Chapter 45, Jealous boys and other toys

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Third period used to be my favorite for the little while I've been at Tygerwell High, but with Lynch at home and bald and nobody here to talk with me while I just stare at my canvas, I kind of dread walking there

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Third period used to be my favorite for the little while I've been at Tygerwell High, but with Lynch at home and bald and nobody here to talk with me while I just stare at my canvas, I kind of dread walking there.

"Morning, Miss Sauvage," I greet my art teacher.

She looks up at me with her white hair and cryptic eyes. "That frown, I'll admit, is not going to get you anywhere," she says by way of greeting.

I sigh and walk over to where Lynch and I are usually stationed at. Miss Sauvage sets everyone into motion before shuffling over to me. She scowls at Lynch's half-done painting of her naked with a few fruit, before looking over at my canvas that's barely been started on.

"What's the matter, deary?" she asks.

I let my shoulder sag, "Lynch isn't doing to well," I confide.

Miss Sauvage nods, "Life doesn't favor anyone," she says before sitting down at where Lynch usually sits. Suddenly the crow's-feet adorning her eyes and worry lines have a story to tell.

"I know death and pain, my deary. I'm old and I don't have a family," Miss Sauvage admits.

"I'm sorry to hear that... But if I could choose, I'd rather be an awesome spinster like you than be alone with a room full of people," I admit.

Miss Sauvage shakes her head and looks back at me with these pearly-looking eyes. "I used to have a son. Lovely little fellow. I was pretty impressed with myself to have raised someone like him and he married and got kids but... A fire took out my family and I was the only one to survive..." 

My heart breaks for this old woman.

"I'm sorry to hear that..." I admit.

Miss Sauvage shakes her head again, "Don't be sorry. It's not you that brings death to this town. There isn't even anybody I can blame it on. It was a power-cut. A bloody power-cut," Miss Sauvage sighs.

She looks back at me once again with those pearly eyes before clasping her hands together and being her usual witty self, "Well, enough about the dead. You need to get that painting done, deary," Miss Sauvage says and refers to the painting of flowers and eyes peeking through.

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