Chapter 1
Iris
My classroom smells faintly of pencil shavings and glue sticks, a scent that clings to your clothes whether you want it to or not.
Sunlight spills in from the tall windows, catching dust in the air and making everything feel warm and peaceful, while an indie song hums from the corner radio, barely audible over the student chatter.
I make my rounds between the tables, checking sketchbooks, offering encouragement, trying to keep my tone steady and kind even when I feel like I’m winging it.
“Remember,” I say, pausing at one table, “these are rough sketches. Don’t worry about perfection. You’re not being graded on appearance. Just get your ideas down.”
Most of the students are focused, while a few are zoning out, and one is clearly texting under the table.
I can’t make everyone care about art, I know that.
But since I talked to Layla and Nate about what happened, there hasn’t been another incident. If anything, the football boys seem to be trying their best.
A few even acknowledged me in the hallway this morning, which was strange, to say the least.
At the very back of the room, I spot Addie curled over her paper, pencil hovering above the blank page, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
She’s wearing a sweater that’s too big for her, the sleeves bunched at her elbows, and her pink hair looks like she didn’t have time to do anything with it this morning.
I crouch down beside her desk. “Hey, Addie.”
She looks up with her ever-present smile. “Hi, Ms. Patel.”
“You stuck?” I ask, glancing at her untouched page.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s fine. But sometimes thinking gets easier once you start.”
“That sounds like something off a mug.”
“I’ve embraced my inner Pinterest.”
“I don’t know what to draw. It’s supposed to be a self-portrait, but I’m not… I’m nothing special,” she says softly, like she shouldn’t admit that out loud.
My chest tightens at her words. “Addie, you’re the most interesting person you’ll ever know.”
She gives me a look. “Okay, now that’s definitely a Pinterest quote.”
“Guilty. But it’s still true. No one else has lived your life. Or sees the world the way you do. That’s what makes you worth drawing.”
She twirls her pencil between her fingers, staring down at the page. “Could I… draw how I feel?”
“Of course.”
“Even if I feel like a ghost sometimes?”
“Especially then.”
When class is over, students scurry past me in a stream of paper and backpacks, drop their sketches onto my desk without looking up.
“Thanks for the pep talk, Ms. Patel,” Addie says, placing her drawing on the top of the stack.
“That’s what I’m here for,” I tell her with a smile.
The classroom door creaks open, and a girl I’ve seen in the hall pokes her head in with a frown, contrasting Addie’s sweet nature.
“Addie, come on, you’re gonna make me late for lunch again.”
“Sorry!” She calls, rushing back to her desk and stuffing her sketchbook into her bag. As she passes my desk, she slows. “Thanks again.”
“Anytime. I can’t wait to see what you came up with.”
The smell of cafeteria pizza lingers in the hallway, but in my classroom, the quiet is only broken by the sound of my fork scraping against Tupperware and the occasional hum of the air conditioning.
I like the quiet, I always have.
Lunch in the teacher’s lounge still feels like something I have to work up to. Too many people, too many conversations, I’m not ready for.
In here, I can relax with no one watching.
I’m seated on the floor, salad balancing on my thigh, and my previous class’s assignments spread out in front of me.
While grading them, I find something about every student’s work to compliment and ask questions, hoping to encourage them to open up and express themselves through their art.
But when I get to Addie’s, I pause.
It’s a pencil sketch, simple lines, but there’s something about it that hits me differently. She’s drawn a family. A woman frowning at her husband and a younger boy between them.
And then there’s Addie. You can see the outlines of her, the shape of her body, her curly hair, but it’s all drawn in lighter pencil, like she’s not a part of them. Invisible. A background character in her own family.
I set my fork down without realizing it, because I know that feeling well.
My parents didn’t understand me.
They didn’t get why I wasn’t like the other kids. If they could see who I am now, well, I can only imagine the depth of their disappointment.
I swallow hard, blinking down at the page.
She’s only fifteen, expressing something she probably doesn’t even understand, but she found a way to say it.
My heart aches for her, and for the version of me who used to feel like that.
I’m still staring down at Addie’s art when there’s a knock on my open door.
I jump, brushing my hand over my face like that will hide how I feel. “Come in,” I call out, a little more hoarse than normal.
When I see who it is, my eyes widen.
Nate Wesley.
“Bad time?”
I glance down at the forgotten container next to me. “No, it’s fine. I was just grading.”
He steps inside, pulling the door shut behind him. “The boys been giving you much trouble?” I stand up, brushing off my skirt to distract from the butterflies I feel when he looks at me.
“No, actually,” I say with a small huff of laughter, sitting on my desk, facing him. “They’ve been great. Overly nice if anything.”
I give him a pointed look. I know he must’ve done something.
“Well, that’s great.” He steps closer to stand in front of me. Something in his attention makes my cheeks heat up, giving me the urge to squirm where I’m sitting. “Anyway, that’s not why I came in here.”
I look up at him, playing with the gold ring on my thumb. “Oh?”
He looks toward the window and then back to me. “Well, uh. I was wondering if you’d be interested in getting dinner with me.”
My brain short-circuits. “Dinner?”
This can’t be happening.
Nausea creeps up my throat, as my heart starts to pick up, a wave of anxiety threatening to take me under.
“Yeah. With me.”
The only thing I’m able to get out is, “Oh.”
He holds up both hands, taking my hesitation for something other than completely stunned.
“Only if you want to. No pressure. I’d really like to get to know you better.”
“Nate—” I start, even though I have no idea what I’m even going to say.
He’s looking at me with that easy, open expression, like this is simple.
A man asking a woman to dinner. No weight. No risk. Except-
He doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know what I’d be giving him if I said yes. What it would mean if he ever found out.
Eventually, he would. And then what?
The image of his face shifting. Turning into shock, or worse, disgust, hits me like a punch.
I can’t give him that power over me.
The power to destroy my heart and my life.
I know that he could.
If I handed Nate Wesley my heart, he would break it, and I can’t risk that.
I force myself to meet his gaze. “I… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
The smile falls off his face, turning into a deep frown before he sets it back to normal. “Did I uh… Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I say quickly, standing so he isn’t looming over me. “No, it’s not you. You’ve been great. I’m really thankful that you talked to your team, but I’m not dating right now.”
It’s not a lie.
“Right. Yeah. Got it.” He nods a few times, like he’s trying to help the words settle in. “I just thought… Never mind. I get it.”
An ache starts to bloom in my chest that feels a lot like guilt.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him sincerely.
“You don’t have to be,” he glances around the room like he’s looking for an escape. “I shouldn’t have asked. You’re new here, the last thing I wanna do is make you uncomfortable.”
I sigh and step forward, wanting to comfort him, but having no idea how.
“Nate—”
“I should let you get back to your lunch,” he says, interrupting whatever I was going to say to try to comfort him.
“Thanks for your time, Ms. Patel.”
When I sit back down, no longer interested in grading or eating, I look at Addie’s drawing again, tracing the lines with my fingertip.
I’ll always be a ghost.