I take my board from where it’s resting on the seat divider.
Anytime.
“Well, my sentence is up, so I guess you’ll be on your own tomorrow.”
I can handle it.
She pushes her hair behind her ears and smiles. “I’m sure you can.”
I wait until Asha runs up to the entrance, and she turns to wave before disappearing inside the doors. I wave back, and then sit there, idling, lost in thought. I’m in no hurry to go home. It’ll just mean sitting around, stuffing my face with tofu while Mom threatens to have me committed or something, and then dragging myself to bed, where I’ll toss and turn, staring at my alarm clock and dreading school.
Maybe I’ll do my homework for once. Actually look at the Steinbeck reading Mrs. Finch assigned. What a novel concept.
When I go to pull back onto the street, I notice she left the newspaper sitting on the passenger’s seat. The comics section stares up at me, and suddenly I’m hit with the idea.
I totally know what our art project is going to be.
day three
“Charles Schulz?” Sam says. “Really?”
We’re the only ones in art class actually discussing the project, I’m pretty sure. There was an awkward moment at the start of class when I pulled out his hoodie, freshly cleaned and smelling like Mountain Spring detergent. He just mumbled thanks and dived into talking about the project. Everyone else around us is talking and laughing and throwing shit at each other. Stay classy, Grand Lake.
I roll my eyes and snatch his sketchpad out of his hands.
Skeptical is not a good look for you.
He grabs it back. “I’m just saying—” he starts to say then stops. “You know what? It’s too weird having a conversation with no one. It makes me feel a little like the schizophrenic dude outside the Save-U-More who yells at the ice freezer. So I’m just going to continue this discussion via note-writing, okay?”