His lips start to turn down into a confused frown, but whenhe starts to put his hand back down, I reach out and take it.
His grip is firm, his big hands calloused and warm, and-
“H-hi,” I stutter out, shaking his hand for way too long. “Yes, I’m the new art teacher. Iris Patel. It’s nice to meet you.”
Please don’t recognize me.
Please don’t look at me and seehim.
He smiles again, ignoring the fact that I’m making a complete fool of myself. “Well, Ms. Patel. Welcome to Rosehill. You got some big shoes to fill, Ms. Price was a good lady.”
The corner of my mouth turns up at the praise for my old teacher. “Yes, well. If I could be half as good a teacher as Ms. Price, I would be very happy.”
Why is he looking at me like that?
Why are my cheeks going hot?
He laughs, only an exhale of breath, but it still does something weird to my heart. “From the looks of it, you’re off to a good start.”
“Oh. Um. Thank you.”
He tips his head in acknowledgment and takes a step back. “I should probably get to practice before the boys start getting antsy.”
I nod, a touch too fast for it to look casual. “Right. Yes. Of course.”
He turns like he’s about to go, then glances back over his shoulder. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Patel.”
The rest of the students file into my classroom as the final bell rings.
Last week, we spent most of our class time going over the syllabus and playing the introduction games the schoolencourages.
This week, we get to start.
I stand up from my desk and move toward the front of the room, smoothing the fabric of my skirt, praying that my nerves aren’t as on display as they feel.
You’ve got this, I remind myself.You belong here.
I glance at the bulletin board where I pinned up some of my own art, bright colors, abstract shapes, simple, but enough to set the tone for our first lesson.
Most of the students begin to quiet down, but a few don’t.
One of them pulls his hood up, and another lets out an exaggerated sigh the second I open my mouth.
“Good morning,” I say, higher than I would normally. “Last week was for us to get to know each other better, but today we’re going to start on some things I think you’ll all enjoy.”
In the back, one of the boys leans over to his friend. “Can’t believe we gotta take art,” he says. “This kinda shit’s for losers.”
It takes everything in me not to react.
“For those of you who are not happy to be here.” I keep my voice steady and my chin up. “I hope this class will change your mind. Art isn’t for any certain type of person. And if you can look past any previously formed opinions, I think that there will be something for everyone this semester.”
The boy yawns loud enough to turn heads.
Don’t let them get to you.
“Let’s start with something simple. On your desk, you’ll find a blank card and a pencil. I want you to draw something that represents you. It doesn’t have to be perfect. But it should be honest.”
A rustle of paper. A few groans. One of the boys in the back raises his hand with a smirk. “Can I draw a dick?”
