Art Time – Draw Your Day

“Now that we’re all nicely hydrated,” the teacher chimed, “it’s time for something a bit more creative.”

Mia looked up as the assistant walked around the classroom, placing small sheets of white paper and a set of chunky, brightly-colored gel pens on each desk. They weren’t regular pens. These were the kind that glittered faintly, with wide grips and rounded tips—clearly chosen for clumsy, unsteady hands.

“Draw your day so far,” the teacher said cheerfully, pacing along the front of the room. “How you’re feeling, what you’ve done, maybe something that stood out to you. Express yourselves!”

Mia glanced at the page in front of her, hesitating for a moment. Then, carefully, she picked up a sky-blue pen and began sketching.

Her lines were simple—rounded rectangles for the desks, a little figure with short hair and a navy skirt for herself. She added the teacher, the chalkboard, even a suggestion of the potty charts on the wall. Her strokes were clean and controlled. Safe.

To her left, she heard the quiet, rhythmic squeak of Caiden’s pen moving too quickly across the paper. She peeked.

His drawing was a little messier. In his version of the classroom, the teacher loomed tall—too tall, with big red marks around her mouth to emphasize her words. Near the bottom of the page, he’d scribbled a small figure with short legs and a round bulge under their pants—himself. The figure looked sad. Humiliated.

Mia swallowed.

Across the room, Savannah was humming quietly as she worked. Her picture was all bright yellows and pinks, a row of suns along the top of the page like stickers. She was drawing herself with a sparkly gold crown, standing beside the potty chart with the teacher smiling proudly above her.

There was no rainy sticker on hers.

Mia’s pen slowed. She shifted slightly in her seat, the waistband of her uniform skirt tugging just a little tighter around her middle.

Then—

a sudden pressure.

Mia blinked.

It was like someone had twisted something low in her belly. She shifted again, confused, her thighs pressing together instinctively.

She hadn’t even noticed needing to go. One moment she was fine—and the next, her bladder was aching.

A chill crawled up her spine.

Had the drink hit that fast?

She set down her pen, her classroom drawing only half finished now. She stared at the paper, trying to focus, but that pressure wasn’t going away.

Her legs squeezed together beneath the desk.