I Knew You'd Be Lovely by Alethea Black Page A

toughen up, or the world will toughen her up.” Ginny had noticed that people didn’t seem to value sensitivity much. “Don’t be so sensitive!” they’d shout—not the most delicate way to handle a finely attuned person—as if sensitivity were voluntary.
    He smiled. “Or not.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œMaybe she’ll find a way to capitalize on her sensitivity.”
    â€œI doubt it.”
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    â€œI just do.” Ginny thought about the way Julia’s hands shook when it was her turn to read aloud, how the skin on her arms turned to gooseflesh whenever she read a sentence that was especially moving.
    â€œYou don’t think it could ever be an asset—perhaps her greatest asset?”
    â€œNo.” Ginny laughed. “I don’t.”
    Mr. Hennessey gave her a funny look.
Interesting
, hisexpression said. “Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?”
    â€œThat’d be only fair.”
    â€œWhat was your poem? When I had the students memorize their favorite poem and recite it.”
    â€œOh, God, I don’t remember. That was so long ago. I couldn’t begin to remember.”
    He smiled an enigmatic smile she didn’t appreciate. He was sitting only a foot away, and she found herself partly wanting to scoot over next to him and partly wanting to reach for her purse and flee.
    He leaned forward and set his bottle down on the table. “Well, I’d say if you truly don’t enjoy teaching, you should leave. But if you do enjoy it, you should stay. Personally, I can’t picture you as anything other than an excellent teacher.”
    â€œBut—I’m not like you. I’m not the way you were.”
    â€œYou’re like yourself,” he said. “Even better.”
    â€œYou don’t know me,” she said, becoming annoyed, wishing she hadn’t accepted that last beer. Or was it that she felt as if she were only seventeen again? Her father had taken her aside that year, told her he was worried about her, that she was like a turtle without a shell. “You don’t know me,” she said again. “I toughened up. I grew a shell. I’m not—”
    He put his hand against her back but, oddly, she felt it in her stomach. “Your shell is papier-mâché,” he said. “You are a piñata.”
    She looked into his face. It was still so handsome.
You were my favorite teacher
, she wanted to say, but shewas too embarrassed, too afraid she would sound like a schoolgirl with a crush.
You were everybody’s favorite
.
    He held her eyes. “And I’m no good at being in love, either,” she said abruptly, shifting away from him. She sometimes had a talent for dispelling awkward moments by making them even more awkward. “I don’t like the idea of giving yourself up, of surrendering. Why does it have to be like that? Who invented this system, anyway?”
    Mr. Hennessey appeared stunned, and she wondered if she’d scared him.
    â€œDid you put truth serum in my drink?” she said, hoping to recover a little. But he had grown pensive. For the first time, she recognized the expression she knew from the classroom.
    â€œI don’t know that you necessarily have to give yourself up,” he said. “Maybe your self just becomes larger.”
    â€œSpoken like a lifelong bachelor,” she said, but when she saw his face, she regretted it.
    â€œI was engaged once,” he said, turning to the window. Outside, the sun was setting, and the western sky was the colors of a bruise: purple and yellow, fading to gray. “She was curious about everything. And what a heart.” As he spoke, the room seemed quiet in a way it hadn’t before. Ginny sat perfectly still.
    â€œHer name was Isabel,” he said. “When she left, it took something from me. Changed me. I almost feel as if I’ve been in