Henry frowns, his gaze shifting between me and Julia. “Excuse me for a second,” he murmurs before shuffling his feet towards her.
Before he can get too far, I stop him. “Hey, Henry. Wait.” I jog around the desk and quietly approach him. “Would it be okay if I talked to her? I feel like we connected the last time we spoke.”
His eyes glaze over with an emotion I can’t read behindhis thick frames. It takes him a second to respond, but after a few moments, he nods his head. I shoot him a reassuring smile and head toward the defeated teen slumped over a library desk.
When I approach Julia, my eyes catch her fingers perched on the desk. It’s a small detail, but it is something only people like us can understand. Her nails are chewed down to the skin, and I can tell life has been weighing on her heart lately. When people like us experience heavy emotions, we turn inside and seek comfort from the only person we can rely on.
“Hey, Julia,” I say, crouching beside her.
Her petite frame jolts at the sound of my voice, telling me she’s wrapped up in her own little world right now. She uses the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe away the stray tears that decorate her porcelain cheeks.
“Oh. Hi, Emma,” she mumbles, her voice hoarse from the emotions seeping out. “I wasn’t being too loud, was I? I didn’t mean to?—”
Before she can walk herself into a secluded corner, I cut her off. “You don’t need to apologize. I just came over here to make sure you were okay. I’m allowed to do that, right?”
A small smile breaks through the sadness streaking down her face. The mother in me wants to reach out and wipe away her tears. My mind itches to do anything to help her face the storm raging inside her.
“Yeah,” she says before taking a long pause. Her eyes shuffle around the library, seemingly looking for a way to avoid this conversation. I was prepared for her to evade my question, but I was pleasantly surprised when she started to speak. “My mom and I got into a big fight before she dropped me off.”
I nod, remembering the countless times my mother has made me cry. I don’t say anything. I just smile, letting her know she can tell me as much or as little as she wants.
She lets out a defeated breath and continues. “I’ve beenlooking at colleges to apply for next year, and I told her I wanted to major in creative writing. She told me it was not a realistic major and that I needed to pick something more practical. I even told her how Mr. Castillo thinks I have a real gift and how my short stories have improved over the summer. But she still insists it’s a waste of time. She doesn’t understand what writing means to me.”
Julia’s words settle into a weak spot in my heart. She was so lucky to know her passion this early on in life. Being told her dream is somehow less valid because it didn’t come with a guarantee of success could mean stomping out the light in her eyes before she even has a chance to explore it.
“Julia,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “Sometimes people say things like that because they’re scared. Your mom might be worried about your future, but that doesn’t mean she’s right to dismiss your passion.”
She sniffles and looks up at me, her glassy eyes searching mine for reassurance. “But what if she’s right? What if it is a waste of time?”
“Let me tell you something. When I started going back to school, there were so many times I thought I couldn’t do it. I thought that it was selfish, pointless, or just too hard. But then I’d think about what kind of example I wanted to set for my son, and it reminded me that pursuing something you love isn’t selfish—it’s brave.”
I swallowed hard, the words tumbling out of my mouth in one fluent motion. Most of them were true, except for the part about pursuing something I loved. I went back to school to make sure Milo and I had a future, but somewhere down the road, I forgot to think about what I wanted, what my passion was.
She wipes at her face again, and that light buried deep within her eyes flickers to life. Hope was such a fickle thing, but if it had the power to stop her tears from falling, maybe it wasn’t a bad thing after all.
“You think I could do it?”
“I don’t just think—you’ve already proved it,” I say. “Henry—Mr. Castillo—wouldn’t say you have talent if you didn’t. He isn’t the type to give out empty praise.”
That earns me a tiny, almost imperceptible laugh. “No, he’s not.”
“Exactly,” I say, smiling. I rise from my crouched position and wince at the feeling of both of my knees cracking. “You love writing. You’re good at it. And guess what? That’s more than enough of a reason to keep going.”
Julia sits with my words for a moment, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks, Emma,” she says finally.
“Anytime,” I reply, smiling. “And if you ever need to talk more, you know where to find me.”
She nods, a genuine smile breaking through the lingering sadness on her face. “Mr. Castillo is hosting a reading of our short stories next week to wrap up the workshop. Can you come?”
“Of course,” I say without thinking. “I would love to.”
Julia smiles brightly at me, and we say our goodbyes before I return to my desk. I expect to find Henry where I left him, but he’s disappeared.
I crane my next to look around the library and smile when I spot his mop of curls in the fiction section of the library. I have to stop myself from skipping over to him like a child chasing after their first crush on the playground.
Henry’s eyes lift to mine as I step closer. His gaze is warm, thoughtful, and maybe even proud. However, all the emotions displayed on his face are hard to decipher when he looks so natural, nestled between the two rows of shelves surrounding him.
“You are amazing, you know,” he says, his voice low so only I can hear him. His hand brushes one of the shelves as he takes a step forward. “You didn’t just comfort her. You gave her something to hold onto.”
