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Before he can say that dreaded word, I utter, “Dani. It’s just Dani.”
He uses the tips of his fingers to scoot the paper to the edge of his desk. “All right, Dani. Looks like we’re going to be spending the whole year together.” I pick at the edge of my fingernail, looking down. He might be easy on the eyes, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend an entire year talking about my feelings with him. “Do you want to talk about why you’re here?”
I look up and one dark brow is arched elegantly as he waits for my response. I wonder vaguely how he does that. I can’t move only one eyebrow, if I tried I would like I was having a seizure.
“I’m sure you know why I’m here.”
There’s no way he doesn’t know who I am. The shooting was all over the news after it happened. It’s ironic though, that those who were quick to rush to the scene with their cameras to cover the horror never did any real thing to help any of us. They only wanted to profit off our pain, to use our trauma as a political tool instead of trying to rally us all together as what we are—people. There cannot be change without understanding.
“Yes, Mr. Gordon briefed me on your history.”
My history.
The pain, fear, determination, and horror of everything is summed up in two simple innocuous words.
“Then you know all you need to know.”
It takes me several tries to swallow my saliva as my throat closes up. I feel the telltale beating of my heart speed up slightly. My fingers drum lightly against my legs.
Mr. Taylor’s eyes flick down like he can see the tick, but I don’t think he can, not with his desk between us.
I look around the room, at the standard school issue posters on the wall with smiling kids and stupid sayings on them that are meant to motivate but only sound ridiculous.
“I know what I’ve been told,” he replies, voice deep. “But not how you feel, or what you think.”
I wet my lips, staring steadfastly at the wall to my right. My pulse jumps from the feel of him staring at me. Waiting. Waiting for words, waiting for a reaction, just waiting.
“Let’s start simple.” Out of the corner of my eye I see him get up. He walks around his desk and in front of me. His leg brushes mine that’s crossed over my knee and he sits in the chair to my left. “Dani?” He prompts.
It’s for the simple reason he calls me Dani instead of Dandelion that I turn my head from the opposite direction and face him.
Fear is crawling through my body like some sticky syrup clogging my veins, ready to suffocate me.
“How are you doing?”
The standard reply would be good. Or fine. It’s what everyone answers with whether it’s true or not.
I press my lips together, hoping he can’t see how badly I’m shaking, but I’m sure he does. It’s obvious after all. I’m quivering like a leaf, or as my Mom would’ve said, swaying like a dandelion in the wind.
“Bad.”
“Bad.” It’s not a question. “Why?”
My eyes scan the room once more, looking for the thing that’s missing.
“There’s no window.”
My admission comes out of me in a barely audible whisper.
He looks around the room, as if he didn’t know there wasn’t one. For someone else I’m sure it’s not a big deal. My fear of not having window access is silly, even to me, because that day the cafeteria had plenty of windows, but in an open space we were nothing but sitting ducks anyway. Ripe for the picking.
“Well,” he stands up, holding a hand out for me, “let’s go somewhere with a window then.”
My brows furrow and I stare at his hand. It’s big and tanned, t
he kind of hand that looks capable and strong, like he could build a house with his bare hands if he wanted. “Really?”
He tilts his head. “If you’re uncomfortable in here without a window, then yes, we’re going somewhere else.”
