Speechless(31)

                Sam doesn’t look happy about it, but he isn’t looking at me                     like he wants to stab me in the face with his pencil, either, which isn’t                     something I can claim with the least bit of confidence for anyone else in this                     class. If he can handle this, so can I.

                He flicks open his sketchbook to a fresh page. I notice there                     are a bunch of other drawings on the ones before it, but he flips past them too                     fast for me to see what they are.

                “I don’t know if you had any ideas,” he says, “but I was                     thinking maybe something more modern. Like Salvador Dali.” He writes the name                     down on the pad.

                I’m not really crazy about the idea of recreating dreamscapes                     with melting clock faces—that is way beyond my skill level—so I make an                     apathetic face at the suggestion.

                Sam notices my unenthused expression and mutters, “Or not,”                     crossing out the name sharply. He drops the pen onto the sketchpad and looks me                     straight in the eye. “You know, I realize this isn’t exactly a dream                     collaboration for either of us, but it’d be nice if you’d contribute a little                     something more than a judgmental glare.”

                I’m considering how to respond to this without actually                     responding when Ms. Kinsey flutters over to our station. She looks over Sam’s                     shoulder at our blank page of brainstorms.

                “Need any help?” she asks.

                We both shake our heads.

                “Think we can handle it,” he tells her, but he doesn’t sound                     like he believes it.

                “I just want you to know,” she says to me, “that I am very much                     willing to work around your spiritual commitment. All I ask is that you find                     another way to participate if you aren’t going to speak. Use your imagination!                     Be creative!”

                From the way she says it, I can only assume she’s expecting me                     to break into an interpretive dance for our presentation. Which is just not                     going to happen in this lifetime. Or any other.

                I give her a thumbs-up that far overstates my enthusiasm for                     her suggestion, and Sam looks at me with raised eyebrows.