so moved I couldn’t eat even a bite of my curried chicken salad.
I kept it all, stored it up, not just the words we said but the long lines of Mr. Insley’s face; his animated eyes; his fingers pushing back his hair; the way he’d twist his wrist to make his watch slide side to side when he got excited about something. These memories fortified me in my hours of need. They took some of the scorch out of Bec’s glares, made trips to the school restrooms less harrowing, helped me worry less about my father’s heart. And when Eustacia came to try to upset the already shaky applecart of my life, well, they helped me then, too.
Then, the day after Eustacia arrived, something happened. Mr. Insley and I had just sat down at his desk to have lunch, he on one side, I on the other, like always, when a boy opened the door of Mr. Insley’s classroom, took three steps into the room, and stopped. I recognized him from English class. Luka Bailey-Song, Bec’s friend.
“Ah, Mr. Bailey-Song,” said Mr. Insley. “Your revised paper, I presume.”
Mr. Insley stood up and held out his hand to take the paper, but Luka didn’t walk over to give it to him. He merely stood there, tall and sort of caramel colored, with his hair sticking out in all directions, and looked, not at Mr. Insley, but at me, right at me. And the strangest thing happened, which was that for a few seconds, it was like Mr. Insley wasn’t there at all. Luka regarded me with the oddest expression on his face, an expression I couldn’t name but that I recognized because it was so much like the one Eustacia had given me in my father’s room the day before, a mix of pity and concern, and it was as though he and I were caught, like two burrs, in the fabric of something, although I couldn’t say what, and if none of this makes much sense to you, well, it made even less to me.
But all I know is that I suddenly felt ashamed to be sitting there. My cheeks flushed hot, and I stood up so fast I knocked my lunch bag to the floor. That’s when Mr. Insley seemed to reappear, strode over to Luka, and snatched the paper, almost violently, from his hand. Luka didn’t give so much as a start of surprise at this. All that happened was that his black eyes stopped looking at me and shifted to Mr. Insley instead, and suddenly, they were the ones who were inexplicably linked, snagged like burrs, and I was the one who wasn’t there anymore.
“Giving Willow a little extra help, huh?” said Luka.
One corner of Mr. Insley’s mouth turned up. His eyes narrowed.
“More like enrichment I’d call it,” Mr. Insley said, coolly.
Even though my cheeks still burned, I shivered.
“Would you like to join us?” I don’t know why I said it. The words just tumbled out.
Never taking his eyes off Mr. Insley, Luka shrugged and said, “Maybe next time.”
And he left, shutting the door behind him.
It should have been nothing. It was nothing. But, for no reason I could name, what it felt like was the end of my lunches with Mr. Insley, which meant it was the end of everything, all my happiness, my glittering silver lining ground to dust. Slowly, like an old woman, I bent over,picked my lunch bag up from off the floor, and pressed it hopelessly against my chest, as the world lurched sideways on its axis.
Then, beautifully, effortlessly, Mr. Insley set everything right. So much better than right! He came over, gently took the lunch bag from my hands, and started unpacking it, taking out the pieces of my lunch and setting them on his desk. My thermos, my knife and fork, my paper napkin. When he got to my apple, he rubbed it against his shirt and laughed the best laugh, a long, loose string of musical notes.
“Well played!” he said. “It was brilliant, a truly brilliant move, asking him to join us.”
I had no idea why what I’d said was brilliant, and I didn’t understand why my apple in his hand, against his chest should have been the most stirring, the most intimate sight I’d
I kept it all, stored it up, not just the words we said but the long lines of Mr. Insley’s face; his animated eyes; his fingers pushing back his hair; the way he’d twist his wrist to make his watch slide side to side when he got excited about something. These memories fortified me in my hours of need. They took some of the scorch out of Bec’s glares, made trips to the school restrooms less harrowing, helped me worry less about my father’s heart. And when Eustacia came to try to upset the already shaky applecart of my life, well, they helped me then, too.
Then, the day after Eustacia arrived, something happened. Mr. Insley and I had just sat down at his desk to have lunch, he on one side, I on the other, like always, when a boy opened the door of Mr. Insley’s classroom, took three steps into the room, and stopped. I recognized him from English class. Luka Bailey-Song, Bec’s friend.
“Ah, Mr. Bailey-Song,” said Mr. Insley. “Your revised paper, I presume.”
Mr. Insley stood up and held out his hand to take the paper, but Luka didn’t walk over to give it to him. He merely stood there, tall and sort of caramel colored, with his hair sticking out in all directions, and looked, not at Mr. Insley, but at me, right at me. And the strangest thing happened, which was that for a few seconds, it was like Mr. Insley wasn’t there at all. Luka regarded me with the oddest expression on his face, an expression I couldn’t name but that I recognized because it was so much like the one Eustacia had given me in my father’s room the day before, a mix of pity and concern, and it was as though he and I were caught, like two burrs, in the fabric of something, although I couldn’t say what, and if none of this makes much sense to you, well, it made even less to me.
But all I know is that I suddenly felt ashamed to be sitting there. My cheeks flushed hot, and I stood up so fast I knocked my lunch bag to the floor. That’s when Mr. Insley seemed to reappear, strode over to Luka, and snatched the paper, almost violently, from his hand. Luka didn’t give so much as a start of surprise at this. All that happened was that his black eyes stopped looking at me and shifted to Mr. Insley instead, and suddenly, they were the ones who were inexplicably linked, snagged like burrs, and I was the one who wasn’t there anymore.
“Giving Willow a little extra help, huh?” said Luka.
One corner of Mr. Insley’s mouth turned up. His eyes narrowed.
“More like enrichment I’d call it,” Mr. Insley said, coolly.
Even though my cheeks still burned, I shivered.
“Would you like to join us?” I don’t know why I said it. The words just tumbled out.
Never taking his eyes off Mr. Insley, Luka shrugged and said, “Maybe next time.”
And he left, shutting the door behind him.
It should have been nothing. It was nothing. But, for no reason I could name, what it felt like was the end of my lunches with Mr. Insley, which meant it was the end of everything, all my happiness, my glittering silver lining ground to dust. Slowly, like an old woman, I bent over,picked my lunch bag up from off the floor, and pressed it hopelessly against my chest, as the world lurched sideways on its axis.
Then, beautifully, effortlessly, Mr. Insley set everything right. So much better than right! He came over, gently took the lunch bag from my hands, and started unpacking it, taking out the pieces of my lunch and setting them on his desk. My thermos, my knife and fork, my paper napkin. When he got to my apple, he rubbed it against his shirt and laughed the best laugh, a long, loose string of musical notes.
“Well played!” he said. “It was brilliant, a truly brilliant move, asking him to join us.”
I had no idea why what I’d said was brilliant, and I didn’t understand why my apple in his hand, against his chest should have been the most stirring, the most intimate sight I’d
Similar Books
