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“Rebecca?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes?”
She picks the marker back up. “Your counselor, Mrs. Williams, would like to see you,” she says.
Great. I’m thrilled.
I close my book and lift it, putting it back into my backpack.
She walks over to me, handing me a hall pass. “You can leave your things here. It won’t take long.”
The counselor’s offices are upstairs on the second level of the school. I’ve seen Mrs. Williams a handful of times, but we haven’t interacted much. She’s always been around, but the most I’ve ever said to her was “hi” in passing. This is the first time I’ve ever been called into her office. I don’t have to guess to know what this is about.
The stairs lead right above the entrance of the school, spiraling upwards around the corner. I drag my feet up, dreading her nearing presence.
Her office is right across from the staircase, and her door is open, giving her a clear shot of me walking toward her. She smiles and waves me in—too enthusiastically. It’s like people think if they act overly happy, it’ll rub off on me somehow. They are sorely mistaken.
Her office isn’t that big, but it has enough room for her desk and an ugly red futon. In the corner is one of those tall fake trees with leaves that desperately need to be dusted. Does anyone ever clean those things? Every time I see a fake plant, it needs a bath.
“Rebecca, I’m glad you came in today,” she says, standing from her chair to shake my hand. She’s wearing a bright blue shirt that pops against her brown skin, and her hair is starting to gray at her temples. Small wrinkles frame her eyes every time she smiles.
Instead of shaking her hand, I cross my arms. “It’s Becca.”
“Of course. Sorry. I’ll remember that for next time,” she says, sitting back down.
Ugh . . . there’s already a next time?
She moves around the things on her desk to make room for the folder she pulls out of the drawer. It’s thick, with multiple tabs poking out the side. “How have you been doing?”
“I’m fine.” My posture shifts, and I tug on my sleeves until they cover my palms.
Her head tilts and her eyes squint ever so slightly, analyzing me. Then, she nods. “You went through something that no one should have to go through, and I just want you to know that you can—”
“I said I’m fine,” I say, firmly.
“Okay.” She takes a slow breath in as if to try and buy her more time to concoct the perfect response. “Ethan was a good kid. He used to come visit me every once in a while when he needed to talk to someone.”
I look away. “Is this the only thing you wanted to tell me? Because I need to get back to class. I’m far enough behind as it is.”
She cracks open the folder on her desk. “I actually needed to talk to you about graduation.”
My foot starts to tap. “What about it?”
Her finger grazes down a list until she stops at my name. “I’ve been talking with your teachers to help create a plan moving forward. It’s not possible to make up everything you’ve missed. You also haven’t completed your volunteer hours yet.”
Worry creeps into my mind, making my jacket too tight. I pull on my collar. Was coming to school today a horrible mistake? They’re the ones that said, if I came back, everything would be okay. Was that a lie? “Are you saying I won’t graduate this year?”
She pats the air, pushing that thought away. “Oh no. That’s the opposite of what I’m saying. We are going to create some alternatives to what you’ve missed. You’ll walk with your class at the end of the year.”
A weight melts off of my shoulders, and a quiet exhale of relief escapes my lips. “Oh, good.”
“It won’t be a free pass, though. It’ll take work, and you’ll have to keep your attendance up through the rest of the year.”
I nod. “I figured.”
My attention is pulled away to the tiny clicking of the clock on her wall. It’s already ten past eight. That seems impossible.
She follows my gaze. “I’ll just get right to the point because I know you want to get back. I’ve decided to reduce your volunteer hours. Instead of the traditional one hundred hours, I’m going to require you to join our school’s tutoring program.”
