silent

24

• AMALIA •

My first class—English, which Oliver walked me to—goes smoothly. No one notices I'm there, and the teacher sits me at the back by myself, thankfully. But in my second lesson (Religion) Oliver convinces the strict looking teacher to sit me next to him and his friends.

The teacher leaves the room for a minute, and Oliver's friend turns around to us, as does the boy sitting beside her.

"Hi! I'm Gracie." She says perkily. "Oliver told me you don't—" She winces when she gets kicked under the table. I suddenly want to take up my dads offer on texting him if I want to come home, but I don't want to learn to rely on him. "Sorry. Was that rude?"

I shake my head, sending her a reassuring smile.

"My name's Liam." The other says. He sounds like, though he's here, he still hasn't mentally gotten out of bed.

Gracie is about to say something else when the door to the classroom opens again and the teacher walks back in.

"Okay! So, today..."

The teacher begins to talk about the lesson as I write my name down on the workbook she got for me.

Halfway through the lesson, Oliver turns to me with furrowed eyebrows. "Do you know what she's talking about?" He asks quietly.

I smile and show him my book, where I've written notes neatly about what the teacher is talking about.

"Thanks." He mumbles as he copies them onto his own page.

•

Thankfully, my next lesson is art, and Gracie is there with me. I don't expect her to want to sit with me at first, but when she takes a spot near the back and I don't immediately sit by her, she furrows her eyebrows.

"Did you want to sit somewhere else?" She asks. "The front seats are all right, but I like sitting at the back more."

I shake my head and sit down, grateful I have someone to sit with. My phone vibrates with a notification in my pocket, and I pull it out as discreetly as I can.

DAD: Everything going okay?

ME: Yes.

DAD: Good. Remember, if you need me just message me.

ME: Ok.

I slide my phone back into my pocket and smile at the young blonde teacher coming my way, two sketchbooks in hand.

"Hi, Amalia." She says brightly. She sits on the edge of the table. "My name is Mrs Sharpe. I'm your art teacher. I have two sketchbooks for you—one to take home since you chose art as an extra option, so you'll have a few more lessons with me a week, and this is where you'll do that. You need to bring it in on the days you have art, but you can leave it at home and work on it there on the days you don't. But this other one is one for this lesson. This will always stay in school and this is where you'll do the work you're given in class, whereas the other is for you and your person project, which I'll give you more information on in a second."

"Alright. So, for this lesson I want you to do something different than everyone else. I want you to pick a theme for your sketchbook and do the title page for it, but this is the one you can take home so you can continue it there if you don't get it finished. Can you do that for me?" She asks.

I nod. She smiles. "Okay, great. I'll come check on you to make sure you understand what you're doing in a little bit, once I tell the class what they have to do." She passes me a piece of paper. "If you're struggling to decide what you want as your theme, there are some ideas here."