NO LONGER THERE

STRAND TWELVE

CHANGES

After my presentation, speech at the UT Austin Annual Journalism Gala, meeting Bryce Allen Phillips, the debut of Roxy's school musical, The Wizard of Odds, and before the Fox4 news interview,  Roxy and I volunteered at a local women's shelter. We were there, every other weekend, Roxy and I, and it was always full.

Still, they enjoyed us and we, enjoyed them. Roxy and a couple of residents put on a play, Little Black, Riding in the Hood. It was hilarious and had earned thirty, star reviews.

I helped women with their resume's and interview skills. Six of them found jobs. We usually arrived early in the morning and remained until late in the day. We were always exhausted when we left. That's why I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when I saw her, Amelia Smith, also known as Professor Smith to the student body at UT Austin.

She saw me. I saw her. She saw me, see her, see me. We both turned our heads in the opposite direction. I then nudged Roxy so that she too would see Professor Smith. Roxy screamed, then ducked down. We were in the middle of a parking lot, with no cars.

"Get up, Roxy. You don't disappear when you crouch down like that."

She slowly stood up.

"Do you think she saw us?" she whispered.

I looked at my best friend and reminded myself,  that I love Roxy.

"If the scream didn't draw any attention, you ducking down behind invisible cars did. Come on." 

I grabbed her hand. Now, we had  to say something. The door opened, and Professor Smith entered the building. 

No big, right?

Maybe she was there to volunteer, like we were. I rung the buzzer. The counselor looked surprised we were back so soon. She smiled, then let us in. I saw her again, Amelia Smith, also known as Professor Smith to the student body at UT Austin. Sadly, she was signing the entrance log. Roxy stumbled over her own feet, causing Professor Smith to notice us behind her in the shelter foyer. Her pale, blotchy skin turned a vibrant shade of pink. 

"Hi, Professor Smith," I said when the counselor stepped away.

"Hi, Avery." She flashed her werewolf-witch smile.

Roxy was counting pamphlets.

I had to ask. "What are you doing here?"

Professor Smith glanced down at her H.E.B bag slash suitcase, then looked at me like I had three heads.

"Oh," I replied to the, I thought you were a smart girl, Avery, expression.

Roxy was counting pamphlets, I was asking obvious questioning my professor was embarrassed. Roxy and I weren't helping nor fairing any better. I backed up, waved my hand and turned away.

"I'm pleased with how your project and your messages are changing lives," she said as I reached the door.

"Thank you," I replied. 

She was checking into a shelter for battered women, yet was kind of enough to compliment me.  My mocha skin turned a vibrant shade of pink. 

"I have only given a speech at one dinner, and I have you to thank for that."

Professor Smith looked up and down the foyer walls of that shelter for battered women. Her eyes focused on pictures of me and Roxy, putting on a play, helping women with their interview skills and she said the smartest thing, "Messages are heard with more than your ears, Avery."

I focused on those same photos and understood the unspoken praise. She flashed her werewolf -witch smile, and Roxy was still counting pamphlets. The counselor came back to ask if Roxy and I needed anything. I told her no, grabbed pamphlet counting Roxy's hand, then left.