“That’s what I’m here for,” I tell her with a smile.
The classroom door creaks open, and a girl I’ve seen in the hall pokes her head in with a frown, contrasting Addie’s sweet nature.
“Addie, come on, you’re gonna make me late for lunchagain.”
“Sorry!” She calls, rushing back to her desk and stuffing her sketchbook into her bag. As she passes my desk, she slows. “Thanks again.”
“Anytime. I can’t wait to see what you came up with.”
The smell of cafeteria pizza lingers in the hallway, but in my classroom, the quiet is only broken by the sound of my fork scraping against Tupperware and the occasional hum of the air conditioning.
I like the quiet, I always have.
Lunch in the teacher’s lounge still feels like something I have to work up to. Too many people, too many conversations, I’m not ready for.
In here, I can relax with no one watching.
I’m seated on the floor, salad balancing on my thigh, and my previous class’s assignments spread out in front of me.
While grading them, I find something about every student’s work to compliment and ask questions, hoping to encourage them to open up and express themselves through their art.
But when I get to Addie’s, I pause.
It’s a pencil sketch, simple lines, but there’s something about it that hits me differently. She’s drawn a family. A womanfrowning at her husband and a younger boy between them.
And then there’s Addie. You can see the outlines of her, the shape of her body, her curly hair, but it’s all drawn in lighter pencil, like she’s not a part of them. Invisible. A background character in her own family.
I set my fork down without realizing it, because I know that feeling well.
My parents didn’t understand me.
They didn’t get why I wasn’t like the other kids. If they could see who I am now, well, I can only imagine the depth of their disappointment.
I swallow hard, blinking down at the page.
She’s only fifteen, expressing something she probably doesn’t even understand, but she found a way to say it.
My heart aches for her, and for the version of me who used to feel like that.
I’m still staring down at Addie’s art when there’s a knock on my open door.
I jump, brushing my hand over my face like that will hide how I feel. “Come in,” I call out, a little more hoarse than normal.
When I see who it is, my eyes widen.
Nate Wesley.
“Bad time?”
I glance down at the forgotten container next to me. “No, it’s fine. I was just grading.”
He steps inside, pulling the door shut behind him. “The boys been giving you much trouble?” I stand up, brushing off my skirt to distract from the butterflies I feel when he looks at me.
“No, actually,” I say with a small huff of laughter, sitting on my desk, facing him. “They’ve been great. Overly nice if anything.”
I give him a pointed look. I know he must’ve done something.
“Well, that’s great.” He steps closer to stand in front of me. Something in his attention makes my cheeks heat up, giving me the urge to squirm where I’m sitting. “Anyway, that’s not why I came in here.”
