“So which piece is hers?” William asked. “I'm hoping for the scientist making
pancakes. That looks like me.”
“Does it?” the teacher questioned. “I don't see the resemblance. But no, your
daughter didn't paint that.”
William glanced around the room to see if he could guess which piece would be his
daughter's.
“We won't paint on canvases until next semester,” she told him.
“I thought maybe it was her because it looked like me and I am known to be great at
making pancakes,” William responded.
Ms. Spencer studied him for a moment.
“Pancakes are great,” she said, smiling. “Did you go to high school in town?”
“I did,” William responded. “I graduated in ninety-nine.”
“So did I!” the teacher exclaimed. “I think you may have been in one of my classes
junior year.”
“Really,” William responded. “I'm sorry that was so long ago. I only remember a few
people from back then.”
“Actually, I thought that I heard you had died or something like that,” she said.
“Nope,” William responded. “I haven't gotten so much as a splinter or paper cut
since leaving high school.”
William smiled and ran his left hand through his hair.
Ms. Spencer's smile faded as she saw his hand.
“Well, back to Sasha. Like I said, she is talented and creative but likes to spend
most of the time on her phone. When the students are supposed to be working on
assignments.” She paused. “She isn't working on it. Then on the due date, she
scribbles something on a sheet of paper and turns it in.”