Free Crossing by Andrew Xia Fukuda Page B

stroked my hair. I drifted away.

NOVEMBER 20
     
    M iss Winters rapped the chalk against the blackboard like a jackhammer. Waiting a few dramatic seconds, she took a deep breath then informed us that we had a “special project” that day. She waved her meaty hand as she spoke.
    “I understand that many of us have been under a strain lately. I understand that we’ve lost our sense of normalcy. Things are no longer the same. We don’t have the same sense of security as we go about our daily business. We don’t ‘hang out’ very much anymore, do we? Perhaps we’re not sleeping as well at night.”
    She went on and on, interminably.
    About five minutes later, she finally said, “So what I’m trying to say is we should do something different today.” She bit her lower lip, her eyes glistening with maudlin wetness. “Yes, we shall do something different. For Winston. For Justin. For getting our minds off this mess. So I propose that we put away our books and, well, draw our feelings today.”
    A few heads turned to look at one another. Draw? “What I’d like you to do is to find yourself a quiet spot in school and draw your feelings out. I’m handing out blank pieces of paper on which I’d like you to, oh, I don’t know, to put your feelings down.”
    “Draw what?” somebody asked from the back.
    “Your feelings. Express your feelings on paper.”
    “You want me to write down how I’m feeling,” said the same voice.
    “No. Draw. Draw your feelings out.”
    There was a pause. “I don’t understand.”
    “Draw. Draw your feelings out,” she said emphatically. Another pause. “Oh. Draw my feelings out.”
    “Yes,” she said, a little excitedly now, “let your feelings feel by expressing them. Through a drawing. Through you drawing.”
    There was another pause. Somebody else spoke up. “I don’t get it.”
    Welcome to the wonderful world of learning at Slackenkill High.
    We were paired up as a precautionary measure—Miss Winters thought it would be safer for us to do that “in light of recent affairs”—and though I was hoping to be assigned with Naomi, I was paired up with, of all people, Jan Blair. We dispersed, each pair cradling pencils, erasers, and two sheets of paper.
    Jan Blair and I milled around the hallways for a while, trying to find a good spot. Personally, I thought the library would be the ideal place. There were tables and chairs to position ourselves, and if I got bored I could always check out that day’s paper. Plus, I had a suspicion that Naomi and her partner were heading there.
    But Jan Blair had other ideas. This surprised me; I didn’t think she possessed any ideas. Yet she led me away from the library and told me that she had another place in mind. A place where it would be nice to draw.
    She led me towards the auditorium. I could hear the chatter of other students thinning out as they headed—no surprise here—to the cafeteria, where there would no doubt join other friends who were chowing down. Whatever “feelings” they drew would probably be accompanied by ketchup smears and greasy hot dog stains.
    The auditorium was empty. At first I thought we were going to sit on the stage, but she led me towards the back of the stage. She started climbing up some scaffolding that was being used to add lighting fixtures for the musical.
    “Hey! Where are you going?”
    She shimmied her way up to the planked platform about twenty feet up. Reaching the top, she swung her legs around and pulled herself onto the platform. Her chest heaved up and down from the exertion of her climb. “C’mon up!” she said. “It’s awesome up here.”
    “I’ll stay here,” I said, trying to make my voice authoritative. “Anyway, I don’t think we should be up there.”
    I had never spoken with this girl before, but she was looking at me with a directness I found unnerving.
    “Scaredy cat,” she sneered.
    “Excuse me?”
    “I said, ‘Scaredy cat.’” She paused, studying me.