Chapter Two
“Why aren’t you married?”
“I’m not doing this with you, Jules.” Mr. Vanderman gives her an exasperated look from behind the desk of his depressing school counselor office.
“Seriously, you went to, like, an Ivy League school, and the girls call you the Hot Counselor. I don’t get why you’re not married.
Or why you’re working here, if I’m honest.” She doesn’t mention the rumors that he’s from an insanely wealthy family, that he’s one of the Vandermans who have a hospital and a museum named after them.
Mr. Vanderman shakes his head. He’s not smiling but he likes it. Jules has never met a boy—or a man—who doesn’t like it when she flirts.
“We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about college. Your plans.”
“What plans?” Jules reaches for the framed photograph perched on his desk.
It faces him, so she can’t see who’s in it.
She’s heard he has a hot girlfriend. That’s not a surprise.
You don’t have that square jaw, those blue eyes and broad shoulders, without dating a ten.
Though maybe he’s not a ten and the rating is skewed because he’s one of the few men working at Monarch High School and the others wear frayed sweaters and have pot bellies and coffee breath.
“Seriously, you’re graduating next year,” Mr. Vanderman says, pulling the framed photo out of reach. “This stuff sneaks up on you. You need to start preparing.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she says.
He shakes his head again. “Have you thought about where you might want to go to college? We’re lucky to have some great local options in reach if you’re planning to stay nearby: UNO, UNL, Creighton.
And if you do well on your ACTs, with your grades, you’ll have some solid options out of state, like—”
“Why college? Mr. Belcher said I don’t need to waste my money and with my looks I can marry rich.”
Mr. Vanderman frowns. “If he said that, it was inappropriate.”
“He says that kind of stuff to all the girls in history class.”
Mr. Vanderman lets out a puff of air. “You can pretend if you want, Jules. But we both know there’s more to you than your looks.”
“Like what?”
He stammers, so she decides to stop playing with him. “I’m going to UNL. My dad went there for college and law school and he insists.”
“That’s terrific. It’s a fine school. Have you thought about a major?”
She shrugs. “That’s the problem. It’s not like I know what I want to do when I grow up.”
“You don’t have to. That’s what college is all about. Getting exposed to things, learning what interests you.”
“There’s nothing.”
“I highly doubt that. Look, we can both waste our time at these college-prep meetings or you can take this seriously. I can’t make you. But I want you to think, really think: Is there something you’re interested in that people make money doing? Your dad’s a lawyer, how about that?”
She shakes her head. “I suppose I like fashion. My mom—she was Miss Nebraska when she was young—always wanted to be a writer for a fashion magazine. That would be cool.”
He nods enthusiastically. “Journalism. That’s good. I can speak to Mr. Heefer about seeing if there’s a spot on the school paper, if you’re interested?”
“Great. Hot Counselor recommends social suicide,” Jules replies. “Now I’m getting why you work here.”
He shakes his head again, like he might agree.
“Hey, you’re like a real counselor, right? So you can’t tell anyone what we talk about?”
He examines her for a long moment. “Are you a danger to yourself or others?”
“Um, no.”
“Then, yes, what we talk about remains confidential. Is there something you want to talk about?”
She’s gotten his attention. “Yes.” She looks him deep in the eyes, says, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“We’re done here, Jules. Get back to class.”