The day high school became coloured with a golden hue was a day when Evie wasn’t there, which was honestly surprising. Despite the horrible jeers, simply seeing her, waiting for me at our usual spot during the breaks, was enough for me to forget whatever insults they threw my way.

As I sat alone at lunch, feeling the eyes of my peers on me, laughing, wanting to call me that stupid nickname again, I decided to toss the rest of my lunch and head to my art class, twenty minutes before it was due to start.

It was a long shot that Miss Delgado would be there this early, but she was always waiting when we turned up ahead of the school bell normally. 

To my delight, when I rounded the corner to the art room, she was inside, reaching as high as she could to hang something.

“Hi Miss,” I announced from the open doorway.

Turning around, still on her tip-toes, she sent a grin my way. “May! Where’s your companion?” As the second semester had rolled around, our elective classes were reshuffled, and by some luck, Evie and I had been placed in the same art class.

“Not here today. She hasn’t said why.”

“Oh. Maybe she’s sick.”

But I had my suspicions that wasn’t the case. Evie’s mum had recently been going steady with some guy, yet she texted me on the weekend that they had broken up. I wondered if her mother was taking her pain out on Evie again. “Maybe,” I replied. “Can I come in? I’ve got no one to sit with.”

“Of course, do come in. You should try making other friends though, May. You’re a really lovely girl. Your sister has a lot of friends.”

“I’m not my sister.”

“I know. You’re much more quiet and calculated compared to her. But I think that’s your strength, May.” Finally getting the sketch into the right position and pushing the tack into the wall, she walked back, looking at it with an unimpressed expression on her face. “Does that look crooked to you?”

Unable to suppress my smile, I nodded. “Let me fix it, Miss. You’re too short.” 

So we went on like that, Miss Delgado handing me an artwork at a time and me lining them up and pushing pins into the wall. 

“What are these for?” I asked as I hung the fifth drawing.

“They’re the year nine’s artwork from the unit we just finished. I wanted to hang them on the wall so that they can look back at it and be inspired by all they accomplished. We will do that with your drawings for year eight when we’ve finished this unit.”

She handed me another one and I came to a halt as my eyes skimmed over it. The sketches were shattered art designs, the pictures within encompassed in distorted pencil etchings. Most had been mediocre at best, but the one I held in my hands almost took my breath away.

Different from the others, this piece had shattered many drawings together. Instead of being one face or picture peering at me through broken glass, this one was a culmination of various faces making one person. A child’s mouth. A woman’s eye. A man’s nose. All features of separate people, yet all one. “Are they trying to say regardless of age, gender, and race, we are still people? With the same broken parts inside us?”

Miss Delgado was grinning when I turned to look at her after she didn’t respond. “You really feel that piece, don’t you?”

“It’s exceptional,” I whispered, eyes focussed on the woman’s eye in particular. It was very familiar, almost reminding me of April’s, with slight changes.

“Rowan Hart made that one. If you like it, I should show you some of his other work.”

“I’d like that!” I enthused, curious to see how else this person had told messages through art, but also wondering if I could ever do something as amazing.

We finished hanging the rest of the sketches, then she pried open her laptop and turned it to face me. She flickered through a series of images of sketches, digital designs, clay work…

“These are so good,” I breathed, mouth slightly open in awe. “He’s in year nine?”

Miss Delgado nodded. “I have a feeling he will get the art award this year.”

“I wish I could do something like this.”

“Well, put in a little bit of extra work, less chatter with Evie, and you might. And really take on the feedback I give you instead of just handing in what you think will do.”

Biting my lip, I looked back over my shoulder at the shattered glass piece. There were so many things within me I wanted to express, but never found myself confident enough to say out loud. Would I really be able to get my heart out through drawings? Through clay? Through paint?

“Is there anything I can read or do to improve more quickly?”

Miss Delgado laughed, then went to the supply cupboard, returning with a text book. “Take this home and read it over the weekend. It’s got all sorts of tips and tricks for drawing. Once you’ve gotten that down pat, we will work on paint.”

I spent my weekend in my room, doing activity after activity in the book, before trying to do more complete sketches. By the middle of Sunday, April barged into my room, collapsing onto my bed.

“You’ve been in here the whole day and all of yesterday. When are you going to amuse me?” she whined.

“Don’t you have assessments to do? Or friends to talk to?”

“I finished my assessment in class and they’re all working on their essays they didn’t do in class.”

“Then go do one of your many hobbies.” I barely even looked at her as she laid on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My eyes were too focussed on the way the graphite was blending beneath my finger.

“What are you even doing?”

“Trying to get better at drawing.”

She got to her feet, sauntering over behind me. “Oh my gosh, May. Did you do all these?”

Finally finished with the newest piece, I leaned back, taking it in from afar before I turned to look at my sister. Her jaw was slack, eyes wide. “Yeah. I still have a lot to improve in technique. It takes time. But this textbook is great! Miss Delgado gave it to me.”

“This is phenomenal,” she pulled my sketch out from hands, studying it closely. “You should really do this more often. Can I keep this?”

Frowning, I tried to reach for it, but she pulled it away.

“Come on, you said you can do better. I will keep your supposed not-so-good one and you can draw an even better one for yourself.”

“Why do you want that one?”

“Because it’s pretty!”

Sighing, I agreed and she gave me a hug. 

“Keep this up, May. I’m impressed. I was never good at art… probably why Miss Delgado never quite liked me.”