CHAPTER 10
Lila
“I t’s a group of six kids aged twelve to fourteen,” he explains while we are still in his office. “We’re doing an eight-week program to improve their social skills, teamwork, and self-confidence. I’ve already chatted with them individually and their families to let them know you’ll be joining the group as an adjunct counselor. None of them had a problem with it.”
That’s a good sign, right?
He stands from behind his desk, and I follow suit. “Because this is our first session, I only expect you to observe how I run the group, but feel free to interact with the kids if you feel comfortable. That would help them warm up to you faster too.”
I nod, storing all the details in my head. “Is it a closed group?”
“Yes. We’ll be working with the same six kids for the next couple of months,” he replies. “We’re going to introduce ourselves first, then do a quick check-in, and then I’ve planned a group activity. Lastly, we’ll discuss the results with the group. It’s a pretty standard outline, as you can tell.”
It is, but I suspect he’ll somehow make it special. Now, sitting next to him with our chairs in a circle of six fidgety but visibly excited preteens, I itch to see the great Reed Abner in action.
“Hey, everyone. Welcome to this week’s group session,” he starts, sounding more relaxed and open than I’ve ever heard him before. He makes eye contact with every kid before continuing. “Most of you know me already, but just in case the hot summer sun has wiped out your memory—”
His words are followed by a collective chuckle.
“—I’m Reed, and this right here is my colleague, Lila. She’ll be helping us in our group sessions this year.”
Colleague.
He’s just referred to little ole me as his colleague .
I wave at the kids with a smile. They all smile back politely, and one of the girls waves back enthusiastically.
Just like that, with that one simple action, I know I’m going to be fine.
“Now, a couple of things before we start.”
Reed reaches into the pocket of his slacks and takes out a small yellow ball. He bounces it on the floor, catching it with his hand in one easy move.
“This is the ninth member of our group.” He holds up the ball between two fingers. “Say hello to Mr. Bounce.”
The kids giggle again and, to my surprise, actually say hello. I’m too mesmerized by the scene unfolding in front of me to do the same.
“What is Mr. Bounce for, you might be wondering.” He bounces it again, catching it just as easily. “Mr. Bounce will be really important in our group sessions because it will determine whose turn it is to talk. One of our main rules here is that everyone gets their turn to speak, and we can’t interrupt one another. Our words matter because we matter, and each one of us deserves to be heard. So, when someone is holding Mr. Bounce, we’re going to focus our attention on that person and listen to them attentively and without interrupting. Does it make sense?”
They all nod.
“Very well. How about we start off today’s session by getting to know one another a little better,” he suggests. “I’m going to pass Mr. Bounce along to one of you now, and I want you to share with us your name, age, and what your favorite movie is and why. When you’re done talking, carefully pass Mr. Bounce along to the person on your left. Ready?”
Reed throws the yellow ball to the boy sitting on his left, who catches it after it bounces on the floor once.
He runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair, flustered. “Hi. My name is Trevor. I’m thirteen, and my favorite movie is Jurassic Park because I like dinosaurs, I guess.”
Trevor glances at Reed for confirmation. When he gives him an approving nod, he throws it to the next person.
“My name is Melody,” the girl who waved at me starts, an easy smile on her face. “I’m twelve, and I really like The Little Mermaid because I love the sea. I played mermaids on the beach this year with my cousin, and I had so much fun. My brother, Cameron, played an evil shark.”
She passes the ball along to the girl next to her, and the kids introduce themselves one by one—Trevor, Melody, Sofia, Angie, Jacob, and Santiago. It’s only when Santiago is done talking and he throws the ball in my direction that I startle.
I look at Reed, hesitantly holding Mr. Bounce between my fingers, and he arches an amused eyebrow in a silent response. A challenging eyebrow.
Very well.
“Hi, guys.” I feel surprisingly calm as I address everyone in the room. “I’m Lila. I’m twenty-four, and my favorite movie is Pride and Prejudice . It’s quite an old movie, so you may not have heard of it. I like it because it’s the prettiest movie I’ve ever seen, and the love story is beautiful.”
Maybe they think it’s lame, but everyone respects the Mr. Bounce rule and they don’t make any negative comments. Then, just to be a little shit, I pass Mr. Bounce along to Reed.
“Looks like it’s my turn now.” He plays with the ball between his fingers. Stop looking at his fingers. “My name is Reed, and I’m thirty-five. I have many favorite movies, but the first one that comes to mind is called The Book Thief . It’s about a young girl who steals books to keep them from getting burned during the war. I like it because I’m a big World War II nerd.”
I tuck that piece of information away for later, for some unknown reason.
“All right, now that we already know a bit more about one another, we’re going to start tackling today’s topic.”
He unfolds his huge body from his chair, walks to the whiteboard across the room, and writes a single word.
