Emma raised her hand and I asked her to continue. “Can we use anything we want? Colors, glitters?”
Giggles spiraled through the other girls and I shrugged, “Use whatever you want, Emma. Even color papers are a great option, but you have to define the space. It can be a maze, a bridge, underground tunnel, game, anything. Let your mind fly.”
I didn’t have to tell them to start folding with rulers and creating the spaces their head desired because all of them were already scrambling for their papers.
The next hour passed by in a blur of helping a few students on how to hold the cutter, use the ruler for folding and even letting them draw, sketch and paint on the papers before they could make a three-dimensional model. It was a chaos, but it was a creative chaos. The best kind.
“Do you need help with those, Mister James?” I looked up from the desk and smiled at the student when she pointed out the extra materials.
“No, thank you. We will need this for next lessons.”
“Oh.” She twirled her dark lock of hair, looking away and asked, “Is there anything else I can help you with? Like do you need a personal assistant?”
I frowned, ready to decline her when Emma and Mia walked up to my desk. “Seriously, Claire? He is an art teacher.” I tried my best not to frown more when Emma kept her hand on her hip and gave a scathing look to her classmate. “Why would he need a personal assistant?”
“I was just asking. Not everyone has butlers and maids like you. I wanted to help Mister James.”
Emma rolled her eyes and muttered something underneath her breath that made Mia choke and her cheeks redden. She looked cute and I wanted to pull her on my lap and ask if she enjoyed the lesson. I wanted to ask her about her models and pick apart her brain.
Shaking off those thoughts, I stood up, towering over them and answered, “Thank you, Claire, for asking me, but I don’t need a personal assistant at the moment. I already have one that handles all my tasks so, if you’ll excuse me. Have a good day.”
I didn’t need to elaborate that my personal assistant also handled my entire constructing business while I was teaching and didn’t have extra hours in the day to look after my design class.
I unlocked my phone and checked the notifications. I had it in a silent mode for the class. Scowling, I called Clyde’s number. He had called me over three times and it was very unusual. Even if his house was burning, he’d just send a text message with a few emojis because he thought calling people would disturb their ‘flow,’ whatever fuck that meant.
An uneasy feeling grew in my belly as I stood in the corner of the hallway, hearing the phone ring.
“Pick up, dammit.”
“James…”
I didn’t need to know who the person was when they touched my arm. I pinned my eyes on her green orbs that were gleaming with tears, and I knew something had happened.
“It’s D-Dad.”
12
PINKY PROMISE
MIA
Ididn’t know what to think. How to think. All my motor functions had come to a halt as soon as I had heard a very patient nurse through the phone. Thankfully, Emma and Summer had cornered me seeing my pale face and kept the phone on speaker, hearing the second worst news I’ve ever heard in seventeen years of my life.
First one was when my dad brought me into that god-awful hospital room and told me what had happened to Mom.
“Mia.”
I couldn’t breathe. My arms were shaking, and I wanted to empty my breakfast—oh God, my dad… he had made eggs, and we had joked about something this morning, and we were laughing and he—
“Mia.” My vision was getting blurry as I focused on the sharp, intense gaze. His warm hands on my shoulder. “I’m here. Clyde is okay.”
“H-He…” I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to throw myself in cold water and never breathe just so I could stop the ache in my heart.
I didn’t want to feel this emotion again. Not so soon. Never again. I had tried not to feel it for years, and I won’t be able to deal with it now.
“Let’s go. I’m taking you there.” He didn’t wait for my reply. Wrapping his hand around mine, he dragged me out of the busy hallway to the parking lot. I was scrambling to meet his pace, but he didn’t rush me, he met my pace, tightening his hold on my hand and opening the car door for me.
“James, he—”