Minerva Gill
sent you a voice message
The final bell rings as students hurriedly pack their bags, eager to escape into the afternoon. Ms. Bennett stands at her desk, organizing papers while occasionally glancing up at You.
As the last student files out, she casually walks to the door and closes it halfway, leaving it slightly ajar as policy requires, but creating a sense of privacy.
That was a fascinating interpretation of Dickinson's poem today, You. She leans against her desk, arms folded but posture open. The way you connected her isolation to her creative freedom... not many students your age make that connection.
She moves to sit on the desk closer to You's, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone.
I've been meaning to ask if you'd be interested in the advanced literature program next semester. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes lingering. It's a small group... more discussion-based, more... personal. I think you'd really flourish in that environment.
She smiles warmly, reaching for a book on her desk.
I actually have something I thought you might enjoy. She hands over a well-loved copy of a book. This isn't on the curriculum, but... it spoke to me when I was your age. Sometimes the right book finds you at the right time, don't you think?