Wilhelmina Winters: Eleven

Wil wasn’t able to add more to her drawing after considering negative points of the secret note. Her pencil absent-mindedly traced existing lines repeatedly as her mind traced alternate options repeatedly.

The spy operatives were testing her, to see if she was hasty and thoughtless about missions. Or, the teenage geniuses thought to set Wil up and sneer at her average skills. Worst of all, the King of Fairies would never consider someone so tall.

Mrs. T. glided about the room, punctuating positive phrases with smiles, gestures, and foreign expressions. She paused at Wil, and her smock settled around her as she roosted momentarily.

Mrs. T. cocked her head to one side, peered at Wil’s face, and chirped enquiringly, “Is everything all right, Wil? I love the mysterious scene you’ve been sketching, but your mind is en vacances.” She moved her hand in a vague circling motion as she spoke about mind-vacation, and smiled at Wil.

Wil looked up, startled, at her teacher. As her eyes focused on Mrs. T.’s face, and she was brought back to current circumstances, the end of class bell resounded through the halls.

The art teacher swooped to face her class, who were scrambling to add finishing touches or to put away supplies. Those late to lunch, the next period, would spend half the time in line for food.

“Just put your perspective into your art folders, and we will, perhaps, work on them next time. Adieu!” She impulsively waved them from the room, then turned back to Wil.

Wil was also trying to put things away. Her pencil had rolled somewhere, and she was bobbing around her table looking for it.

She caught her favorite teacher’s look just as she caught the pencil, under her chair. “I’m fine, Mrs. T. Really.” Wil sighed. “I got a note from someone and was just thinking about it.”

Wil saw her teacher’s face light up. “But, this is good, Wil!” She said excitedly. “A boy?”

“Oh,” Wil responded. She hadn’t even considered that. “I don’t know.”

Mrs. T. shrugged a shoulder. “Ça m’est égal, chérie. You must go and meet this mystery!”

Wil’s face clouded a bit. “But, I don’t know who wrote the note, or if the person is honestly ..um, honest. Or,” Wil fumbled for the right words. “Or, anything, really,” She finished lamely.

Mrs. T. considered Wil seriously, and asked, “Can you be a spy?”

Wil started, wondering how Mrs. T. had known about the possible espionage she had considered.

“You will go and keep that wonderful power of observation you have open, and see first what might be,” Mrs. T. concluded. “Then, there will be no traps and no worries.”

Wil thought that was excellent advice. “Thank you. I’ll do that.” She smiled gratefully, then picked up her books to leave.

“Let’s put your pencil, ruler, and forest away first, Wil.” Mrs. T. reminded her with a wink.

Wil blushed. “Oh. Yeah.” She returned the supplies to their caddy, slid her artwork into her folder in the cupboard, then waved goodbye nervously and headed out the door.

“Bonne chance!” Mrs. T. called to Wil’s retreating back. She’d have to remember to ask Wil about the note later. She loved a good mystery.

 

Continued from Ten.

One thought on “Wilhelmina Winters: Eleven

  1. Pingback: Recurring Story: Twelve | Chelsea Ann Owens

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