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“Not as talented as you,” she said, playfully elbowing me in the stomach. “My future NHL All-star boy.”
I snorted, still studying every detail of her painting, trying to memorize it.
Her eyebrows pinched together as she looked up at me with her bright blue eyes. “You actually mean it though? You’re not just saying that because I’m me and you’re you?”
“I promise. I’d pay a million bucks for that,” I told her seriously, still gazing at it.
She just laughed and told me I was crazy, to which I tickled her sides, making her squirm into me. But then she promised me I could have it after it was graded.
“You don’t want it?” I asked.
“Nah, I can make myself another one,” she said, reaching up to pat my cheek. “I think this one’s yours.”
…I decided right there in the hallway that the school wasn’t worthy of having her painting. A school so gray and sad didn’t deserve to have this little piece ofmyhappiness.
And honestly, I might have momentarily lost my ever-loving mind.
I punched the glass, one, two, three times, but it wouldn’t break. I threw my backpack at it, but it just shook. I took a full fucking trash can and chucked it at it as hard as I could, trying to shatter the fucking thing, but it didn’t even scratch. I furiously stalked over to the trash can to throw it again, and that’s when I was interrupted.
“Mr. Jettersen! What are you doing?!”
My neck whipped over to see Mrs. P, Fiona’s favorite art teacher, a tiny woman with a pixie haircut. She stared at me with wide eyes, holding a hand to her chest. She looked… scared. Scared ofme, and that just added to my misery.
My shoulders dropped, and I felt all the anger inside me dissipating, leaving me just sad and hurt and empty.
“She’s… gone.” My voice cracked as I struggled to find the right words to explain myself. “She’s gone, and I have nothing. I have nothing to…” Mrs. P blurred in front of me. My shoulders shook and I covered my face.
In one of the most shocking moments of my life, instead of screaming at me, the little art teacher wrapped her arms around me in a hug.
I’m not sure how long I stayed there, crying like that on her small shoulder. It didn’t fix the pain, but I appreciated her trying. She rubbed my back like a mother would, and that made me unravel for different reasons.
When I finally settled the fuck down. She pulled away, sniffling a bit, and wiping at her own face.
“Okay, Tyler.” She pulled a lanyard off from around her neck and fumbled with a couple keys before unlocking the display case. She carefully untacked Fi’s painting and rolled it up before handing it to me. “I think this is yours.”
“Thank you,” I rasped out, trying to look above her head now because it felt too vulnerable to meet her eyes. “I should-” I looked at the trash surrounding the hall and felt like an absolute piece of shit.
“No, don’t worry. I’ll fix it. Just… take care of yourself, honey. You’re a good one, I can tell.” She patted my shoulder.
I didn’t feel like a good one. If I was that good, people wouldn’t leave me.
I turned and left, knowing that it’d be the last time I ever walked out of school…
________
Later that night, I found Casey sitting at the kitchen table, his shoulder wrapped up with a huge ice pack and an open beer can by his side.
I cleared my throat. I had to get this over with and make things right between us. We’d been walking on eggshells around each other for weeks and I hated it. “I’m sorry,” I forced out.
His face cracked with confusion as he spotted me standing at the edge of the kitchen. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated firmly. “Think you can call in a favor and get me another shot with that Pittsburgh team?”
He rubbed a hand over his eyes, looking like the picture definition of frustration. “Was all this a cry for help or something? Am I failing you?” His voice cracked and it just about killed me.
“No.” I hung my head. “It’s nothing to do with you. I had a…” I squinted, trying to come up with the best wording, “situation. I had to see it through.” I stalked across the room, pulled out a kitchen chair, and plopped down next to him. “It’s over now.”
He eyed me warily. “What does that mean? You have to spell it out for me. I’m sorry, but I’m bad at this, okay? Adds—” he winced and cut himself off, like it was too painful for him to even say her name. “She used to help me when it came to…” he wagged a finger between us, “this guardian shit.”
