Not My Hero

“In the meanwhile, can you draw a representation of yourself five years from now?”

She rises to her feet and repeats the assignment for the rest of the class to hear.

Five years from now.

I open to a clean page and take hold of a pencil. Staring at the blank canvas, I wonder what my life would be like in the future.

Will I still have contact with my mother?

Probably not.

There won’t be any Sullys and Michaels.

Hopefully.

The corner of my mouth lifts slightly as I begin to sketch. I imagine myself standing with my face raised to the sun and hundreds of tiny butterflies flying around me.

Five years from now, I’ll be hopeful and free.

When the bell rings, I let out a disappointed huff. I wish I could spend all my time in art. I pack up and wait for the other students to clear out before I walk to Miss Snow’s desk.

She gestures to a chair. “Bring it closer and sit down.”

I move it closer and take a seat. Miss Snow smiles at me, and it eases the tension a little.

“You’re quite expressive in your sketches,” she begins. I fist the fabric of my skirt with my right hand. “Have you thought about college?”

I nod. “I’m going to apply to a couple of art schools.”

“If you continue to deliver such good work, I’ll definitely write you a recommendation letter.”

A smile graces my lips. “Really?”

“Of course.” Her smile softens, and she leans a little forward. “Is everything okay at home?”

The smile falls from my face, and the word bursts from me, “Yes.”

Miss Snow places her hand over mine and gives it a squeeze, but it only makes me feel uncomfortable. “If you need to talk to someone, you can always come to me.”

I nod, all my muscles tensing. I wet my lips and getting up, I hoist my bag over my shoulder. “I should go. I’m late for history.”

“Let me write you a note, so you don’t get in trouble.” She scribbles onto a piece of paper and holds it out to me. When I take hold of it, Miss Snow says, “I’m looking forward to seeing what you draw next.”

I nod again before I quickly walk out into the hallway. I slip into the classroom and hand Mr. Donati the note from Miss Snow.

He reads it, then asks, “Where’s your essay?”

I dig it out of my bag and cringe with shame when I hand him the wrinkled papers.

“What? Did the dog try to eat it?” he asks, and it makes the class snicker.

I can feel my face turning red as I shake my head. “My mother thought it was trash. I can rewrite it. I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t do it.”

“It’s fine. Sit.”

I rush to my seat and notice another scrap of paper lying on the desk. Only when Mr. Donati continues with the lesson do I open it.

‘Too many of us are not living our dreams because we are living our fears.’ – Les Brown.

I frown as I reread it.

Did someone leave this for me?

“Isn’t that right, Brie?” Mr. Donati suddenly says as he walks down the aisle.

“Huh?”

My eyes grow wide when he takes the paper from my hand and reads it out loud. Thank God it’s just a quote, but the class still laughs.

My face reddens to the point that it feels like I could go up in flames from everyone’s attention being on me.

Mr. Donati sets the paper down and taps my desk. “Focus on the lesson.”

“Yes, Sir.” I sit frozen with my eyes glued to the desk.COLTONWell, that backfired. I didn’t mean to get Brie in trouble.

My eyes are drawn to the bandage around her left hand. I noticed it during English. Again, I wonder what happened.

Brie doesn’t move a muscle, and as the minutes pass by, the tension coming off of her gets to me until I’m clenching my jaw.

Today has been a shitty day with Michael trying to start a fight because I bruised his ego yesterday. Also, the rest of the school is continually gossiping. They don’t even bother whispering anymore.

A couple of guys were friendly during lunch, asking if I played any sports, but the second I said no, they moved onto the other new guys.

When the bell rings, I feel the tension ease as Brie darts up and runs out of the class. I let out a breath and pack my bag.

Walking into the hallway, a girl pushes away from where she was leaning against the wall. “Colton, right?”

“Yeah,” I grumble. I keep walking, and she has to move to keep up.

“A bunch of us are going to Devil’s Bluff. Wanna come?”

“No.” I quicken my pace to get away from her.

“Your loss,” she calls after me.

I feel the curious stares on me as I walk to my truck. Once I climb into the cab, I let out a sigh. I start the engine and steer the vehicle through the bustling after-school madness.