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Della
“You seem different,” Izzy says, as we walk into the communal area.
The sun’s shining brightly, the air feeling fresh…or maybe Izzy’s right, and it’smewho feels bright and fresh.
I almost tell her it might be because I quit my job yesterday. When I told my boss, there was still a piece of me hissing that I had to be careful.
Jess’s voice was as cruel and cutting as usual.
You’re not the sort of woman who takes risks, Della. You’re a loser.
But then I heard Eli’s voice instead, telling me I’m capable and clever and beautiful and kind. And that I’d make a good mother. All the things which matter to me so much more than anything she could ever say.
“Do I?”
I smile at Izzy.
She adjusts the sleeve of her blazer. It seems to be her go-to outfit of choice. “Yeah, happier…obviously you don’t have to share whatever it is,ifthere is anything.”
Without being so trapped in my own head, thinking about the possibility she might be another Jess in Izzy clothing, I’m able to study her more closely.
Her features tighten with nerves, as though she expects me to back off.
I reach over, gently touching her arm. “I will tell you, Izzy. But not yet.”
She smiles as her eyebrow arches. “Okay, Miss Mysterious.”
I laugh as we continue to walk, rounding a corner, my gaze flitting all over the place in search of Eli.
And this is even when I know we’re not going to be seeing each other until after class.
Suddenly, music blares from the corner of the greenery, pumping dance-style beats. I turn at the sound.
There’s a bunch of jock types crowded around a Bluetooth speaker. One of them – a man with black hair and a tribal tattoo – raises his hands as if to start a party.
“What the hell?” I murmur. “It’s not even midday.”
Izzy sighs. “They were here yesterday too. Security moved them on.”
“Who are they?”
“See the one with the tattoo? That’s Ryan. He’s an ex of one of the Second Chance students.”
“And he’s doing this because….”
Izzy narrows her eyes at me. “He’s a jerk, Della. Sometimes, it’s as simple as that.”
“Should we call someone?”
“It looks like someone is already here.”
I’m about to ask what she means when I spot Mary walking over to them. The counseling teacher walks with her back straight, her arms swinging angrily at her sides. Her billowing colorful dress shifts around her as she moves.
“What thefuckdo you think you’re doing?” she yells, so loud her voice cuts over the music.
I’ve never heard her swear before.
Izzy and I instinctively move over. We both agree, without saying, we don’t want these idiots to do anything bad to Mary. She’s a good teacher, understanding, and kind.
