Page 34 of Windward Hearts

Cadence felt her shoulders slump.

“It’s Izzy,” she admitted. “She’s been having trouble at school lately. Not anything disciplinary. It’s just that she keeps bringing home tests that are a lot lower than her average scores in those subjects.”

“Tests, plural,” Mary echoed musingly. “So more than just an off day.”

“Yeah,” Cadence said, nodding. “And Tyler and I asked her about it. We were careful to make sure she knew that we weren’t upset with her, and really, we aren’t! We’re just concerned.”

“And she denied that anything was going on?” Mary clarified.

“Completely denied it,” Cadence confirmed. “She wasn’t super convincing about it, but we didn’t want to accuse her of lying. We were worried that would make her feel like we were hounding her, and that would make her even more secretive. So, her teacher said that I could come observe, see if I can figure anything out by watching her in her classroom.”

Mary nodded approvingly. “That’s a really good idea,” she said. “Actually, do you mind if I come with you? Maybe my nursing expertise will come in handy. I don’t know. But I do see a lot of kids come through my office, so I’m pretty well acquainted with the usual issues.”

“Oh, would you?” Cadence asked, feeling relieved. “That would be a huge help. It at least would help me feel as though I’m not making a mountain out of a molehill, if it turns out that she really is just having a little slump or something.”

“Of course,” Mary said, putting a comforting hand briefly on Cadence’s shoulder. “I’d be happy to.”

The two of them continued the rest of the short distance to Izzy’s classroom, and Cadence smiled faintly at the sound of a burst of laughter coming from one room, then the sight of a series of eagerly waving hands coming through the door of another.

When they reached Izzy’s classroom, the door was closed, but Cadence stood at the window of the door at an angle that let her see most of the room. She could see Izzy in the back, tapping her pencil against her notebook, as her teacher guided the class through the diagram that he had drawn on the board about the life cycle of amphibians. Mr. Hartley was a young teacher, perhaps in his mid-twenties, and he delivered the science lesson with an animation that was palpable even through the closed doors. He drew the students into the discussion regularly, although as Cadence watched, Izzy didn’t raise her hand once.

She was, however, attentive. She was watching the lecture, apparently interested, except for occasional glances down at her notebook.

Cadence felt her frustration and worry bubble up inside her.

“I’m so confused,” she confessed quietly to Mary, who was still standing at her side, peering through the window with her. “She’s clearly listening. It’s not like she’s gazing out the window and daydreaming. But a month ago, she was doing great in science. She was really doing well in all her subjects. We would have the occasional hiccup in math, but if Tyler or I sat down with her and talked it over again once or twice, she’d figure it out. It was the details she was missing, not the whole picture.” She fought the urge to hang her head in her hands. “I’m just so lost on what to do.”

Mary’s expression was sympathetic, but her eyes were still fixed on Izzy.

“You know…” she began carefully, speaking as though she was thinking and talking at the same time. “I might have an idea.”

Hope flared in Cadence. She was almost afraid to feel it, lest it be quashed.

“Oh yeah?” she asked.

Mary nodded carefully. She still hadn’t looked away from the window, and as Cadence watched her friend, Mary’s expression flared with triumph, then she pointed.

“See that?” she said.

Cadence looked. Izzy was looking at the board for a long moment. After a few seconds, she glanced down at her notebook.

“She’s taking notes?” Cadence said.

“Except she’s not actually writing anything,” Mary clarified. As the nurse spoke, Cadence saw that this was true. “I’ve seen this before. I think she’s having trouble seeing the board. So, she looks, realizes that she can’t make out what it says, and then looks down at the notebook to rest her eyes from the strain. But she doesn’t write anything down because she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to be writing down.”

The words sounded more and more confident the longer Mary spoke and, indeed, as Cadence watched her daughter, she saw the exact pattern recur. Izzy looked up for a while, then looked down, and didn’t write anything. This time, though, Cadence was looking for it.

Izzy, squinting.

It was there for just a moment and then gone, almost as though her daughter was trying to hide it. But it was unmistakable. She squinted at the board before she gave up and looked back at her desk.

“How did you see that?” Cadence asked wonderingly. She knew her daughter well, but even she hadn’t spotted it.

Mary smiled. “Experience,” she said. “Kids are weird about needing glasses. Some years, they become all the rage, and I get a dozen kids claiming they can’t see the board when they actually have no trouble at all. Other years, I get hiders. The ones who want to pretend everything is fine when it isn’t. And some years, there’s a mix.”

“Why are they such little mysteries?” Cadence asked. The words were a complaint, but there was a bubble of laughter in her tone. This wasn’t a guaranteed solution, but it felt right. Maybe Izzy just needed glasses. Cadence and Tyler both wore contacts, so that was very possible, although they had both been a bit older when they’d gotten their first corrective lenses.

There had definitely been signs, though. She’d recently come across Izzy lying on her stomach in front of the television as she’d taken her weekend morning screen time. Cadence had originally assumed that this was just a way for Izzy to be comfortable, but maybe it had been because she couldn’t actually see the screen from the couch where she usually sat. And recently Cadence had offered to go to the movies with Izzy on a rainy day, but Izzy had said no; she wanted to play at home, instead. Could that have been another missed sign?