As her black boots stomp down the stairs, I yell, “Well I guess if I used your methods on keeping guys around, I could have twenty dates lined up.”
The anger I’ve been shoving into the little corner of my gut shoves me right back. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. Nope. Not doing it. Not worth it. I hate crying. Last time was in December after Mom made a point of getting rid of every last “her and Dad” item in the house. He came by after Christmas to get the things Mom said were a day away from being Craigslisted. He did it while I was at school and left a card with a sparkly purple Christmas tree on the front. Inside was a stack of twenty-dollar bills. He’d written:
“Just in case you didn’t get everything on your list.
Con amor, Dad”
I wished I had the guts to send the card and money back. I’d have crossed out what he wrote and written my own message:
“Sure wish I could buy a live-in dad for $200.
Your biological daughter, Bree Hughes”
But I didn’t. I spent the money on a bunch of downloaded music and new purple sneakers.
SIX
Monday inches by like I figured it would. Kallie and I pass each other in the halls and take turns getting things out of our locker without a word. She breathes all heavy and dragon-like through her nose at the locker. The tension is so thick I’m practically peeling through billowy layers of it just to get my Bio book and an extra pencil.
Fifth period Biology drags as I stress about Norderick’s class. Is it going to be the same or different with Sean? Is Kallie going to keep ignoring me and will she make it obvious with more heavy nose breathing and teeth sucking?
My teacher rambles about plants reproducing as I try to come up with different ways to hang out with Sean again. Maybe I could offer to help him with the next assignment or ask if he needs help with the next assignment. Or I could use my “fake it ’til you make it” attitude and just ask him out. Just as I’m running through potential conversation starters, Mrs. Young gets buzzed on her intercom.
“Mrs. Young, please send Bree Hughes down to the office.”
Everyone’s bodies and eyes shift my way as my stomach and head spin with anxiety. I sling my bag over my shoulder, shove my book and notebook under my armpit, and speed walk my way out the door.
It’s a long walk to the office as potential reasons for an office visit multiply. I’m not good with surprises. Kallie might’ve gone to the counselor about our fight, wanting to do that peer mediation thing. Or more likely, they’re checking in again to see how I’m doing with my parents’ divorce. Hopefully it’s not an issue with any of my grades or graduation.
The hallway with classes in session feels library-esque, lonely, cool, and stark. My footsteps on the floor echo against the quiet walls. I’m barely one foot into the office as Maisey Morgan pushes past me. Our shoulders brush and we turn and make eye contact, then look away. Her eyes are red and puffy behind her glasses. If she was in the office for the same reason as me, it can’t be good.
I give the secretary my name and she says to go back to Ms. Selinski’s office. My stomach spins like a tilt-a-whirl.
Ms. Selinski waves me in with a smile. “Hi Bree. Have a seat.”
After I shift my butt around on the hard plastic chair, I do my best to take a deep breath without looking like a freak. My breaths are super short and I’m sure she can physically see the tightness I’m feeling in my chest and shoulders.
Her smile is small but polite as she clicks a few keys on her computer. “Your grades have gone up a little bit since last semester. Does it feel like a little time has helped make things here and at home a bit easier?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“How are you feeling about things at home now?”
I say “Good,” and wait to see if a one-word answer is going to fly.
“Good to hear,” she says. “It seems like you’re doing well enough in your classes, so you should be proud of yourself. Keeping on top of school after a major family transition is never easy. Just remember if you ever need to talk about it or anything else, I’m right here in the corner office.” She gives me a wink and I wonder if this is all she has to say.
She says “Hmmmm” and leans in. “So, Miss Hughes, how would you feel about being on Prom Court?”
“Really? Are you serious? There’s already a court and I’m not …” Maisey’s face flashes in my head. “I don’t get it, why?”
“One of the nominees has declined and I won’t get into the specifics but we need another person to step in.”
A string of guilt ties itself into a harsh knot in my gut. I try to untie it by remembering that I’m not one of the kids who raised my hand to nominate her.
I twist my mouth and crinkle my nose. “Well, um, so, why’s my name here? I don’t think I really had any votes.”
Ms. Selinski shakes her head, “Bree, you had a few nominations, you’re a good kid, people like you, so don’t overthink it. Consider it an honor. You’ve earned it and you know what, you deserve it.”