I gave her a dubious look, but stepped into her classroom.
The kids were all seated at tables, giggling and poking each other until they realised a new person had stepped into the room.
"This is Miss Kent," Whitney said, gesturing towards me like I was the prize on a television game show. "She's going to give you an art class today."
That got a squeal in response and a bunch of kids bouncing up and down in their seats.
"Can we do finger painting?" one of them called out. A boy with straight, black hair and dark eyes.
"Not today, Kennett," Whitney said.
The class collectively groaned.
"I thought we could do some drawing," I said. "Miss Ferguson said you have pastel crayons."
"That's right, we do," Whitney said. "We only use them forveryspecial occasions." She looked at the kids and nodded as she spoke.
"Is this a special occasion?" a girl with short, blonde hair asked. Her huge blue eyes and solemn expression made her look as though she was six, going on forty.
"I think so, Dakota," Whitney said. "Can you get the crayons out for the class please?"
"Yes, Miss Ferguson." Dakota pushed her chair back and walked over to a set of drawers on the side of the room. From there she pulled out four or five packets of crayons and started to place them in front of pairs of the kids.
"They don't seem so wild to me," I said softly to Whitney, giving her a sideways glance.
She snorted. "For you, they aren't. You should have seen them two or three minutes ago. They would have been throwing the crayons around the room."
"If we throw these crayons, we don't get to use them again," Kennett said, obviously hearing the conversation.
"Absolutely correct," Whitney told him. "We take good care of our special art supplies." To me she added, "Funding for them is limited. I wish we didn't have to police them, but if we're going to have anything to use for art, I have to."
"That sounds familiar," I said. My school was the same way. Most schools seemed to be. The arts weren't as valued as they deserved. Shame, because everyone was happy to consume art in the form of books, movies and music. How would we have those things if we didn't nurture talent in kids?
"What are we going to draw?" Dakota returned to her chair and sat with her hands clasped in front of her.
"I thought you could draw each other," I said. I counted quickly to make sure we had an even number before nodding. "You can draw your partner and then your partner can draw you."
"Who are you going to draw?" Dakota asked.
"She's sharp as a tack," Whitney whispered.
I could see that. "I thought I'd draw Miss Ferguson."
For some reason, the kids thought that was hilariously funny. They all burst into laughter, even Dakota.
"Can you make her look funny?" one of the boys asked. With bright blue-green eyes and a turned up nose, I bet he got away with all sorts of things he shouldn't. Riley and Connor probably looked the same at his age, but with fewer freckles.
"You think I don't look funny already, Lincoln?" Whitney teased.
"Yeah, you do." Lincoln grinned in delight. The rest of the class cracked up laughing again.
I couldn't help smiling. I didn't think I could do this day in and day out, but they were adorable for a little while.
"Let's get you all some paper." Whitney bustled around giving each of the kids a couple of pieces of paper and handing some to me. She waved to a chair to the side of the room. "Sit, sit. Where do you need me?"
"On the toilet!" Lincoln shouted.
Once again, the class erupted in laughter.
