Part of me regrets defying my father.
But damn, that shrimp was good.
Under Pressure
It’s time for my daily counseling session with Miss Brady.
During our meetings, she quizzes me about whether I’ve had urges to take Adderall or any other drug, and she constantly wants to know how I’m feeling. That part sucks. But some portions of our hour-long meetings are great, like when we discuss the college application process and how to make myself stand out on paper.
“Showing strong leadership skills in your activities is key,” Miss Brady says. “What did you think of the list of clubs I gave you?”
“Nothing really appealed to me. Especially not the Polar Bear Club. Pardon my language, but there’s no way in hell I’m jumping into Normandy Lake in winter.”
Miss Brady laughs. “I don’t blame you.”
“In terms of leadership, I think soccer is my best bet. But it’s not going well.”
“How so?”
Leaving out the part where Coach Walker spends most of his time checking his phone and not coaching us, I tell Miss Brady about the problems I’m facing with the team.
“Nicole doesn’t want me there. Which stinks, because I think we could play really well together.”
“Have you told her that?”
“I haven’t had a chance. She’s always too busy insulting me and hogging the ball.”
Miss Brady folds her hands on top of the desk. “Why do you feel this is happening?”
“Nicole seems to think I’m a rich, entitled snob, but I’m jealous that the girls on the team listen to her and that she gets to play the position she loves. I was looking forward to being captain of St. Andrew’s soccer team this year, you know? I’ve lost all that.”
Miss Brady smiles sadly. “Have you told Nicole this? She might be sympathetic.”
“I haven’t been able to talk to her one-on-one. She’s not very personable.”
“It might take time to get to know her, earn her trust.”
I’ve never been in a situation where someone straight-up doesn’t like me. It feels awful. “Can we go back to my résumé now?” I ask, sick of talking about Nicole.
Miss Brady sits up straight. “Of course.” She asks me to tell her about my other past leadership experiences.
“As I said, I was cocaptain of the St. Andrew’s team last year, and I was supposed to be captain this year. I was a Girl Scout counselor at camp last summer, and when I rebuilt houses in Haiti, I was a team lead.”
Miss Brady stares at me, wide-eyed. “That’s a lot of responsibility.” Silence engulfs the room. “Taylor, have you made any friends here yet?”
Ugh, I hate this question. She asks it every time we meet.
I keep thinking about Saturday’s soccer tournament, when Steph and Madison walked by laughing together. Sure, they’ve been texting me, telling me what’s going on back in Card House—stuff like Oscar is sad and that they miss me—but they seemed fine the other day without me. It hasn’t even been two weeks since I left, and life is back to normal for them. Judging by their Instagram pics, they had a ball eating s’mores at the Monteagle bonfire on Saturday night.
“No, not really,” I tell Miss Brady. “I haven’t made any friends.”
“How’s your relationship with your parents?”
I shrug. “They’re my parents.”
I try thinking about Yale, but end up daydreaming about dancing with Ezra at the party the other night. In my fantasy, he surreptitiously glances around the dance floor, then takes my hand and leads me inside the Goodwins’ manor house. He puts a finger up to his mouth and whispers “Shh!” and pulls me into a guest chamber where we rip off each other’s clothes and— “Are you listening, Taylor?”
“What?” I glance up at Miss Brady.
“I was saying that I think your educational goals are commendable, but it seems like you put a lot of pressure on yourself.”
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“People in my family work hard at everything they do. And I need a business degree so I can work at my family’s investment firm one day.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Grandpa built it from the ground up. He wanted a business where the middle class would feel comfortable investing their money, because it can be intimidating.”
Miss Brady rolls her pen back and forth between her fingers without speaking, so I keep on talking. Might as well explain why it’s so important that I work hard, so maybe she’ll get off my back already.
“My sister’s really good with numbers, and Grandpa always asks her opinion on how she thinks a particular stock is going to do. She’s going to work for him, and my brother’s studying to be a lawyer. Grandpa thinks he’d make a great general counsel. Dad worked at the company for fifteen years before he ran for office, and now he helps out by enacting better tax policies in Congress.”
“And what about you?”
“I hate math,” I admit. “But my family’s worked hard to build what we have. I want to keep that going.”
She nods and smiles. Then she changes the subject. “I’m happy you haven’t taken any Adderall since you came to Hundred Oaks, but I worry the underlying reason you took the pills could come back.”
“What’s that?”
“Your mind can’t always be on school and test scores and résumés. You need to relax a little. Spend time with a friend. Watch a good movie.”
“I did that sort of thing at St. Andrew’s sometimes…”
“But you don’t want to here at Hundred Oaks?”
Nicole and the soccer team pop into my head. Then I think of Ben, and I cringe. I usually enjoy making new friends, just not right now…
“Would you like to get out of some of our daily counseling sessions?” Miss Brady asks. “Maybe once a week you could do something else. Supervised carefully by me, of course.”
It would be nice to have one day a week that I’m not grilled about potential drug use. “What do I have to do?”
A smile appears on her face. “You need to relax more. Have some fun. Prove to me that you’re talking to someone else.”
“Do my parents count?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “You want to talk to your parents?”
“Fair point.” I pause. I can’t tell her that I covered for Ben, but she should know I’m not willing to trust someone willy-nilly now. “Look, I can try eating lunch with the soccer team, but I’m not ready to let new people into my life. Can we leave it at that?”
Miss Brady taps a pen on her notepad, thinking. “Is there someone you feel comfortable with?”
“My brother, but he’s at Princeton.”
“Is there anyone here in town?”
? ? ?
Tuesday morning, I drive to the Donut Palace and get in line for my daily latte. Like clockwork, a couple minutes later, Ezra shows up for his coffee and doughnut holes. There must be something addictive in them, because he is obsessed.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” He stares at the menu on the wall, careful not to look my way.
“How are you?”
He ignores me, seemingly entranced by the menu, which he’s not, because he always gets coffee and cinnamon doughnut holes.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.