Page 21 of Icarus

“Sorry, I didn’t hear the question. Rough night,” Icarus replied, rubbing a hand down his face. “What was it again?”

Mr. Harrison, a sarcastic and short-tempered man, stared at Icarus for a few seconds.

“Mr. Gallagher, can you step into the hallway for a minute?” he said.

A wave of exhaustion and irritation swept over Icarus as he stood. Worse, Mr. Harrison followed it up with a curt, “Bring your things.”

Julian watched him, worried, but Icarus just grimaced and cleared his desk into his backpack.

He took one last sip of the smoothie, handed it back to Julian, and followed Mr. Harrison into the hallway.

Great

Mr. Harrison had a hammy red face and brown hair that was starting to salt and pepper. Icarus rarely spent much time talking privately with teachers, because he was simply too boring and average to catch their notice. He was a straight B student. He never caused the sort of problems that would warrant negative attention or made the kinds of achievements that would earn positive attention. His freedom depended on it.

It was uncomfortable to be in a mostly abandoned hallway alone with this man.

“Are you doing okay?”

That was not what Icarus thought he would hear.

“Uh, I’m fine, I just . . .” Icarus thought quickly. “My upstairs neighbors just had a new baby and the walls are thin.”

Mr. Harrison nodded and crossed his arms with a short chuckle. “That would explain it. All that wailing and you don’t even get to have a cute baby in the house. My wife and I didn’t sleep for four months after our first. I was a mess, even walked right into a stop sign.”

Icarus smiled and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, it’s . . . all night long and first thing in the morning. I’m sorry about earlier.”

Mr. Harrison shook his head, “No problem, kid. I get it, but I’m still going to have to send you to the guidance counselor for the rest of the period. Talk to her, take a nap, whatever.” He handed Icarus a bright pink hall pass, then put his hand on the doorknob to return to class.

Thinking again, Mr. Harrison turned back to him. “The key is to stop sleeping when you’re supposed to and start sleeping whenever you can,” he said. “See if the guidance counselor can work through your schedule to come up with one that works better for you. Good luck. And try not to let this happen again.”

Icarus nodded and shoved the pass in his pocket.

Drake

The guidance counselor’s office was small, cramped, and hot.

Her desk was at the back of the room in front of a window, which was wide open to let in the fall chill. There was a slender blue cot surrounded by a privacy curtain, where they sent kids who were sick if the nurse’s office overflowed. There were two bean bag chairs and a small bookshelf filled with volumes with titles such as Divorce and Me and Discovering My Sexuality and Children of Addicts.

The guidance counselor herself, Mrs. Drake, seemed nice in a “lady you hope you never have to talk to” sort of way.

She looked up when Icarus opened the door, mid-bite of a sandwich.

“Oh! Sorry, excuse me. Come in,” she said, waving him over and rewrapping her lunch. “What can I help you with?”

Icarus gave her the pink slip and settled into the chair across from her desk. “Mr. Harrison sent me here.”

“So, what’s going on?” She brushed crumbs off her pink sweater.

“I’ve been distracted because I’m tired,” Icarus said bluntly. “He said I could sleep here?”

Mrs. Drake tilted her head to the side. “What has you so tired these days?” she asked, in a Therapy Voice.

Great.

Icarus closed his eyes and then opened them. “My neighbor just had a kid and it’s loud in the middle of the night,” he lied.

Mrs. Drake smiled. “So is this more of a recent thing?”