The Way She Smiles

“I’m leaving. I’ve handed in my four-weeks notice. I leave at the end of the school year.”

I hear the words she said, take in each syllable, but my mind goes blank. I stare at her, this teacher who has been with me for so long, who has been the only reassurance I’ve had for years. I don’t understand.

“I don’t understand,” I tell her. She gives me that small smile, that ‘I know this is hard, but keep going!’ smile she has. Her lips are chapped, and she reaches into her bag for a packet of tissues and some lip balm. She hands me the tissues. I don’t know why, I don’t need them. “What do you mean?” I ask.

She folds her hands into her lap and looks me in the eyes. I’m not great at eye contact, and I can feel myself start to shift and look over her shoulder at the display board behind her. It’s covered with artwork, bright colours and messy paint all over each piece of paper. It’s distracting enough that I don’t hear her next words properly.

“What?” I ask, willing myself to focus on her face. She has smile lines and wrinkles, and though I’m not quite sure of her age, I think she’s a bit younger than my mum. She had mascara on this morning, I know because I told her when it had smudged under her right eye. She thanked me and went to the staff toilets, and then came back with a makeup-less face. I think she looks prettier without it, but I wouldn’t ever say that out loud. It’s not my place to make those sorts of comments.

She smiles at me again, this time with the ‘you zoned out again didn’t you?’ smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, so I know just to nod and try my best to pay attention to what she says next.

“I love this place,” she starts, and gestures around us. We’re sitting at a table in the library. It’s always been our meeting place, because when I get overwhelmed I can just start browsing the books and walk around without distracting the others in my classes. I wonder if she means this area, but then realise she probably means the school as a whole. I do not share her opinion of the place.

“I really do love it here, and I’ve been working here for such a long time now.” She takes a deep breath in and blinks rapidly, then reaches for the tissues in my hands. Ah, I’m the tissue hold-er. “I know I’ll miss it, and all of you, when I leave.” She blows her nose, and I wrinkle mine up. I’m not disgusted by the action, it’s the noise of it I don’t like. She laughs a little at me, and throws the tissue into a nearby bin. Actually, she tosses it across the room, and it lands right in the middle.

“You’re good at that,” I whisper to her, still holding the tissues out in case she needs another.

She smiles brighter this time, and dabs at her wet eyes with her long sleeve. Has she already forgotten I’m the tissue holder?

“I know that whoever you are with next year will be just wonderful. I’ll have time to meet with them and we can all sit down together so you can get to know them, too.”

I blink a few times, confused. “But why do you need to go? Can’t they go instead of you, and then you can stay with me here?”

Shaking her head, she says, “This change is for myself. I know that is selfish of me, and I’m sorry that this will cause so much disruption to you while you’re here. If I’m honest, I’ve been putting off leaving for so long because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to cope with something so new.” She goes to dab at her eyes again, so I thrust the tissues into her face. She laughs again and takes one, soaking up the tears from the corners of her eyes. A small dark splodge of mascara comes off too, it must have been trapped in her eye. Is that what’s been making her so upset?

“Can I come with you?” I ask in a small voice. I retract the tissues and put them on the table. I start to feel antsy, so I stand up and walk between the shelves of books, dragging my fingers along each spine as I go past. A lot of the Enid Blyton section is empty, only a handful of Faraway Tree books are left on the shelf. There’s only one I haven’t read, so I pick it up and bring it back to the table.

“You can’t, I’m afraid. You see, I’m not actually going to another school. I’m going back to university, to do some more learning on my own.” She takes out a folder from the bag beside her, opens it up, and turns it to me. “Here’s a picture of the place I’m going to. It’s quite far away from here, so I won’t be able to stay in this area - it’d take me a very long time to drive there and back every day.”

I glance at the picture, then open the front of my book and trace the words with my finger. “Are you happy?” I ask her.

Her face changes again, and then her smile reappears. “Yes, I think I am. I feel sad that I’m leaving here, and that I’m leaving you, but I’m happy that I am finally doing this big thing for myself.” She turns her head to watch what I’m doing to the book. “How do you feel about this new situation? You’ll have a new key person, someone who will spend time with you and support you like I’ve been doing. How does that make you feel?”

I look at the other wall. It has a chart with lots of faces on, each of them labelled with a feeling. I go over and take a few from the wall and bring them back over to the desk, and carry on with my book.

“You feel happy, sad, tired, and worried. What is worrying you?”

My hand stills as it follows the ON of BLYTON. My eyes flicker up to her soft brown ones, and then to the WORRIED card in her hand.

“What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t understand me?” My voice is small again. My mum says I talk like a mouse when I’m upset, and though I’m not quite sure what she means, as mice can’t talk, I know that’s how I’m talking right now.

I glance back up and she has her arms open wide for me. I shuffle into an embrace, and try my best to relax and hug back. She knows I’m not good at hugs, but I like the feeling of her warm arms around me. Her head is above mine, so I turn slightly to hear her words better.

“There isn’t a single person in this world who could possibly not like you, when they get to know you. And I’m only at the other end of an email if you ever want to talk, you know that.”

I slowly wrap my small arms around her and lean into her warm body. “A new person means a new start, that’s what my mum says.”

I feel her chuckle before I hear it, her body moving up and down with each laugh. “We’ve both got something brand new to look forward to, haven’t we?”