Since it was the month of February, the month of love, we were painting Valentine’s-Day-Themed cups with deep red velvet paint in Mrs. Jonas’s art class. The class worked together like a well-built machine, passing the cups down in an assembly like fashion while we added little red and white hearts and letters to the cups to decorate them. We were working hard and efficient, working at the perfect tempo. I was listening to music on my iPod because it helped me focus on my part of the project.

While I was switching to the next song, I noticed that my iPod was on low charge, and need to charge it quickly before it died. I put down my paintbrush covered in the paint I was using to paint the cups. I looked through my cluttered backpack full of loose papers, notebooks, and overdue library books in search of my charger. I searched for a good minute and finally found it at the bottom of my backpack covered in junk. I grabbed my charger out of my backpack, walked over to the nearest outlet I coukd find, and put my iPod to charge.
I walked back to my desk, sat down in my chair, ready to work, and picked up my paintbrush. I noticed right away that there was no paint left on my paintbrush. Also, it was dried out, free of any moisture and paint. I thought maybe someone had taken mine by mistake, or perhaps Mrs. Jonas decided that I needed a new brush, all of her brushes were getting old, and so were her paints. I also noticed that the bottle of paint I was using was gone.

I decided to ignore it all and get another bottle of paint. I walked over to the counter where Mrs. Jonas usually leaves her paints, and grabbed the last bottle of the color of paint I was using previously and thought to myself “Lucky me.” I walked back to my station, poured some of the strong-smelling paint onto my pallet, picked up my new paintbrush, and begin painting again. I noticed the paint was a darker red than usual as I started painting the next cup on the assembly line. I couldn’t help but stare at the cup and wondered if I had grabbed the right paint or not, so I looked down at the bottle to make sure I had grabbed the correct red paint.
“Behr Ultra 8oz Red Velvet Paint” was the name of the paint,  the exact same name of the bottle I was using previously, at this point I came to conclusion that my brain was playing a trick on me, so I let it go and tried to focus on my painting. But then I overheard a conversation two classmates of mine were having, and they were explaining to each other that a similar thing had occurred to one of them. At this point I knew something weird was going on, but it was too late. It was almost time for the bell to ring so we had to clean up and get ready to go to lunch.

All that I could think about was what happened in Mrs. Jonas’s class earlier that day. It began to overpower my brain to the point where I couldn’t focus during my civics class, but as the time came to finally go home after a long day at school, that is when the constant worrying went away. The bell sang, I put in my earbuds, played some Mayday Parade, one of my favorite bands, and walked to the bus, ready to go home and relax.
As I got off the bus and began walking the final block to my home, I saw something that reminded me of what occurred in Mrs. Jonas’s class, and my brain made sure I recognized it. It was a fairly new Toyota Camry backing out of my driveway, and driving off until I couldn’t see it anymore. It almost had the same shade of red similar to the color of paint I was using to paint the cups.

I had panicked just a tiny bit, but then I remembered that the Camry belonged to my Aunt Cristina , and she was picking up my baby cousin Joshua from my Mom’s daycare that she has in the house. I felt like I had gone crazy because all I was worrying about was some stupid paint and when in reality, didn’t matter much at all. I immediately forgot about it and the rest of my day played out like any other Monday, with me doing absolutely nothing except watching The Voice and Pretty Little Liars in the living room until it was time to shower and go to bed.
I woke up the next morning and got ready for school. My first two classes were a breeze like always and now it was time to go to Mrs. Jonas’s class. When I walked into the class, Mrs. Jonas looked furious, disgusted, and miserable all at the same time. I asked her what was wrong and she told me “the cups, they’re ruined!”  It turns out the “paint” we used to paint the cups had burned holes through all the cups we used the paint on. At this point, Mrs. Jonas did not know what to do.

We had put the project on hold and Mrs. Jonas went back to her regular curriculum, but I could not help the fact that something so strange happened in our class. I also noticed many new packages in the storage room where Mrs. Jonas keeps all of her new paints, brushes, and other things related to painting like pallets and easels. She was telling us the week before that she needed new supplies because her current ones were getting old and worn out.

Mrs. Jonas was beginning to act strangely the next couple days. She didn’t follow her curriculum like she used to. She looked very alert all the time, as if she had 17 cups of coffee every single morning. She would answer with little to no words every time the class asked her a question. It seemed like all of these things began to rise at the same time the accident with the cups happened.

I began to worry so after class I walked up to her. “Hey, is everything okay? You don’t seem to be acting the same” I asked her. “Thank you for asking, but I’m doing just fine.” She said. I asked her what she thought about the accident that happened to the cups but when I asked, she looked hurt. Her face showed no emotion showing whatsoever and didn’t say a single word. “Well I hope you feel better, see you tomorrow Mrs.” I said as I walked out the door.

The next day we had a substitute teacher for Mrs. Jonas’s class. I asked our sub if he knew where Mrs. Jonas was. “I saw her talking with the principal and a police officer earlier, but that’s all I can tell you.” He said. I sat back down, thinking there must be a big reason why she has been acting this way lately. The sub excused me to go to the bathroom, but instead of going to the bathroom, I walked down to the main office where I saw our principal, the police officer, and Mrs. Jonas talking.

“What happened? Is everything okay?” I asked the three. “I can’t say anything yet, now get back to class please.” Mrs. Jonas said to me with a broken, whispering voice. Everything bad that could have happened raced through my mind. I couldn’t focus on my work, so I stopped what I was doing and waited for the bell to ring. After the bell rang, I waited inside the classroom for Mrs. Jonas. I asked her the same question, expecting an answer this time.

She tried holding back her words, but as soon as that one tear drop began rolling down her cheek, she told me the worst thing that I could have ever imagined. “I am no longer your teacher, I’m sorry.” She told me. I was angry, heartbroken, and confused because I didn’t want to believe what she had told me. She was my favorite teacher out of all my teachers. My heart dropped when I asked her a question in which I myself didn’t want to know the answer to. “Why?” I whispered.

She began explaining to me that she was the one who had sabotaged the cups by switching out the paint with a corrosive red liquid. She began saying how she didn’t feel appreciated because the school would never pay for new replacements for things like paintbrushes, pencils, markers, and everything that an art class would use daily. “I did this for you guys.” She began crying. I was still shocked at the fact that she was the one who caused all of this, but then I began to feel sad for her.

She explained to me that she had done this to show us that we deserved these new things, because they would motivate us to do better on our projects. She was so passionate about her job, and only wanted us to see that and appreciate it and also to feel the same way about art the way she feels about it. I was sad that she would no longer be my teacher, but I was happy that she cared for us enough to put her own job on the line to give us the opportunity to enjoy art to the fullest. I’m not sure where Mrs. Jonas is at now, but I would never forget her and what she did for us.