The Araling Panlipunan project deadline arrived. Ms. Liza had given us an automatic pass, but we decided to turn in what we had. We presented the history of the watchtowers. It was dry, factual, and utterly mundane.
As I stood in front of the class, reading from notecards, my eyes drifted to the window seat. For a fleeting second, I could almost see her there, head bent over her notebook, a faint, secretive smile on her lips.
The feeling passed. The seat was empty. Our project was a hollow shell compared to the real history we had uncovered and lived.