The twins were quiet again on Wednesday. We even managed to get to school earlier than the day before. It was... Unnerving... Is that the right word? Maybe nerve wracking is better. 

Anyway, walking across campus with very few people scattered around was a new feeling. Usually we were walking across either a giant crowded courtyard or an entirely empty one where there were only a few dashing students late for class. In the second case, we were also running. 

This time, only a few people were mingling around, minding their own business as they explored the nearly empty school grounds. Checking into different classrooms, looking for their friends, doing their hair in the bathrooms with their noses pressed to the mirrors. The usual. 

Again, the twins separated almost immediately, leaving us to go to their friends or do whatever it is they needed to do. Or to just get away. I walked Braydon down the short walkway to his first class. 

I intended to leave him there to head to my own class, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me into his classroom. 

I was surprised as I entered the heated room. It was the classroom of Mrs. Maddison, my old fifth grade English teacher. She was sitting at her desk, her wispy white hair pulled into a bun on the top of her head. Her glasses were thicker than I remembered, but were still the same winged black frames with embedded rhinestones in the corners. 

She was hunched over her desk, grading someone’s work. Her thin frame was just as frail as ever, but she still had her sharp writing style and her eyes glistened with her fiery determination. 

“Come meet my friends!” Braydon said, capturing my attention. I turned to face the rest of the classroom, and saw quite a large handful of students sitting at their desks. They were all looking at me in light shock. 

A brave little girl in the first row spoke up first. “Are you Braydon’s big sister?” 

“Uh, yeah. I am,” I told her. 

Her face broke out into a smile and she told me, “You’re really pretty.” 

I got a bit flustered from that statement, and replied, a bit embarrassed, “Oh, um, uh, thanks! So are you!” 

She beamed, her face lighting up even more. She really was pretty with her silky black hair and her perfect porcelain skin. She had the kind of almond eyes that seemed to brim over with her emotions, practically sparkling. When she smiled, they crinkled and lit up her entire face in such an authentic and unique way that I couldn’t help but smile back. 

But, I could also see how people would pass by her and see her as average. Her hair was simple, just past her shoulders. Her skin, as perfect as it was, didn’t stand out much. Even though her eyes were beautiful, if someone didn’t take the time to look at her, they would only see an unmemorable face. 

Braydon squeezed my hand, nonverbally asking for my attention. I turned to him, and he began rattling off the names of his friends, pointing to each in turn. 

“That’s Jack, Andrew, Sammantha, Lucas, and Oliver. And that’s Jazmine.” 

I waved to each of them and they each waved back, but only the last two waved back enthusiastically. 

 I looked over each of them. It was obvious that Oliver and Jazmine were the closest to my little brother, and the others were just some people that he talked to every now and then. 

“And this is my big sister, Iris,” Braydon finished off, gesturing to me. 

Jack and Andrew turned back to each other, continuing their conversation. Sammantha ducked her head back over her book letting her short, blonde hair cover her face from my view. Lucas and Oliver both moved closer, taking seats in the second row behind Jazmine. 

Braydon walked to what I assumed was his own desk in the front row on Jazmine’s right. He brought me with him as he went. 

“Hey,” Lucas said timidly, nodding at me. 

“Hello,” Oliver greeted me, slightly less nervous than Lucas. 

“Hi! I’m Jazmine Li, but you already know that! You can call me Jaz, which is what all my friends call me. You might know my brother. He’s in ninth grade, too.” 

“Hi, Jaz. It was so nice to meet you all, but I’ve got to get to my own class. See you later, Braydon.” 

I turned away, smiling, and headed towards the door. But, before I left, I turned to face Mrs. Maddison and called, “Good morning, Mrs. Maddison!” 

She lifted her head, confused, then smiled widely. “Iris? Oh, you’ve grown up so much! How are you?” 

“I’m good, Mrs. Maddison! How are you?” 

“Oh, I’m doing great, thank you for asking! Now, run along. You don’t want to be late!” she told me happily. 

I waved goodbye to her and the group of my brother’s friends. They all smiled and waved politely or, in Jazmine’s case, very enthusiastically and joyfully. 

I left the classroom and headed to my own class. By the time I got there, it was about 7:45 am. My math classroom was empty of any students, but Mr. Davis was inside. 

I knocked lightly on the door and asked, “May I come inside?” 

Mr. Davis looked up at me and said, “Of course! Come on in!” 

I smiled, nodded, and walked inside to my desk. I pulled out my sketching notebook like the previous day, but I got caught in the same idea block as before. This time I ended up staring at the blank page with doodles in the margins, tapping my pencil on the table in a staggering rhythm. 

I gave up, closing my notebook and shoving it into my bag. I replaced it with my blue math notebook, which I pulled from my bag. I dropped it onto my desk and arranged my pencil and eraser so that they wouldn’t roll and fall off my desk. 

I had just propped my chin in my left hand and sighed when someone walked in. I perked up. It was my new desk partner and maybe friend. He looked at me, and waved, smiling. 

I smiled back and waved. He walked over to his desk next to me and sat down. When he looked up, I asked, “What, no heavy textbooks today?” 

“Actually,” he started, looking at me teasingly. “I was dragging those around because they were my new textbooks for this class.” 

“Ah, of course,” I said in agreement, my teasing tone matching his own. 

“Anyway, what were you drawing?” he asked me. 

“Huh?” I asked, confused. I wasn’t drawing anything when he came in. 

“Yesterday, I mean,” he clarified, but I was still confused. He was there with me in art class. He knows what I was drawing and painting. We were literally drawing the same thing. 

He saw the confusion written across my face and said, “In math class, when I came into the classroom. You were drawing something in your notebook.” 

“Oh!” I said, finally understanding. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, I was drawing. Just random nonsense, though. Nothing that great.” 

“Can I see?” he asked timidly, but also curiously. 

“Sure! Let me get it out. One second,” I told him as I pulled my bag onto my lap and dug around for my notebook. 

“I just put it away as you walked in. Ah, here it is!” I exclaimed as I found my flowery yellow notebook. I opened it to the first page and began flipping through it quickly. 

“Uh, I was drawing... These!” I announced as I found the correct page. 

I watched his reaction closely, as he was the first person other than Dahlia and my family to see my notebook. 

“Whoa,” he breathed. His eyes widened as he took in the drawing, and he stood up from his desk and walked to mine. 

Nervously, I asked, “Is that a good ‘whoa’ or a bad ‘whoa’?” 

“Definitely a good ‘whoa.’ You drew this?” he asked, still whispering. 

“Mm-hm.” I nodded, but I don’t think he really saw it. He involuntarily drew closer to the drawing, pulling it closer. 

“Can I look through the other pages?” he asked, finally looking up at me. 

I blinked furiously as the heater blew a piece of dust into my right eye. Rubbing it, I nodded and said, “Um, yeah, sure.” 

He took my notebook onto his desk, sitting back down. He flipped carefully to the first page, and admired each drawing with awe. His fingers brushed so gently across the pages, you would think he was privileged with priceless art from a fancy museum.