Mary sighed. “Kira, I don’t think you understand.”
The last sketchbook slipped out of my hands and fell to the floor. As I reached for it, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“You know the CCC has a policy of two volunteers per class. At a minimum.”
I winced. Yeah, Jordan and I had our hands full with fifteen kids equipped with sharp pencils and bright-colored paint, but we had always been fine.
“Funding has been really tight this year, and the board is suggesting we shut down some of the recreational activities.”
“What?” I bumped my head on the corner of the table and groaned.Ouch. “You can’t take art class away. The kids love it!”
“They do, and trust me, I know how important art is, but?—”
“Then why would you take it away?”
Mary pursed her lips, then placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “My hands are tied, dear. There’s not much else I can do but cancel art class for the remainder of the year. Maybe in January, we can bring it back.”
Disappointment settled heavily in my bones as I sank into the nearest chair. If the kids weren’t in art class, they’d be shuffled off to something else, like creative writing, maybe, or sports. Nothing against those programs, but the kids in my class had something rare. Talent. Spark. They just needed someone to see it. To believe in them.
I loved being that person for them. It was one of the few things that gave me purpose. And yeah, maybe volunteering here was a little selfish, too. It gave me a reason to make art every week, far away from critical eyes and the pressure to be perfect.
I buried my head in my hands. “What would we need to do to save the class?”
My words came out muffled, but Mary understood them.
“At the bare minimum, we’d need at least one more volunteer to host the class with you. And we don’t have a lot of funding for supplies. I’ll probably need to have a few fights with the board.”
“That’s okay.” I brightened. Maybe there was hope to salvage this after all. “I have extra art supplies. And I can lesson plan around sharing supplies and make them last a long time.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that.” Mary furrowed her brows. “We don’t pay you. It doesn’t feel right for you to bring in extra art supplies.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine. My day job covers it.” I managed a smile. “Just let me teach today like normal. I’ll figure out a replacement for Jordan by next Sunday.”
She hesitated. I knew she’d been getting pressure from the board for months—fewer classes, more kids crammed into one room. But Mary cared. Shewantedto do right by these kids.
“Please, Mary,” I said, my voice low, urgent. “I’ll make it work. I promise.”
She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable.Then she gave a slow nod. “We’ll talk more later,” she said quietly.
As she turned to leave, her hand brushed across the desk and paused. She picked up a worn sketchbook, thumbing the edge of the cover.Mysketchbook.
“Why is it,” she murmured, “that you’re always the one helping everyone else chase their dreams, but you never try to chase your own?”
I did what I’d always done best: ignore the problem. Instead, I looked down, fiddling with a box of paints. “Class is starting soon.”
Mary exhaled, the sound soft and disappointed. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “So it is.”
She walked out without looking back. I gave a half-hearted wave anyway, then turned to set out the supplies, forcing myself to ignore the hollow ache settling in my chest.
This entire morning was just a blip in my daily routine. I’d find someone to cohost the class, and everything would fall back into place.
Because normal was safe. Predictable. And I wasn’t ready to lose that.
2
LANDON
She let her hair grow out.
