All that stood between them was her desk, but it felt as if they were miles apart. She sat with her face resting on her hands, staring at him with dim, weary eyes. How long would they have to sit like this before he would finally return her gaze?

Susan wasn’t sure when it had started. One day Gavin was her favorite student, greeting her every day with a cheery grin and a perky charm. The boy sitting before her now, though, was hardly even recognizable.

“What’s going on, Gavin?” She asked, finally breaking the silence and hoping it would force his gaze upwards.

It didn’t, though. His face remained bent down towards his lap, his greasy brown hair falling down like a shield. She felt as though she were trying to communicate with a shell of a human.

“Gavin?” She repeated.

Three months ago he had come to class with a fresh apple. He placed it on her desk, adjusted his glasses, and wished her a happy “teacher’s day.” She didn’t even know that existed, but he had thought of her. It had nearly brought her to tears.

The next time that boy nearly brought her to tears was when she had asked about a bruise on his arm. He had refused to tell her, but she insisted she could trust him because they were friends. His response was “you’ve never been my friend.”

“Gavin!” Her hand came down hard on her desk, and it jolted some life out of him. He stirred in his spot and lifted his head up, although still avoiding eye contact with her.

“What do you want from me?” He grumbled.

His voice used to be full of life. Now it just sounded drained.

“I want to know what’s going on with you,” she sighed. “You’re failing my class now. You haven’t turned in homework in weeks, and you didn’t even try to answer the questions on this last test. That’s not like you, Gavin.”

He crossed his arms and turned his head so he was facing the wall.

Was that a new bruise on his cheek?

“How are things at home?”

She knew his father. His name was Freddy, and he was a grade-A piece of shit. Alcohol, cigarettes and violence were the only puzzle pieces to his personality, and it was no puzzle that a child could safely fit in to.

Susan had already contacted child services, though. She had already sent out the horses and troops, hoping to make a better life for this boy that was full of endless potential, but nothing came of that war. There had been no battle, no treaty, and no truce, but there had been one causality. He was sitting right in front of her.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“What’s that on your face?” She asked, staring at the blue and yellow bruise.

Gavin shook his head so that his hair covered it. “Nothing.”

Susan sighed and sat back in her seat. There was no use in trying to crack the kid. He was as solid as steel.

“Alright, you can leave if you want.”

Gavin wasted no time in bolting from his seat towards the door.

“Gavin!”

He groaned and stopped where he stood, mere inches from his exit.

“Finish your homework,” she said as she opened a drawer on her desk. “I want it by the end of the week.”

He didn’t respond before he left her classroom and slammed the door.

Once she was alone, she began fishing through the drawer. She knew it was in there, safely hidden from wandering eyes.

It was hard being a middle school teacher. Some kids were snots, some kids were brats, and some kids were dollops of sugar that stole her beating heart. When someone hurts those dollops of sugar, though, that hurts her more than she can stand. And when she can’t stand something, she changes something.

Susan finally found what she was looking for. With a steady hand, she pulled out a small, pink hand gun. It was her little secret. Some teachers have drugs, some teachers have affairs, but she had an instrument. Instruments create an environment of peace and harmony, and that is the kind of music she intended to create.

She made sure it was loaded, and then she delicately placed it in her purse.

Long ago she had realized that potential is separate from achievement due to one crucial element.

There needs to be war.