Friday morning, there was coffee and cookies supplied. Don’t get too used to that, kids. The enthusiasm would probably wear off just a little as the term went on. The desks were arranged in a circle and on each one students would find an
A5 sketchpadAngela would be found sitting on one of the desks, facing them all. "So welcome to Art Therapy." She
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[[ feel free to ping off each other, I’ll be slow until I get out of work ]]
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What had she let herself in for teaching at this school? She should've known better.
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The last almost "artistic" thing she'd done was make Emma think she'd burned her face off, but she wasn't bringing that up.
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Which had then been smashed by one of her classmates. And then Angelica had melted all the rest. Accidentally. Maybe.
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"It's easy to do all that before it all melts around you?"
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"We did them outdoors in the winter," Angelica said. "As long as it didn't get warm they would be okay, unless someone vandalized them." But she wasn't bitter.
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"I'm Juliet Darling," she said. "I'm a senior now. I'm a little psychic about my twin Jeremy" -- not really -- "so that's kind of interesting. And the last artistic thing I did was practicing a Tennessee Williams monologue. I want to be an actress someday."
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"So we're talking the 'I have a bad feeling when he gets hurt' kind of psychic, or the 'I can literally hear his thoughts' kind?" she wondered. Around here, it never hurt to ask. She totally liked to believe that the first type happened in her world. Nothing wrong with that.
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