MY CAR MIGHT AS WELL HAVE BEEN a cloud for how high I felt from the night before. I carried that same happiness with me on my way to my tutoring session with Anna the next morning. After parking in my spot, I grabbed my box of chalk from the passenger side and walked to the drop off line. Even though the fall air was cool, it felt refreshing, full of possibilities.
When Anna’s mom pulled up to the drop-off line, I walked over to the van and peeked into the window she had rolled down.
“Hey, is it okay if we do some tutoring outside this morning?” I asked.
“Sure thing,” she said, nodding toward the backseat. “She had a little bit of a rough day yesterday.”
I frowned, glancing back to Anna where I could see her standing inside the van by the door. “What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Anna said. Her mom mouthed to me, “Bullies.”
My heart sank for her as I reached over and opened the door. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s head out.”
“Have a good day, honey,” Anna’s mom said to her in a gentle tone. Anna gave her a quick wave and then hopped out to walk beside me.
I patted her back on the spot above her backpack. “I’m sorry you had a rough time yesterday.”
“It’s fine,” she said too quickly. “I’m fine.” “It’s okay to be sad,” I told her.
She grabbed the box of chalk in my hand. “What’s this for?”
I smiled, recognizing the change in subject. “We are going to be drawing and writing outside. Do you know how to write bubble letters?”
She nodded proudly. “I could do that in Kindergarten.” “Perfect.”
We walked to the playground where the basketball courts were, and I sat down on the cement. It was cool under my legs and I had to sit a little carefully in my skirt, but we made it work. “Do you want to start with green?” I asked her.
“That’s my favorite color,” she said. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did.” I handed her a dark green piece and pulled out a light green one for myself. “So, what I’m going to do is write a word, and you are going to copy it. How does that sound?”
“Good,” she answered. “Can we start with alligator?”
“I’m guessing you read that book with your family?” I asked. She nodded enthusiastically.
“We’ll start with alligator then!” I said a silent prayer that I could actually remember how to spell the word. I took my time writing the letters and even drew a little alligator pretending to eat the letters.
“You drew an alligator!” she said.
I nodded. “You know how I can tell it’s not a crocodile?” She thought for a moment, then shook her head.
“Because crocodiles see you in a while, and alligators see you later.”
Her eyes narrowed as she smiled and said. “You’re silly.” I could practically hear her mom’s voice in her words. She pointed at one of the teeth. “Can I draw that too?”
“Of course,” I said, “after you write the word.”
She bit her tongue and got to work writing. I watched her careful strokes, forming uneven lines for each letter. It was perfect until she wrote the R at the end backwards. “We need to switch the R around, but other than that, it’s perfect.” I said.
Her lips pinched into a frown. “I ruined it.”
“No, you made a mistake, and now you can fix it,” I told her. “No one is perfect at school. I definitely don’t get hundred percents all the time.”
“Yeah, but it’s wrong.” Her bottom lip began trembling, and panic welled within me as I prepared for the meltdown I could sense coming. I’d never seen this side of Anna before. Usually she was just a happy-go-lucky kid. It made me hate her bullies even more.
Instead of screaming or yelling, she stood up and threw the chalk so hard at the ground it shattered. Without waiting for all the pieces to settle, she ran to the corner of the basketball court and huddled into a ball. I ran as fast as I could after her, worried. When I reached her, I slowed to catch my breath and gently touched her shoulder. “Anna, what’s wrong?”
“The boys made fun of me yesterday in our class.” Her voice shook and cracked. “We had to write one of our spelling words with a picture around it, and I put one of the letters backwards. They said I had sloppy handwriting.” She broke down in more tears.
I turned my eyes toward the heavens, frustrated. I couldn’t believe that bullying started so young and that this sweet girl was already feeling bad about herself over something she had no control over. She hadn’t chosen dyslexia any more than I’d chosen PCOS.
“Look at me,” I ordered, my voice firm.