“Self-confidence,” he reads out loud. Mr. Bounce goes up and down and up and down as he moves back to our chair circle. “I’m really interested in knowing what it means to be confident to you. I’ll start. For me, having self-confidence means believing that I have the ability to go after my dreams and goals. And, hopefully, I’ll achieve them.”
He tosses the ball to Melody. “What does self-confidence mean to you, Melody?”
Before she can answer, he adds, “And remember, this is a safe and judgment-free zone. The key is being honest with yourselves and this group and not being afraid to tell the truth. If you aren’t comfortable answering a question, just say the word, and we’ll move on. I promise I won’t get upset. Another important thing is that everything we talk about in our group sessions can’t be discussed with other people outside of it, okay? It’s confidential. Raise your hand if you agree to not share other people’s stories.”
All the kids raise their hands at once. Reed and I do so too.
“Awesome. So, self-confidence. Let’s hear it, Melody. Share as much as you wish.”
As each kid takes a turn explaining what self-confidence means to them, I can’t help but feel surprised at how engaged everyone is. Last night, I went through my notes on how to deal with uncooperative preteens who don’t want to talk in therapy and how I could encourage them to engage in conversation at their own pace. But I did it all in vain.
It’s him . It’s the magnetism of his words, how he moves, the calming and welcoming rumble of his voice, the confident way he speaks, how his sole presence beckons everyone’s attention.
Haniyah was right—we’re only fifteen minutes in, and I’ve learned more practical knowledge watching Reed run a group session than in last semester’s classes.
Once everyone is done explaining what self-confidence means to them, Reed thanks them for sharing their answers and takes the lead again.
“Here’s the thing,” he starts, his voice easy and amicable. He doesn’t sound or act like a therapist in an overly obvious way, which I suppose is why the kids are being so open. “People who are self-confident are okay with being themselves. That’s the key. But more often than not, we struggle to define who we are, which is why we aren’t as self-confident as we’d like to be. Who am I? It can be a difficult question to answer at any age, but that’s why we’re here—to find out together.”
He stands again, moving behind a desk to retrieve three big poster boards. Each one has a question written on it.
“This week, we’re going to dive a little deeper into who we are by answering three simple questions,” he explains as he hangs the three posters on the wall. “Sofia, can you read the first one?”
The little girl squints her eyes. “ What are my values? ”
“Thank you.” Reed smiles, and I swear I’ve just seen a dimple under his light stubble. A dimple . “What do we value the most? Each person puts value on different things. Our family? Maybe our friends? How brave we are? How creative? There are no right or wrong answers. Jacob, could you read the second one?”
The fourteen-year-old, who seems to be the shyest in the group, nods. “ What do I have to offer? ”
“We all have something to offer,” Reed says confidently. “You may always help people in need, or you may take care of your little siblings when your parents are busy, or maybe you always make people laugh. Again, no right or wrong answers. Angie, can you please read the last one?”
“ What do I stand for? ”
“Standing up for something is important. For example, one might stand against bullying. That means we don’t tolerate it, and we’re willing to help anyone who’s being bullied,” he explains. “Now, we’re all going to come up here, take one of these markers, and write our answers to each question on these poster boards. There’s no need to add your name; they can be sort of anonymous. Remember to answer all three questions and take turns writing them down, okay?”
As each kid writes their answers on the poster boards, Reed walks up to me, hands in the pockets of his slacks. I tell myself I don’t find his confidence attractive because I don’t .
“So,” he drawls. “What do you think so far? You have any feedback for me?”
A chuckle escapes me before I can help it. “Yeah, right.”
Me ? Offering him feedback? He must be sick.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest, the fabric on his arms stretching to the point I’m afraid it’ll come undone at the seams. Does he spend ten hours a day at the gym on top of everything else?
“Yes, right. I want to know what you think because I value your opinion.”
He’s only saying that to make me feel good about myself. To give me a little push.
Even though I don’t think he’s being fully honest, I still give him a genuine answer. “I really like how you’re running the group. The bouncing ball was a nice touch, too. They all seem to respect you a lot.”
He hums. “No feedback, then?”
“No feedback so far.” I swallow and smile up at him, hoping he doesn’t notice that—ironically—my self-confidence has just plummeted once more. “You have it all figured out, and it seems to be working. I’m not sure I could give you any valuable suggestions.”
He glances down at me like every single word I’ve just said has personally offended him.
My stomach drops as he unfolds his arms once again, puts his hands back in his pockets, and tells me, “Go up to the poster boards and write down your answers, please.”
I consider arguing against it, but I suddenly get the feeling that sharing my answers will also help me get closer to the kids. Still holding his stare, I stand and move to the poster boards.
Just as I’m about to write down my values, a sweet voice calls out my name.
“You are Lila, right?” It’s Melody, the girl who likes The Little Mermaid and waved at me.
“Hi, Melody.” I smile down at her.
