Blue Plaid

Forward

In which Stella faces her future.

//

I should have known I'd get caught. I'd never been a sneaky person, so thinking that I'd be able to come into class ten minutes late and not have the teacher notice was a bit naïve on my part.

"Miss St. Clare, please see me after class," she called out as I slipped into a seat near the back, dropping my tote bag to the floor as silently as possible.

I nodded, but didn't speak, because despite the fact that I didn't mind the attention, I didn't want to distract the rest of the class from the lesson. So I busied myself with removing a notebook and pen from my bag and jotting down the notes already written on the board, deciding I'd opt out of vocally participating today. I'd already made an entrance. I didn't want to be that obnoxious kid who hogged all of the teacher's attention.

We were two months in to my GED class and so far, I could say that it was much more difficult than I imagined it would be. I loved it, though. It was challenging and enthralling and gave me a social experience I'd never had before. Plus, the teacher, Dr. Kate Hutchins, was incredible. She was smart and poised and engaging and she made the material so easy to understand, yet so enjoyable as well. She made me want to come to class every week and that was something I never thought I'd say about school.

The fact that she made me feel so comfortable was one of the reasons I wasn't at all anxious when I approached her when class was over. "You wanted to see me, Dr. Hutchins?"

"Stella, yes," she smiled warmly, organizing the stack of in class quizzes we'd turned in a few minutes earlier on her desk. "I wanted to discuss the paper you wrote on women in the fashion industry."

"Oh," I said, my heart rate suddenly spiking.

The paper she was referring to was a free response essay on any topic we were passionate about. I'd chosen women in fashion for obvious reasons and I'd honestly really enjoyed writing the paper. The underlying point was that although the fashion industry seems to be more targeted towards women, it's shrouded in sexism and misogyny because of both the standards imposed on female models and the fact that the majority of the well-respected designers were men. I'd thought I'd done a pretty good job, but the fact that she wanted to talk to me about it had me doubting myself. Because I'd never written an essay like that before, so who was I to judge whether or not it was actually good.

"Did you hate it?" I asked, already apologetic. "Was it awful? I can do better if you let me re-do it."

"No, Stella," she shook her head, reaching out to touch my arm in hopes of calming me down. "I wanted to tell you that I thought it was fantastic."

I blinked, by heart still beating so loud that I could hear it wringing in my ears. "You did?"

"Yes," her smile widened and she squeezed my arm reassuringly. "It's insightful and well written and it sucks you in to the point that you're disappointed when it's over."

That was quite possibly the last thing I expected her to say. I'd never considered myself a great writer, solely based on the grades I'd gotten on every writing assignment I'd turned in before I dropped out of school. But I had worked my ass off on this one. I wanted to prove to myself and to Dr. Hutchins that I was willing to do whatever it took to get my degree. So there had been a lot of late nights and coffee refills and apologizing to Tyson because I was coming home at odd hours of the morning, but I was certain it would all be worth it. And with that one compliment, Dr. Hutchins had made sure every sacrifice I'd made so far was for something.

"Wow," I let out a shaky sigh of relief, my heart rate slowing down. "Thank you."

She smiled softly, retracting her hand. "Your writing and analytical thinking have improved so much throughout the past couple months and I just want you to know that I'm very proud of you."