It was Halloween morning — the kind of chaotic, sugar-fueled day teachers both dread and secretly love. The school auditorium buzzed with energy. Glitter clung to every surface, plastic tiaras gleamed, and the air smelled faintly of caramel and glue. I was 48 then, a graying art teacher still pretending I was the “cool one,” armed with paint-stained hands and a pumpkin-patterned cardigan. The kids ran wild, showing off their superhero capes and princess gowns. The stage, transformed into a “haunted art gallery,” was my proudest chaos: glowing jack-o’-lanterns, skeletons with googly eyes, and tombstones made of cardboard. That’s when...
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