The classroom was already loud when Pippa Wren reached the door.
Chairs scraped. Pencils tapped. Children hurried to the rug and the block corner.
Pippa Wren stayed by the wall and watched.
After a while, the class went outside. Pippa Wren followed all the way to the playground fence.
A red ball boinged across the blacktop. "Catch!" children called.
Pippa Wren opened her mouth to say hello. Only a tiny wave came out.
Back inside, something skittered under the art table.
Pippa Wren knelt down and gathered the rolling crayons before they bumped the trash can.
She held them out. "Here," she said.
Then one last crayon popped out and bonked her shoe. Two children giggled and looked over.
Pippa Wren carried the last blue crayon to the easel.
But the paint cup tipped. A wiggly blue drip slid toward the floor.
Pippa Wren grabbed a stack of paper and slapped it under the splash. "I can help!"
The room went quiet for one beat. Drip, drip, went the brush.
At recess, Pippa Wren sat beside the child from the easel.
Together they drew hopscotch squares in thick white chalk.
"Your turn!" said Pippa Wren. "Your turn!" said the child.
Their shoes thumped from box to box, and Pippa Wren laughed. The playground sounded bigger and brighter now that she was jumping in it.
