I walk around the classroom, weaving between the easels as the students work. In the four years I’ve been teaching at Priority High School, I’ve had the privilege of meeting quite a few talented artists. And I envy the way they see the world. So full of possibilities. So vibrant in color and life. They all aspire to be famous painters one day, a dream I gave up on a long time ago.

“What do you think, Ms. Stillwater?” Noah Thornberg asks as I approach his easel. “I feel like I’m not quite capturing the...” He pauses and squints at the painting.

I study it, cocking my head. It’s his desktop complete with his geometry textbook and half-eaten turkey sandwich. “The essence of the piece?” I volunteer.

“Yeah, that.”

“Tell me what you want the piece to convey.” His technique is good. No one would doubt he has real artistic ability. The problem is, his vision is lacking, and it’s my job to make him see that for himself.

“I don’t know. I guess the loneliness of the discarded objects?” It comes out more as a question than an answer.

“Your sandwich and textbook are lonely? Hmm...” I walk over to the desk and pick up the book. “Poor, book. Are you lonely because Noah hasn’t done his homework in days?”

Noah cracks a smile, which was my intention. “What else can a still life of a book and sandwich mean?”

I carefully place the book back in the position it was in before I touched it. “Why did you choose these objects?” I ask, lacing my fingers in front of me.

Noah shrugs. “You told us to paint a still life using only objects we had on our person,” he says, trying to paraphrase my instructions.

I nod. “That’s correct. But why these?” I gesture to his backpack on the desk chair. “That hardly looks empty to me.”

“It’s not. I have other books, some pens, and my phone in there.”

“So why not draw your phone?” I motion to Becky’s painting, which is stationed directly behind Noah.

Becky turns around and smiles at us. Her painting shows her phone with a selfie of her on the screen. It was taken with a Snapchat filter, giving her deer antlers. “I wanted to take another stab at a self-portrait,” Becky says, “but I’m totally still doing what you assigned, Ms. S.”

“You are, Becky. It shows your creativity and your personality. I love it.”

Becky smiles and gets back to work, but Noah frowns.

“Should I start over?” he asks, scowling at his painting.

“Let me ask you again. Why did you choose these two objects?” I already know the answer. He told the entire class upon entering the room.

“I guess because they ruined my day.”

I wave my hand in the air, motioning for him to continue.

“I didn’t get to finish eating my lunch because I had to study for my geometry test, which I’m sure I bombed anyway.” He puts his brush down on the easel tray.

“Okay, good. Now we’re getting somewhere.” I move so I’m standing next to him, facing the painting. “When you look at your painting, what is it missing from what you just told me?”

“This awful feeling that I’m a failure.” He forces out a small laugh. “Although, the fact that the painting sucks so much does make me relive that feeling.”

“It doesn’t...suck,” I say, using his word. “The problem is that the painting brings up that feeling in you instead of conveying it to everyone else.” I turn back to the book. “Yes, this book is covered nicely, as it should be, but how do you really see it?”

“Torn, used, covered in frustration after hours of studying and nothing sinking in.” He narrows his eyes at his canvas. “If I fray the edges here... Maybe write the words across the top but have some letters faded away. And the sandwich...” He points to the empty space between the book and the sandwich on the canvas. “I could have a discarded piece of limp lettuce that fell out and was left behind.”

I pat him on the shoulder. “Now that would convey a message to me.”

Noah turns toward me. “Thanks, Ms. Stillwater. I don’t think I would have figured that all out on my own.”

“The important thing to remember is that art doesn’t always mean the same thing to the artist and the observer. You might intend to paint this in a melancholy way that mimics your frustration with geometry. But the way you described the changes you’re planning to make reads differently to me, and that’s okay.”

His brows pull together in the middle. “How do you see it?”

“I see a very determined young man who doesn’t give up, no matter if it’s something he enjoys or not. And I think that’s beautiful.” I smile at him, and the bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. “Pack up your things, people. We’ll continue this tomorrow.”

I return to my desk, and as Becky passes me, she says, “You’re the only teacher Noah likes. He’ll never tell you that, but I thought you should know. None of the other teachers seem to get him, but you do.”

I smile. “See you tomorrow, Becky.” For a while now, I’ve suspected Becky has a crush on Noah. He’s completely oblivious to it, but I won’t be surprised if she finds a way to let him know one of these days.

I pack up my things and head to the mail room. Elana Cambridge, my best friend and fellow faculty member, walks in right behind me.

“Do you ever check your mail in the morning like we’re supposed to?” she asks me, noticing my mailbox is full, while hers only has two pieces of paper inside it.

“No time. I’m busy setting up the studio before classes begin for the day.” I flip through the stack of papers, tossing most into the recycling bin to the left of the mailboxes. “Between us, how did Noah Thornberg do on the test today?”

Elana sighs, the air making her dark bangs lift. “Not well. He’s an artist for sure, but math eludes him.”

“I know. He’s painting about it.” I stuff the few papers I’m holding into my shoulder bag.

“Well, I’m glad he has an outlet for his anger from my class.”

“He’s a good kid. He told me he studied really hard for that test. He even skipped lunch.”

Elana removes her phone from her jacket pocket. “Did you see this? I’ve been meaning to show you all day, but you skipped lunch today, too.” She turns the screen to show me a picture of the mural outside Bonnie’s Boutique. “For the Record covered the story online.”

“That’s the new paper, right?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She shakes her head. “Did you not see the mural? It’s gorgeous.” She laughs. “At first I thought it was you. I mean, I don’t know anyone else who paints as well as you do, but I know you’d never risk your job by vandalizing a building.” She pockets her phone and grabs the mail from her box. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” I say, grabbing my own phone and pulling up the article, which was written by someone named Alex Wilkes. “I don’t recognize the reporter’s name.”

Elana holds the door for me as we walk out of the mail room and head for the back doors that lead to the faculty parking lot.

“I loved Priority News before all the good people left. Quite are few are at For the Record now, though,” she says.

“Was this Wilkes guy one of them?”

She shakes her head. “No. He’s new. He’s only done a few stories worth reading.”

Great. I finally do something I thought was newsworthy, and they put a rookie reporter on the story.

“Why?” Elana pushes open the back door, and we step out into the chilly October day.

“Just curious. Like you said, the painting is pretty amazing.”

Elana narrows her eyes at me. “You don’t know anything about this, do you?”

I shrug and walk to my car. “Why would I? My interest is purely as an art lover.” It’s not a lie. Loving the arts was my motivation for painting that mural. The problem is I have to make this town love art as well so they’ll stop the school board from cutting it from our curriculum.

“See you tomorrow,” Elana calls from her car further down the row.

I wave and nod as I open my door and get into my Accord. One mural isn’t going to be enough to get this town talking. I had to start small, though. Create some buzz before I went for a bigger target. The biggest problem is doing this without being seen. Night offers me some protection, but if I need a target more people will see, then that’s going to pose a problem. Most of the main roads have streetlights. I can’t exactly vandalize an office on Main Street with a spotlight on me.

But I need to do something. I need to get this Alex Wilkes to keep writing about the murals. To keep art in the minds of the people living in Priority. He might not know it, but he’s going to help me save the future of the art program at Priority High School, even if it means me losing my job in the process.