Page 16 of Sending Love Letters to Animals

“Uh, sure,” I said.

Jules rolled her eyes at me from the doorway and ducked out, leaving me to fend for myself.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to your next class in time,” Ms. Tabatabai assured me as I approached her desk. “I’ll send you off with a note in case.”

“Okay.” I shrugged.

She set about retrieving her pad of hall passes from her top drawer before jotting my name and other information down as she spoke. Her eyes were on the pad, but otherwise her full attention was locked on me.

“Ryan,” she said, her hand moved rapidly over the pad, “I know I depend on you a lot.”

“Yeah?”

I had no idea what she was talking about. For the most part, I skated through English and other classes Ms. Tabatabai had taught. In Journalism Club, I had always had the easiest beats. Relying on me for much was not something that Ms. Tabatabai had to do often.

“Changing your beat in journalism was done for a reason,” she said, ripping the top sheet off of the hall passes pad and holding it out to me.

I silently took it from her.

“And pairing you up with the new student seems harsh, I know,” she said. “But you’re the only one in class who will be welcoming to them.”

I shrugged. “I’m a good boy?”

She laughed.

“I wouldn’t pander to you like that.”

“Sure,” I said with a smile.

“Whether you believe me or not, that’s the reason,” she replied. “I think they’ll adjust to class better with a partner like you.”

“Okay. It’s fine. I swear.”

“Good,” Ms. Tabatabai said. “So, I know I’ve asked a lot of you lately.”

“Okay?”

“I have one more favor. Would you mind?”

“Lay it on me,” I said. “Do you need a kidney or something?”

With a chuckle, Ms. Tabatabai looked up at me.

“Mr. Melvin really needs help with the annual recital.”

I didn’t so much say the word “ugh” as make a noise that was comparable.

“Look,” she said, “extracurriculars around here are suffering. You kids don’t want to get involved like you used to. The teachers are finding it difficult to get anyone interested or excited about anything. We’re used to that with academics, but to have everyone indifferent to the fun activities…well, that’s unusual for us.”

“Gen Z.” I shrugged. “We’re just waiting for the world to die in a ball of fire, honestly. It’s hard to be enthusiastic—all things considered.”

Ms. Tabatabai stifled a laugh with a stern look that didn’t quite manage to make her look disapproving.

“Fair enough,” she said with a grin. “Regardless, Mr. Melvin has decided to do a Broadway theme for the recital.”

“I’m not in drama. Or choir,” I said. “Why doesn’t he get one of the theater nerds to help him?”

Again Ms. Tabatabai had to stifle a laugh again.