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myself, but she’s…she’s a mess. It seems unfair that such a beautiful and talented woman has to suffer this way. From the outside, I never would’ve guessed she held this kind of pain.
    I don’t believe her in the least when she says she’ll be fine. I want to comfort her, wrap my arms around her so she doesn’t have to handle it alone. But I barely know her and it’d be highly inappropriate given I’m her professor. I tell her to take her time and wait anxiously in the classroom for her to come back.
    When the groups finishes, and everyone is seated again, I discuss what I want them to do next. Although I was able to look at their portfolios beforehand, I want to see how well they each do with a shortly timed assignment. They all grab their supplies and sit back in their seats except Aspen. She stays standing.
    It’s hard to not notice her as it is, but now I’m able to watch her while she draws. She moves her hand so effortlessly as her eyes follow every stroke her pencil is making. I walk around the classroom silently watching, but I stop just behind her as she begins to shade in her outline of a tree trunk. I can’t tell which number from the questionnaire she’s drawing from, but just the intensity of her focus tells me how important it is to her.
    She grabs her putty rubber to lighten an area near a branch when she finally senses my presence behind her, but I tell her not to stop. I could watch her draw for hours. Just the simple act of watching her eyes and body captivates my attention to the point that I forget we aren’t alone.
    Students begin filing out at exactly eight p.m. They have plenty of time left to work on their project before it’s due, but that doesn’t stop the wave of sadness that overcomes me as I watch Aspen pack up her supplies and leave. Her portfolio is so somber, but in person, she radiates light. She’s friendly and gives off that carefree vibe on the surface, but when she’s lost in her work, her persona changes into something completely different.
    I’m just not sure what that is yet.
     
     
    I pick Natalia up from school every day in between my classes. She was able to continue attending the same school after she moved in with me, but it hasn’t been an easy transition. She’s been getting into trouble for talking back, pushing girls in the locker room, and even throwing food in the cafeteria.
    They’ve been pretty sympathetic given her situation, but she’s still had to do detention after school multiple times. I know there’s nothing I can say that’ll help her feel better or give back what’s been taken from her. I know there’s nothing I can do that’ll change it either. And that guts me.
    “Hey, Short Stuff,” I say as she hops into the passenger side. “What number?” I ask her every day after school. It’s a rating system from one to ten that I came up with to so she’d talk about her day.
    She tosses her backpack into the backseat and scowls at me.
    “If you’re expecting me to read your mind, this could take a while.”
    She huffs at me. “It was an eight…” Which means her day was going quite well. “Until Cooper Turner spit on me.” So much for that.
    I pinch the bridge of my nose. Oh, for fucks sake.
    I turn and angle my body toward her. “What happened?”
    She hands me a piece of paper that was concealed in her palm. “Here.”
    I take it and pull it open. My eyes move quickly over the note, and I gasp.
    “Natalia Hampton!” I’m biting my lip to avoid bursting out in laughter. “You said what ?”
    “I said he had an itty, bitty penis and that must be why he’s such an obnoxious airhead.”
    “ Why ?”
    “Because he’s compensating for having a small—”
    “ Not that! Why did you say that?”
    “Well, it’s not a lie.”
    “I don’t think talking about those body parts in school is appropriate.”
    “Whatever.”
    “So now what? You have another week of detention?”
    “I guess. I don’t know why Mrs. Fields got