Chapter 16
Ella
Friday
“And Ashley and her girlfriends were so mean to me.”
“Because of the ex-boyfriend…” Miss Amara followed along with my story in a questioning tone, the kind she used when she was trying to make sure she understood everything correctly.
It was 4 p.m., after a not-so-great day at school.
Miss Amara was preparing tea for us both after our piano lesson.
I was still seated on her piano bench as she poured hot water into her beautiful antique ceramic teapot.
She sat on her signature olive-green couch. Everything in that house was so her.
“But when Ashley’s ex-boyfriend started this conversation outside gym class, I didn’t even let it go on,” I explained, indignant. “He was cutting into my time for the science club meeting.”
Miss Amara let out a quiet laugh.
Ashely’s boyfriend had broken up with her, and I had no desire to be tangled in the drama. I wasn’t the type for confrontation or petty fights, but their sudden hostility still stung.
“And that was it. I’m sorry, Ashley. I would never do anything to hurt your feelings,” I said disconsolately to the air.
I had been speaking in my fast-forward voice, and Miss Amara was sitting there, probably confused, still listening to me. She had demanded to know what was on my mind.
“I’m sorry,” I told her.
“What you’re feeling is very understandable,” she said, leaning over the coffee table to pour tea into the two mugs.
“No one likes having a group of mean girls rolling their eyes and whispering things. Women should always support women. Always.” She added the last always emphatically.
“But honey, adolescence is such a tricky age. And remember, in friendship, quantity does not mean quality. Not everyone will like you, and you will not like everyone. They will have their reasons, you’ll have yours.
You don’t have to — and you can’t — please everyone.
As you grow up, you’ll realize that you’ll find your people as you find yourself. ”
Miss Amara took a sip of her tea.
She was right. I was used to getting along with everyone, but who were my quality friends?
“And stop over-apologizing. It may make you feel like you’re always in the wrong, even when you aren’t. Apologize. But only when it’s necessary,” she said, her tone carrying the weight of yet another piece of wisdom she expected me to take to heart.
Our talks always had a way of soothing me.
I didn’t often complain or vent to others, but with Miss Amara, it was different.
Somehow, she always knew when something was off.
She gently pushed me to speak, knowing that I wouldn’t do it if she didn’t.
Her wisdom was steady and constant, and her ability to listen without judgment made me feel understood, even when I didn’t have the words to explain myself.
We spent the rest of the afternoon flipping through an old photo album Miss Amara had been eager to show me. She laughed as she pointed out faces I didn’t recognize, telling me stories of the past with a warmth that made me feel like I’d lived them.
Before I left, she handed me a camera. “Take it with you,” she said. “Capture the moments you want to remember.” She smiled, knowing I would absolutely use it to preserve memories, just like she had.
The same CD played on repeat through my earbuds as I walked back home, just before dinner.
I saw Miles getting onto a bus, alone, his gaze distant. He didn’t notice me. The bus pulled away before I could reach him.
For a moment, I paused and thought about the brief encounters we’d shared. Effortless conversations. It left me wondering why it felt so easy to be in each other’s company.
At school, I saw him by himself. He was not lost. Maybe he was simply content in his own solitude. He wasn’t the type to engage in small talk or actively seek out others.
And then, on another day at the Youth Club, I watched him interact with the kids again. It was different from how he acted at school. He wasn’t withdrawn, but bright, laughing with them, talking about music, encouraging them with a tenderness that crept up on me and lingered.
There was something about him that intrigued me.