Thea was alone.
the door was closed, a thin piece of wood that felt like the only thing separating her from a world she did not understand, and the permission slip in her hand was a paper-thin declaration of war against her own fear.
'a trip, with other kids, for a week.'
the thought was a physical weight in her stomach, a cold, heavy stone of pure dread; her mind immediately supplied the images, the whispers in the hallway, the pitying looks, the way the other students would move away from her at the lunch table. she was a ghost, a pariah, a black cloud of misery, and this was an invitation to go haunt a mountain resort.
she wanted to rip it into a hundred pieces, an act of self-preservation.
but her eyes drifted to the desk. the new sketchbook, with its thick, heavy paper. the tin box of drawing pencils. the shirt with the little blue jay on the pocket, folded neatly on her chair.
he had not just bought her things. he had paid attention.
'he noticed I liked birds.'
