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“One hug, no kisses, coming up,” Landon replied, taking a knee to embrace his niece. He held her a second longer than usual. “I have a feeling your mom and dad are looking down at you right now and feeling so proud of you. You’re one brave kid.”
Aria stepped out of his embrace, unclenched her fist, and held up the little piano. “If I feel like I want to punch some kid in the belly or kick that Grover, before I do it, I’ll look at this and think of you guys and mom and dad and Lolo and Lala, and I’ll try not to get into trouble.” The little girl looked up at her. “And Aunt Harper?”
“Yes?” she answered, willing herself not to turn into a blubbering mess.
Jesus, what was going on? She was not one to lose her shit.
“Is that why you gave me the little piano eraser? To help me do good at school and not punch the meanies?”
Cue the waterworks.
She blinked back tears and stared at the piano’s teensy-tiny keys. She didn’t know why she’d bought the little piano eraser—or maybe she did. Perhaps it was one of those cosmic signs Libby always talked about.
“Something like that,” she answered and smoothed the wisps of hair that had come loose from Aria’s pigtails.
“Come on, Aria,” Phoebe called. “I’ll show you where we line up.”
The glimmer of a grin pulled at the corners of Aria’s mouth, and she joined the kids as they set off for the blacktop.
And boom, their little spitfire was gone.
“I didn’t think I’d feel like this,” she uttered, more to herself than anyone else when a warmth engulfed her hand, and the familiar zing of her pop star’s touch sent a tingle to her fingertips. She glanced at the man. Did he realize he’d clasped her hand in his, or was it his reaction to the moment?
She exhaled a slow breath, then caught the teacher’s eye.
And she knew what she had to do.
“Could we speak with you for a second, Miss Mackendorfer, regarding Aria’s learning style?”
Landon threw her a pointed look, but he didn’t let go of her hand. “What are you doing?”
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “What we agreed to do.”
“Sure, let’s chat over here,” the teacher answered and led them a few feet away to a spot with fewer people milling around. “What would you like to share?”
“Aria may be a neurodivergent learner. I wondered if you had experience with that?” she began as Landon’s grip tightened.
“I’m glad you brought that up. When I looked through Aria’s file from her old school, I noticed she might be a neurodivergent learner as well.”
All right, she wasn’t off the mark.
“The last school said Aria’s learning issues were due to her parents’ deaths,” Landon offered, his voice barely a rasp.
The teacher nodded. “I noticed that. But after looking at her work samples, I agree with your wife, Mr. Paige. From the little I’ve seen, I suspect dyslexia. It’s a type of neurodiversity.”
Landon’s posture stiffened. “Whatever you think she has, I don’t want any attention drawn to her. I don’t want her to feel different or stupid,” he finished, his voice thick with emotion.
The teacher held Landon’s gaze. “I agree completely.”
The man’s jaw dropped. “You do?”
“Absolutely. My job is to build up Aria. At Whitmore, we employ a multi-sensory approach to learning. We’ve got color-coded keyboards and line readers that set off text and use OpenDyslexic font on our computers and e-readers. We’ve found that these strategies help every child learn, but they’re especially effective teaching tools for kids with different learning styles.”
“What’s OpenDyslexic font?” he asked, his tone softening.
The teacher slipped her cell phone from her pocket, then tapped the web browser and opened Whitmore’s webpage. She held her phone out for them to see. “I’ve got it on my phone in case I need to reference something quickly with a student. It’s a special font that’s easier to read, and it’s free to download onto any device. The OpenDyslexic font overrides the fonts on the page and switches it to this. The letters are formed with heavier bottoms. It helps keep the letters grounded and stops them from—”
“—moving around,” Landon supplied, awe coating his words as he stared at the screen.
