“Ms. Spencer?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Is your student in my class?”
“My daughter was,” he said. “Sasha Further.”
“Sasha?” she muttered, trying to recall the name. “She's not still in middle
school, is she? She was in my class four years ago!”
“No.” William smirked. “She's in high school now. My son, Sam, is in the play. He's
playing Bastion.”
“Oh,” Ms. Spencer said, relieved. “Sam does look a lot like you.”
“Thank you,” William responded. “Or how dare you, depending on if that was a
compliment or not.”
Ms. Spencer smiled. “You can take it as a compliment.”
William remembered the smile. Not from the parent-teacher conference. He thought
back to the yearbook. He remembered the last name Harlow.
The same name on the painting of the scientist making pancakes. William wondered if
he should ask about it.
William watched her for a moment then copied her movements. Pick up the cotton
ball, dab it on the paper plate with glue, place it on the dragon and hold it for
five seconds. It seemed easy enough.
“What made you want to volunteer?” Ms. Spencer asked.
“Well, to be honest,” William began. “My son checked the box for me to volunteer
and I didn't realize it. I wasn't sure if you guys would be counting on me to show
up so I decided to come.”
“Thank you,” she responded. “We need all the help we can get. This is an ambitious
play that the drama class is putting on.”
“Aren't you the art teacher?” William asked.