The tears pooling in her eyes spoke more to him than her words. “You are worth something,” he said before he could analyze the significance of his remark. Lighting design and theater operation were what he spoke to his students about. It was all about art. Craft.
Never about life.
Not anymore.
“My mom’s getting divorced again.”
Matt waited. Home lives were off-limits. Because he couldn’t trust himself to know when enough was enough, Matt adhered very strictly to the promise he’d made himself when Will Parsons had given him this chance at Montford. He’d teach. He’d give his students every bit of knowledge he could give them about his area of expertise. And nothing else.
There were school counselors and trained professionals to help students with their personal problems.
“It’s the fifth time.”
Matt knew that. He’d heard Sophie—and many of his other regular students—speak about their lives during the long hours they all spent together getting ready for a show. During a show week they were often at the theater until midnight. Even later for breakdowns. He heard. He didn’t comment.
He gathered together the specs he’d been working on, put them in a folder.
“She’s a slut.”
His mother had been one of those, too. Cringing, Matt leaned against the lighting board again, a frown on his face.
“What does this have to do with your staying in school?” It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask, the words he wanted to say. They were just the only ones he was allowed to say.
“What’s the point?”
“To make something of yourself,” Matt answered immediately. “You have great talent, Sophie, a natural feel. It’s not just technical work to you, it’s art. You know how to help people get more out of their productions. With enough training, you’ll go far in this business.”
Shoulders slumped, she didn’t even seem to hear him. Not judging by the sullen look on her face.
Something had happened to this girl.
And it wasn’t any of his damn business. She was just a student. Someone who would pass in and out of his life—someone who’d be there long enough to get lighting design information from him. And nothing else.
“You look like you’ve lost some weight,” he said. Get her to a counselor.
She shrugged, her long blond hair as dull as the expression in her eyes.
“You been eating okay?” Too personal. He shouldn’t have asked.
“Yeah.”
Nodding, Matt picked up some sample gels he’d been perusing earlier. Sophie handed him the envelope they’d come in. She’d broken a nail, her right index finger, and done nothing to fix it. That was odd, too. One of Sophie’s trademarks was her long, always wildly polished fingernails.
“Sign up for classes for next semester,” he said suddenly. He had to get her out of the theater before he did something stupid. Like try to help her figure out whatever was bothering her.
Her gaze was confused as she looked up at him. Confused and helpless. “You really think I should?”
“I think it would be ludicrous not to.” Was she doubting her abilities because of the mistakes she’d made that semester? Did she think that being distracted now and then negated her natural talent?
“But what kind of girl goes for a career as a theater technician?”
Or was there a boyfriend involved in her sudden doubts?
“Lots of girls do,” he said with confidence. This was a question that was perfectly in order for him to answer. “Smart girls. Artistic girls. Girls who love the theater as much as you do.”
“You don’t think it makes me seem too masculine?”
Matt wanted to pull up a chair and sit down. He stood awkwardly by the door, instead. “No.”