She hated to admit it; she was being worn down.
Seeing him put on those ridiculous shiny gold shorts and fight in that ring.
Spending time with her father, who seemed to be having a good time on their adventures.
Charming her usually skeptical and uptight mother.
And of course, that speech as he offered her the feather.
Slowly, but surely, he was chipping away at walls.
Perhaps it wasn’t a physical escape Zara needed, but a mental one.
Rather than feeling sorry for herself, she needed to keep busy. Not just a distraction, but somewhere to put her energy where it mattered.
And so instead of moping at home like she’d been doing since she got here, she decided to do something productive with her time.
“That rainbow is beautiful, Isabella,” Zara said as she glanced over the nine-year-old’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Miss Zara.” She grinned up at her with a toothy smile. “And thank you for teaching us to paint.”
“Of course.”
Getting her old volunteer position back at Franklin Park Elementary was a breeze. Thankfully, the arts department still had the same coordinator, Mr. Nelson. He’d been the one who had recruited Zara back in her senior year. He was thrilled when she had called and asked if she could come in.
“Miss Zara?”
A hand shot up—a little boy with thick glasses in the back. The after-school program was for the entire elementary school so students of all ages could attend, and he seemed to be the youngest of the group, probably first grade.
She walked over to him. “Yes…?”
“Freddie,” he said.
“Freddie. Do you have a question?”
“Yes, Miss Zara.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been painting for at least an hour now. But look.” He nodded at his canvas. “I’m still no good.”
“Hmm.” Zara was tempted to comfort the boy or placate him, but she could sense how serious he was about his question. So she thought for a moment before speaking. “Have you ever painted before today?”
“No.”
“I see.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “Well, Freddie, do you know those famous athletes on TV? The basketball players, baseball players?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you think they got so good at their sport?”
“Practice?”
“Exactly. And painting is the same way. You can’t expect to become a great artist after one session.” She gave his painting a serious, thoughtful look. “I think if you work hard and practice, you could become good at this.”
Owlish eyes blinked at her. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
He turned back to his canvas. “Alright. Thank you, Miss Zara.”
“You’re welcome.”
