flora opened the door of Faragonda's office, with an awfully luminous smile on her face:
- I accept the chair. I want to teach.