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Chapter Two
If anyone could see me right now, they’d think I was possessed. I scream, raking my fingers down my face. I kick the desk, but that hurts my big toe. I reach for a stack of papers instead. I chuck them across the oversized room. As the white emblems of my tantrum flutter down around her, Mrs. Reyes remains stone still. I couldn’t possibly be the first teenager to have a complete meltdown in her office. She looks almost bored by my fit. I’m not gonna lie, that stings a little. But it also makes me pause.
My heaving breaths begin to slow, leaving me embarrassed by my behavior. I crouch to my knees and begin scooping up the mess. I stack it neatly, tapping the pile twice against the floor.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter as I return the papers to her desk. I throw my body onto her couch and bury my face in a pillow. Maybe I’ll just live here now. I’m sure Mrs. Reyes would bring me food occasionally. She’s not completely heartless.
“Ms. Carpenter?”
I can hear Mrs. Reyes saying my name, but I pretend I can’t. I bury my face further into the faux fur pillow and sink deeper into her couch. I wish I could just melt into the cushions and disappear.
The pillow slowly lowers and the school counselor is looking me straight in the eyes. I can see why the boys at school keep having mental “crises” and need to come visit her as often as they do. Her Latina skin is caramel colored and flawless. Her dark eyes are exotic and expertly outlined, as if by a professional makeup artist. Her perfect curves are accentuated by a tight red blouse and a short, flowered skirt. I’m basically an ogre compared to her.
“Emma, do you want to tell me what happened?” Her long, red nails wrap around the pillow and she plucks it from my grasp.
Not really, I think. I was humiliated in front of the entire school when my name was read as a prom queen nominee. Then I humiliated myself even further by puking in front of them. I’m not sure what else there is to say. “My life sucks and I’d like a one-way ticket to Timbuktu, please. Actually, let’s go with Australia. Do you think Robert Irwin is still single?”
Completely ignoring my genuine inquiry, she says, “Do you want to know what I think?”
I bet you’re going to tell me anyway. I glance around her spacious office. It’s bigger than I would have guessed for a school employee. Her desk is clean and free of clutter. A large bookshelf stands beside her desk, filled with titles likeLearning to Love YourselfandWhat to do When You Worry Too Much. There are several framed pictures of a chubby baby girl, with a toothless grin and the same caramel skin tone. I can only assume they’re of her daughter. Two chairs sit opposite her desk, probably for a parent to sit beside their child.
I sit up quickly. The thought causing my stomach to churn all over again. Oh, please don’t bring my parents in here.
“Can I go now?” I realize I cut Mrs. Reyes off mid-sentence.
She stops talking and smiles. She stands from her crouched position and walks around to the other side of her desk. Sitting gracefully in her highbacked chair, she taps her scarlet nails on her desk. “And why do you want to leave, Emma?”
I realize she isn’t going to release me from this prison until I speak. “Because I’m missing class.”
“And how do you feel about that?” Her voice is annoyingly calm.
“I’m frustrated you won’t just let me go to class. I’m fine.”
“Would you feel more comfortable if I asked your mom to join us?”
“NO!” My outburst startles us both.
“Your dad?”
I shake my head vehemently.
“Well, Emma, I’m just here to help. You can talk to me about anything.” She picks up a mug from her desk and brings the warm beverage to her lips. Her long nails rap against the ceramic in a rhythmic motion. I imagine trying to change the chunky baby’s diaper with those raptor claws and I shudder.
“Honestly, Mrs. Reyes, I’m fine. I had a bit of an emotional breakdown after this morning’s assembly. I was shocked, but I feel much better now. In fact, I think I’m cured. Man, you’re good!” I get to my feet, but Mrs. Reyes waves me back down with her manicured hand.
“Can I please go to AP English now? We have a test coming up and I don’t want to fall behind,” I say.
“What you went through this morning could be considered as traumatic, Emma. And if we don’t talk these things out, they build and fester inside us, like a deadly disease.”
I nod. “Got it. I won’t let it fester. I promise.”
She looks at me skeptically, pursing her full, red lips.
“If you won’t talk to me and you won’t talk to your parents, then who are you going to process these feelings and emotions with?”
I shrug. “I dunno.”
We sit in silence for longer than I’m comfortable with. But I’m afraid to try and get up again. We both just sit, staring at nothing in particular.
