Miss Delaney's classroom is different from the others. Posters of Shakespeare plays on the walls — Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, A Midsummer Night's Dream. A reading corner with a worn armchair and a floor lamp. Stacks of books piled on every surface — dog-eared paperbacks, leather-bound classics, modern novels with cracked spines.
She's at her desk when I knock, grading essays, her brow furrowed. She looks up and smiles — a warm, open smile that transforms her whole face.
"Mr. Roberts?"
"Ben, please."
I step inside, letting my gaze sweep the room before settling on her face. She's younger than I thought — maybe twenty-four, twenty-five. Blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Blue eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses. A soft figure that her cardigan doesn't quite hide. She blushes at the contact when I shake her hand, her cheeks flushing pink.
*System, Pin of Trust on Miss Delaney.*
