Jolted out of peace, I wince as my ears cringe to the alarm. It’s six already?

I slump out of bed and

muster a laboring deep breath as I habitually float to the kitchen to pack our lunches. I whip open the
fridge to the heavenly smell of fresh basil and garlic; my old art teacher had dropped off her homemade
lasagna for us last night. The mix of ricotta, parmesan, provolone, and mozzarella cheeses alternated
from thick, stringiness to a perfect golden crunch; somehow that lasagna always nurtured my soul. She
was my middle school art teacher for three years, and now my senior art show was tonight. I can’t wait
for her to see all I’ve done in high school! Ms. Rachel and I had become close after I had gotten into
trouble for dozing off in class one too many times. Most teachers rolled their eyes, or I guess took it
that I wasn’t into whatever was going on in their class. No one took me seriously. I was just a kid that
didn’t care. Ms. Rachel was the first to have a real conversation with me and view me as a human being.
She was the first to tell me she was worried and ask why I was so tired all the time. I was in even more
trouble because I hadn’t got my detention slip signed. I told Ms. Rachel how I left my mom a note on
the kitchen counter to sign the slip but she must have missed it. She worked so late and woke up early
to go to her second job, and I didn’t want to bother her at work. Ms. Rachel stuck up for me, and after
that she was the one I confided in. That’s when Ms. Rachel started bringing over her famous lasagna. I
love that mess. The noodles curling up, the gooey cheese oozing from the sides, we ate it for breakfast,
lunch, and dinner. And it was so easy to heat up-just pop it in the microwave. A few years ago, I heard
my mom sniffling over the phone with my aunt, hopelessly trying to figure out how to pay the bills and
keep us four boys fed. Shit almost forgot. I bellow, “Boys, wake up! Come on, shower-time.” I told Ms.
Rachel I wanted to get a job to help out, but at twelve, it’s pretty hard to find anything that pays well
besides mowing lawns, so that’s what I did. She’s the one that changed my perspective about school
though. It clicked-there was a way out of this life, but in the end, that meant staying up late at night
doing homework...even less sleep. “Everyone dressed? We gotta leave in 15 minutes!” I slip the
Tupperware of lasagna into the four backpacks lined up at the door. For a minute, Michael used to help
me out, putting boundaries on this chaos, but my mom broke up with him last year. Having Michael
around was a nice break, though. Only three more years til my youngest brother is in high school.
Sometimes it’s so frustrating, but someday I’ll get out. I’ll be the first to do something different with my
life. I want to go to art school, but it’ll have to be super cheap. I’ll need a flexible job. I’ll have to
commute from home. And I’ll need a computer. I bet Ms. Rachel will know what a good school would
be. Alright, one, two, three heads dart out the door ahead of me. I joggle the key. Nope, couldn’t make
it. Back open. The youngest forgot his art journal. He just started art with Ms. Rachel. Not that she
would be mad, but he wouldn’t have anything to do in art class. I fight it but a yawn escapes. It’s like
wrangling a herd of turtles and you never know with these busses. Early, on time, late. What’s it gunna
be? I can’t wait to see Ms. Rachel’s face when she sees all my graphic design work tonight!