Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows novel Chapter 23

This was the first time I really grasped just how terrible my cooking skills were. I decided to hang up my apron for good. That afternoon, I joined Aunt Marie for yet another round of her favorite spy thriller. She was on the edge of her seat, fretting over the hero's fate, and I tried to reassure her, remembering her past rants, "Don't worry, someone will save him soon."

When she was fuming about the villain's temporary win, I gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder and added, "It's alright, he's not going to last past the next episode." She just stared at me, speechless.

Another word might bring tears, so I quickly bolted.

In the studio, I played the role of Jonah’s assistant, handing him pencils for his sketches, keeping his water glass filled, and giving him back rubs when he seemed worn out. On my tenth trip to refill his glass, he caught my hand and said, "Honestly, I can't drink any more."

Setting down the pitcher, I turned to wipe the table with a cloth.

"At this rate, the finish is gonna wear right off." He pulled me over to the couch nearby and wrapped a blanket around me, giving my head a gentle pat, "Be good, and get some rest."

...

Over dinner, Aunt Marie asked if I was starting school the next day. I nodded, feeling a bit downcast. Jonah offered, "Do you need a lift to school?"

Fighting back a wave of emotion, I replied slowly, "No... it's really close by." It wasn't until the thought of leaving hit me that I realized just how much I didn't want to go. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't think of a solid reason to stay.

Aunt Marie said she hadn't once thought of letting me leave since the day I moved in. I listened, stunned, as each word landed softly in my ears. That day, I was overwhelmed by kindness, and it melted me to my core.

Some folks say life’s truth is: you make lemonlade out of lemons. For me, it might be the other way around. I got a sip of sweet lemonlade and then a bunch of tart lemons.

Before going to bed, I was still thinking about how to apologize to Ms. Costa and how to handle the bullying at school. But when I arrived the next day, I found out Ms. Costa had resigned. Word was she was over two months pregnant, but her health was shaky, so her husband took her home to rest.

The new homeroom teacher was a middle-aged woman, kind but not very authoritative. So, after school, I ended up cornered in the classroom. They tossed a broom at me, and the dirty end rolled over my foot, leaving a black smudge on my white sneakers.