Stella

The art room’s window creaks slightly when the wind pushes against it, but I barely register it. My sketchbook lies open across my lap, the tip of my pencil moving slowly, methodically. Each stroke helps quiet the noise in my head. I’ve redrawn the same lines three times already, but I’m not trying to finish anything. I just need to breathe.

This part of the school is usually deserted during lunch, which is exactly why I came here. The silence is a relief. After this ...