“This looks a bit more chaotic than what you’ve done in the past,” Mr. Ross told me as he crossed his arms. 

“Life is chaotic,” I stammered.  I didn’t really want to tell my teacher what really was going on.  It was really none of his business.  He couldn’t do anything about my personal life.  I knew I couldn’t, shouldn’t tell him what had happened. 

“Is there something going on at home?  Something you want to talk about?”  Mr. Ross uncrossed his arms and spoke softly.  He must have realized how he had come across.  My father always crossed his arms before he started yelling.  It was how I knew something had gone wrong at work.   

I stared at him and debated.  Could he help or would he get in the way?  Would it be more of a problem in what was going on at home if he was aware?  I thought I had been handling my problems fairly well, but I guess not.  Not if Mr. Ross could tell from my art something was off. 

“No, no.  Everything is fine,” I said turning away from him. 

“Michaela.  You know you can tell me about a problem if there is one.”  He reached out to touch my arm and I instantly recoiled. 

“Sorry, s-s-sorry,” I stammered as I grabbed my bag and ran out the classroom door.  I made to my car before I let myself breathe.  I now knew it was time to get out of town. 


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