I smile at her and nod. “Sure am. And you love me anyway.”
Hours later, I’m buried beneath my covers, curls spilling across my pillow. Of course I washed my hair the second my friendsleft. Wearing it straight today made me feel physically sick, even more so when I caught Tyler eyeing my hair with a wounded expression.
Now I’m replaying today’s conversation. Especially my admission. It felt like a relief speaking it out loud to my friends. But saying it out loud also created a deep ache with how much I miss him. I’m exhausted, mentally drained from all the tears I shed earlier today, but as always, this brain of mine won’t shut down. I want to hear his voice; the way he calls me love. I could call him. Even though it’s late, he’d pick up. I’m sure of it.
Picking up my phone, I let my thumb hover over his contact. I’ve moved him to my favorites, because that’s what he is. My very favorite person.
No. I don’t need to call tonight. Not with all these half-formed thoughts running through my mind. There’s no telling what would spill from my lips.
I wonder if he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, missing me as much as I miss him. God, I want him here with me, in my bed, where I sleep soundly in his arms.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll call. But tonight I’ll just miss him.
The dreaded day has come. The school board meets in one hour to decide the fate of my beloved program, which means my stomach is tied up in knots. Of course, I’m attending. I’ve been pep talking myself all day about holding my temper. I will not be combative. I will take the decision like an adult. I will not use a paintbrush as a shiv and stab Principal Stanback with it. I’ve also jotted down a few words I’d like to say, if given the opportunity to defend my program.
Upon pulling into the parking lot, I’m struck by how many cars are present. I don’t make a habit of attending board meetings, so I can’t say with certainty how many usually attend, but this feels like a lot. Practically every parking spot is taken. I climb from my car and make my way to the building, coming to a halt when I swing open the gymnasium door.
Dozens of eyes turn to greet me. Those of my colleagues, parents of my students, and my students themselves. Abby is even seated next to Amelia and her mom. My eyes instantly narrow. I thought they were studying together, and here they are, secretly attending this meeting. Slowly, I scan the room, trying to take in who all is here, but when they land on Tyler, my shoulders sag in relief. He’s standing, leaning against the backwall, arms folded across his broad chest, jaw set, lips in a thin line. He looks determined, like a man on a mission. And I am so glad to have him in my corner today.
Truth be told, he doesn’t look great. He looks like someone who has scarcely eaten and slept even less. Facial hair thickened to a scruff and dark circles under his eyes, he looks very much the same way I probably look. My heart sinks at what my actions have done to him, while my mind goes to Cassie’s words the other day. Even when I’ve treated him horribly, he’s still here, still showing up for what’s important to me.
His eyes are on me when I lift my gaze to his. Offering him a weak smile, my stomach flip flops with how much I miss being around him. The last few days I’ve been a version of myself that I hate, but some deep soul searching over the weekend helped and I feel myself rounding a corner. I even scheduled a therapy appointment for next week.
In another time and place, without dozens of people surrounding us, I’d cradle his face in my hands and beg his forgiveness.
But right now I’ve got an art program to fight for.
This is all so overwhelming. But a shot of optimism races through me. Surely, with this many here, they won’t defund my program. Right?
There’s not an empty seat in the room, so I step over to where Tyler is standing and his eyes widen, brows lifting.
“This is unexpected,” I murmur.
Tyler shrugs. “I think it’s the opposite. Of course people showed up like this for you, Jo.”
Jerry, the school board president, stands to call the meeting to order and the secretary reads the minutes from last month’s meeting along with the agenda for tonight. Thank the gods, budget cuts are first on the agenda. I can get an answer and quit worrying.
Jerry clears his throat and begins the meeting.
“First on the agenda, is something we never want to talkabout. Everyone here knows cuts are never easy, but sometimes necessary.”
He goes over a few, which the members vote on, but I can hardly concentrate on what they’re saying with the blood rushing through my ears.
“Next up is the after-school art program.” He adjusts his reading glasses. “ArtStrong, led by the school art teacher, Ms. Thomas. All in favor?—”
“With all due respect,” I say, stepping forward, “I’d like to speak.”
He assesses me, then nods. “Very well.”
I step up to the podium, unfolding my speech with trembling fingers.
“Everyone in this room knows me. I’ve taught here for fourteen years. It has been an honor and privilege watching students learn to love art. Not only do I know my students by name, but I also know them by their fears, their doubts, their inner thoughts. I know their favorite color and what they doodle on notebook paper when they think nobody’s watching.”
I pause for a beat, making eye contact with each member of the school board.
“This vote you’ll be making won’t only be about whether my program stays or goes. This is about whether you believe that expressing yourself creatively is essential for a young person’s survival. Because for some of my students, it is. Thank you.”
I quickly make my way back to stand next to Tyler. He leans in and whispers, “I am so proud of you, Jo.”
