Page 96 of My Shy Alpha

When they see me heading for the closet with the crayons and paper, the kids scramble to the round tables to draw without any further urging. I can’t stop beaming at their enthusiasm.

The room buzzes with shrill, voracious giggles as they try to make each other laugh by imagining the goofiest reasons to be angry. It might seem like they’re not taking the exercise seriously, but I know they are. Even the most outlandish stories ace the exercise, detailing legitimate upsets with anger at the root. Although, I’ll admit most of them center around poop jokes. I laugh with the kids, encouraging everyone to keep releasing their anger.

But as the class loses their focus to tired giggles, my attention is directed to the commotion in the back of the room.

Kelsi’s face crunches so deeply with rage that I freeze at first, unsure she’s breathing from her face’s darkening shade of red. The kids notice my panicked stare, dimming their voices as they follow my gaze.

My otherwise shut-down student breathes what could be dragon fire. She’s jamming her crayon into her paper so hard that she’s broken at least four, using nubby remnants to continue scribbling. At first, everyone falls into amazed silence, a whole room of antsy preschoolers miraculously frozen.

But my heart throbs, astounded by the gravity of this moment for this otherwise terrified, silent child.

Any second now, she’ll feel the eyes on her. Meanwhile, all the kids look back at me, wondering how they should respond to Kelsi’s self-expression.

She’s absolutely nailing the exercise, so I clap and cheer. “Yes, Kelsi, yes! You’re doing so great!”

The class cheers with me, some kids hopping in excitement. When Kelsi realizes all eyes are on her, she pops up from her desk with wide eyes. I try not to let my worries show, terrified this could set her back even more, but I can’t help it. When she locks eyes with me, my stare widens in anticipation. I have no idea what she’s thinking.

Kelsi bursts into shrill, squealing laughter, and the whole class joins her. Relief drips from her as students gasp at the beautiful, angry rainbow of colors she smashed across her page, filling the white space ten times more than the average preschool drawing. As compliments flood her, she stares down at her paper. Her grin widens with utmost pride. I’m not sure she’s ever been so admired by other kids before, checking between her peers and her angry artwork like she can’t believe this moment is real. I have to bite my lip, trying not to cry. It looks like this is exactly what she needed.

I turn to check on Mrs. Jacobs’ opinion of us, but she’s nowhere in sight.

She has no idea what it took to get here. Why I “took so long” to become a teacher at 26 instead of fresh out of college. She doesn’t know I sacrificed myself for someone who sacrificed me, that my world collapsed under the weight of my fears until my dreams of raising and teaching kids were crushed by one inescapable, lurking fear: what if on top of ruining my own life, I ruin their lives too?

The day I was hired at Westview Elementary, I sobbed in Amy’s arms. I lost so much before I could gain a single low-paid teaching job, but it was one of the best moments of my life.

As we finish class, my students’ squeals of excitement and wide smiles prove why my fight to get here was all worth it. I end the school day with a sore, happy heart - even if I have to file incident reports.

35

The night before the Full Moon Ceremony, I’m all smiles and laughter in Jenny’s office.

Jenny smiles with me, her pressed pants accentuating her long, crossed legs. “I know you’ve had some disappointments lately, but I’m honestly so impressed with your progress! How are you feeling about it?”

I nod, taking a deep breath. “I want to be proud.”

“But?”

“But...”

I pause with no idea what to explain. It’s so hard to tiptoe around Lycan culture with Jenny. All she knows is that Noah shares a moon cycle-centric spirituality with my father and that Noah is helping me trace my cultural roots. All of which is true.

I stick with the bits of truth I’ve told her, even if I have to leave out the wolfy details. “There’s a cultural event with Noah this weekend - one of the most important ones I’ll join. I don’t feel fully prepared to participate.”

“Does Noah know this?”

“Yes. But he has a lot of influence there, so he thinks I shouldn’t have to worry about impressing anyone else.” I pick at my nails. “But I want to look good by his side. I really want to be involved in this community.”

Jenny pauses, studying my sudden tears. “What’s this bringing up for you?”

“I guess I just feel left out. A bit of grief. Hurt. But not by Noah, or Amy, or anyone else in my life right now, which is what makes this so hard.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t blame a dead person.”

Jenny smirks. “Well, you can...”

I sputter out a laugh through my tears. “I could, but I feel bad.”

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