“I was fourteen.”
“And you haven’t changed one bit.”
I sighed and dropped my head into my hands. Seth was the worst person to talk to if I was looking for sympathy.
“Seth Walker, don’t you have your own class to get to?” Mr. Green had finally decided to make an appearance. He was only five minutes late, which had to be a record for him.
“Actually, I have a free period.”
“And you should be using that time to study. Now stop distracting my students. Out of my classroom, please.”
“Okay.” Seth grinned at the teacher. “But don’t miss me too much.”
Mr. Green sighed and continued to the front of the room.
“All right, everyone, let’s get started.” He raised his voice as he made his way past the easels and desks peppering the room. “I want you working on your personal portfolios today, please.” He stopped next to Mackenzie’s desk.
“Mackenzie, why don’t we have a chat in my office?”
I snorted under my breath as I pulled out my tablet. Mr. Green’s “office” was just behind me at the back of the room, and it was no more than a paint closet. It was tiny, but he’d somehow squeezed a desk and two chairs in there. He used it for most of his student meetings so we could talk about our work more privately. Mr. Green was always trying to encourage us to search for deeper meanings in our art, and conversations in his office often felt a little like being on a psychiatrist’s couch. I liked art, but that definitely wasn’t my style.
As Mackenzie followed the teacher to the back of the room, her green eyes landed on me. They glinted like gems, sharp and cold. She seemed just as annoyed as I was about sharing this class.
“Nice outfit,” I said as she walked past.
“Nice nose,” she snapped in reply, barely breaking stride.
A smile crept onto my lips, but I quickly quashed it. I was supposed to be avoiding this girl at all costs, but I couldn’t seem to let an opportunity to mess with her pass me by. There was something about the way her eyes narrowed whenever she saw me and her fists clenched whenever I spoke that I enjoyed a little bit too much.
I leaned back in my chair as I watched her continue to Mr. Green’s office.
As she reached the room, she glanced back and caught me staring. The glare she sent me was so piercing, I wondered if it was possible to punch someone with a look alone. She truly hated me, yet the thought only made me smile.
But then my chair started to wobble beneath me. I’d leaned back too far, and my arms shot out as I tried to rebalance. I must have looked like a flailing octopus as I desperately attempted to stop myself from falling. I threw my weight forward and just barely managed to save myself from crashing to the floor.
I glanced at the students sitting nearby. A few shot me confused looks but most hadn’t noticed. However, when I looked back at Mackenzie she was biting her lip, trying to withhold her laughter before she disappeared into Mr. Green’s office.
I attempted to focus on my project, an illustrated comic strip inspired by a box of old superhero comics my dad found in the attic over the summer. Flicking through them, I’d started to wonder why superheroes were always stuck saving the world. I knew with great power came great responsibility, butwhat if Clark Kent didn’t want to fight for truth, justice, and a better tomorrow? What if instead he used his secret powers to become an unstoppable hockey player?
I was quite proud of how the comic was coming along, but I was struggling today. I found myself constantly glancing toward the back of the room. I shouldn’t have cared what Mackenzie was talking about with the teacher. But a part of me was curious. And when there was a lull in the noise of classroom conversations, I realized I was close enough to the slightly ajar door of Mr. Green’s office that I could hear him talking.
“Your love of hockey really shines through in some of your previous pieces, Mackenzie,” he said. “Is that the focus of your current project?”
“Yeah, I’m planning to explore the changing face of the sport over the years,” she replied. “I’m looking into how it’s developed visually, socially, and culturally. I was thinking it could be a mixed-media piece…”
I glanced down at my tablet, suddenly questioning whether my work was as good as I thought. Mr. Green was always telling me my artwork needed more voice and meaning, while it sounded like Mackenzie’s had plenty. I didn’t want someone else using the same subject matter as me because I didn’t want to be compared—especially not with her.
“Well, I’m really looking forward to seeing how it turns out,” Mr. Green was saying. “Do you play hockey?”
“No, not anymore.”
The chatter in the classroom increased so I couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation. Why didn’t Mackenzie playhockey anymore? Her dad was a coach, and her brother played at the same college as Reed and Gray. Hockey must have been as much a part of her family as it was my own.
And while I might have despised every fiber of this girl’s being, even I couldn’t deny she’d been a decent player when we’d squared off against one another. I’d scored countless goals that day, not that Coach Foster had noticed, but Mackenzie had saved my best effort with impressive ease. Whatever her reason, she would have been out of luck at this school anyway; Ransom High had never had a girls’ team.
When they emerged from the office, Mr. Green was beaming. It was hardly surprising; it sounded like he’d just found a new star student. “If there’s anything I can do to help, Mackenzie, I’m always here. This classroom is all about experimenting and expressing your ideas in unique ways, and I’m excited to see more from you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Green.”
