The New Kid
When Lena joined our class in October, I decided right away that she thought she was better than everyone else. She sat at the back, answered questions in two or three words and spent every lunch hour bent over a sketchbook.
In November, Ms. Varga paired us for a project on local birds. I expected to do all the work. Instead, Lena opened her sketchbook and slid it across the table. Every page was full of birds: chickadees, crows, a heron standing on one leg, each one labelled in tiny, careful letters.
“I didn't know anyone here,” she said, not looking up. “Drawing is easier than talking.” I thought about all the lunches I had walked right past her table. “Could you show me how you drew the heron?” I asked. She looked up then, and for the first time, she smiled.