Phantom what?
Oh God, get out of this conversation fast.
“Yeah, yeah, that,” I say, nodding vigorously.
“Well.” She laughs, shaking her head. “Seems I was worrying for nothing. Thanks again for watching my class.”
I flash what I hope is a confident smile and slip back into my classroom.
That was close.
“Five more minutes, class.”
I pick up the folder on my desk and start fanning myself again. The heat is one thing, but that conversation, it’s making me sweat more.
Me and my big mouth.
I need to stop doing that. Stop filling the nervous silence. One of these days, my mouth is going to put me into trouble.
I drag a breath and push the distraction out of my head. The classroom. My students. That’s where my attention belongs.
Moving through the rows, I offer encouragement here, admire color choices there. But my real destination is the back.
I can see her name tag as I approach. She is only using black and red.
I’m almost near her when I say, “How are you coming—”
My words die.
She’s drawn a stick figure of a girl, and beside the girl, a man. The man is five times her size. He looks aggressive. The red crayon has been pressed so hard into the paper that the wax is peeling. Slashes of crimson everywhere, behind them, around them. The picture looks exactly like what my brain doesn’t want it to look like.
The little girl in the picture, she isn’t smiling. Her mouth is a small, downward line, and even in a child’s simple drawing, she looks afraid.
“That’s… that’s a very interesting drawing, Sara.” My voice is steady, which is a small miracle considering my rising panic. “Can you tell me about it?”
She doesn’t say anything; she barely blinks.
“Who is this?” I point to the scary figure. “Is this blood?” I point to the background.
I can already tell she’s not going to tell me. She turns it face down on her desk. “Nobody.”
I straighten up, but my knees feel shaky. The massive, threatening figure, the blood-red marks, the small, frightened girl.
This isn’t paranoia.
This isn’t me overreacting on my first day because I’m nervous and damp. This child is in danger, and she is crying for help!
The teacher’s words about parent-teacher meetings pop into my head, and suddenly the plan assembles itself.
I know I have to report anything suspicious, but before I do that, I need proof. A parent-teacher meeting. This is the perfect opportunity for that. I’ll meet her parents face-to-face, and if the scary figure in that drawing is her father, I’ll be able to meet him and assess the situation myself.
Swear to God, I’m going to help this little girl.
2
Kilian
THE HALLWAY OF the school is covered in bright paper cutouts, and by the time I reach the far end, I’ve got the beginnings of a headache.