Her eyes were moist as she slowly followed my instructions.
I put my finger under her chin so she had to listen. “Anna, you are precious exactly the way you are. You do not need to change anything to be worthy of kindness and respect, and if they are not treating you in a way that shows kindness and respect, then something is wrong with them and what they’ve been taught. Not you. Do you understand?”
She nodded and looked down for a moment. “I’m sorry I broke your chalk.”
I shook my head. “Sometimes we need to get our anger out. Do you want to break another one for those stupid boys?”
With a sheepish smile, she nodded.
We walked back to the chalk bucket, and I handed her one to break. She gently threw it to the ground so it broke in half.
“You can do better than that,” I said, taking a piece and throwing it to the ground. “Like this.” I stomped on the shattered pieces.
Her mouth opened wide with shock. “You just broke them!”
“No, can’t you see?” I asked, looking toward the ground. “I made art.
Sometimes, the most beautiful things are broken.”
 |
That night as I went to the football game, I was still thinking about my morning with Anna. Creating that chalk masterpiece with her and then writing her name over the top had been one of the most fun parts of my week. I loved that Beckett had helped inspire it all. He had helped me take a second look at myself, just like Anna had taken a second look at the broken pieces of chalk and seen something worth looking at.
I walked toward the stands in jeans and my dad’s Emerson Academy T- shirt and fleece. Ginger waved to me from the front row and picked up a blanket to make room for me.
“Nice spot,” I said, sitting beside her. “Have you heard from Jordan and Zara?”
“Yeah,” she said, “Jordan’s finishing up at a job, and Zara is getting hot cocoa right now.”
“I love her.”
She nodded. “I love chocolate.”
I laughed. “That too.” My eyes panned over the field where both teams were warming up. On one side of the field, I could see the Drafters finishing a set of stretches and then split into groups. Beckett and Carson went to one end of their half of the field and began passing the ball back and forth. I smiled at them, thinking about the Beckett I’d come to know.
He seemed just as careful now passing the ball back and forth with Carson as he was with his photography. Even though it was only a warm- up, I could tell that he took it seriously.
“How long has she been staring?” Jordan asked.
I glanced over and saw her sliding into the seat next to Ginger. My cheeks flushed warm even in the cool evening air.
“Not too long,” Ginger answered, passing a blanket over.
“Oh my gosh!” Jordan cried, ignoring the blanket. “Did you see Beckett? He totally just looked over here.”
I aimed my gaze at the thirty-yard line again, and my lips parted. He was definitely looking at me. And now he was walking toward me.
“What’s happening?” I asked, flustered. “I have no idea,” Jordan said.
“But he is definitely coming this way,” Ginger said.
“No way,” Jordan breathed. “In the middle of warm-up?”
My heart beat faster the closer he got, and people around us were murmuring now, wondering what Beckett was doing.
That became evident as he leaned his arms along the bleacher railing and said, “Hey, Cupcake.”
Behind him, I could see Merritt glaring at the both of us, but I kept my eyes on the most important thing right now. Beckett. I stepped a little closer and said, “Hey, quarterback.”
He grinned.
“You know,” I said, glancing toward the field, “you should be warming up.”
“Oh? That?” He batted his hand, then got serious. “Probably. But I can’t start this game without you wishing me good luck.”
Someone a few feet over whistled loudly, and another couple of guys our age cooed.
I could hear Coach Ripley yelling at Beckett to get back to the field.
But I still couldn’t wipe this silly grin from my face as I said, “Good luck, Beckett.”
Pretending to be disappointed, he shook his head. “That’s not how you wish someone good luck.”
“Oh really?” I asked.
His eyes smoldered on mine, and it suddenly became very apparent how Beckett Langley wanted me to wish him luck.
I was more than happy to oblige. I knelt in front of the bleacher railing, kissing his perfect lips.
Everyone around us cheered, and he said softly so only I could hear him, “Now, that’s how you wish someone good luck.”