She beams. “I like your hair. It’s really long and pretty.”
My heart squeezes. “Thank you so much. I think your hair looks pretty, too.”
Her fingers wrap around the braid falling over one of her shoulders. “Thank you.” Her cheeks redden. “Can you help me with a word? I don’t know how to spell it right.”
“Sure thing. What’s the word?” I smile, surprised by her boldness.
Kids are usually shy to ask for help because they’re embarrassed to need it, but not Melody.
Or maybe that was just my own experience.
Melody walks me to the third and final board, fidgeting with the marker between her fingers. It’s only the two of us and Sofia up here, the rest of them chatting in their seats.
“I want to say that I stand for smiling, but I can’t remember if it’s written with one l or two.” She chews her bottom lip. “And I don’t want to look dumb if I write it wrong.”
“Hey, none of that,” I say, but my voice isn’t reprimanding. “It’s okay to not know things and make mistakes. You’re not dumb by any means. A dumb girl wouldn’t ask for help like you just did.”
“Okay.” A pause. “It’s just that I have this thing, dyslexia, and sometimes words get confusing.”
“That’s okay. I can tell you’re a smart girl,” I reassure her. “Smiling is with one l .”
“Thanks.” She quickly uncaps the marker and writes it down. When she turns to me, she’s smiling proudly. “You’re a cool counselor, like Reed.”
That may just be the best compliment I’ve been given lately.
Before I can say anything else, Melody hurries back to her chair, leaving me alone at the poster boards.
I meet Reed’s eyes as I move to the first one and notice he is already looking at me.
Doesn’t mean anything. Move along.
“All right.” Reed calls the kids’ attention just as I sit back down after writing my answers. “Let’s discuss the answers on the poster boards. We’ll raise our hands when we have something to say, but remember to pass Mr. Bounce along. Lila, could you read the answers to the first question?”
Considerably more at ease than at the start of the group session, I start, “ What are my values? Family, friends, telling the truth, being brave, kindness, family again, and career. ”
I can tell Reed knows the last one is mine just by the handwriting alone, but he doesn’t comment on it.
“Thank you. Family seems to be a popular one,” he comments. “All of them are great, and they define what’s important to us. Does anyone want to share what they wrote and why? Remember, you don’t have to answer if you aren’t comfortable doing so. Yes, Santiago?”
Reed throws the ball at the boy, who has his hand raised. “I wrote ‘being brave’ because my mom always tells me that people are happier when they’re brave and follow their dreams.”
Santiago tosses Mr. Bounce back to Reed, who catches it effortlessly.
“It’s true that you have to be brave to chase your dreams. Self-confident people are usually braver, too, because they aren’t afraid to fail if things don’t go their way,” he explains. “How many of you here have trouble making new friends because you’re afraid they will think you are annoying or weird?”
All the kids raise their hands.
I want to raise mine, but I don’t. Reed sneaks a quick glance at me like he knows it, too.
“That happens to all of us,” he reassures. “But because making new friends makes us feel nervous and anxious, our brain thinks it’s a bad thing, and it tells us to stop. What’s the worst thing that could happen, though? Let’s make it super ridiculous and dramatic. I’ll start, and each of you will take a turn adding something new. So, if I go up to someone to try to be friends with them, they may look at me weird.”
He passes Mr. Bounce to Trevor.
“They may…ignore me?” He hesitates.
Reed nods. “Good. Melody?”
She catches the bouncing ball. “They may tell me that I’m ugly.”
“If they’re extremely rude, maybe,” Reed concedes. “Sofia?”
“They may tell me that my breath stinks,” she says, earning a chuckle from the rest of the kids.
“Let’s make it even more ridiculous and silly,” Reed instructs. “Come on. I know you can do it.”
Angie holds Mr. Bounce as she purses her lips, thinking. “Maybe they will call the police, and they will arrest me because I’m annoying?”
“Great,” Reed praises. “Keep it going.”
“The president will make a public announcement and say that everyone should ignore me, including my family,” Santiago says, half chuckling, before passing Mr. Bounce along to the last kid.
“The Army will kick me out of the country, but no other country will want me, either, so I’ll just live out in the sea,” Jacob concludes.
By this point, all the kids are openly laughing because it does sound ridiculous.
Suddenly, Mr. Bounce is on my lap, and seven pairs of eyes are waiting for me to add my piece.
I steal a quick glance at Reed, and I swear I see a twinkle in his eyes. “The Army will find out that I’m living out in the sea, and they will put me on a rocket and send me to space because I’m so annoying, they don’t want me to live on the same planet as everyone else.”
My words are met with another round of chuckles.
“Well done, everyone.” Reed’s eyes linger on me for a beat too long before looking away. “Our brains always cling to the worst-case scenario because they want to keep us safe. By not taking risks, we stay in our comfort zone, and that makes anxiety go away, which in turn makes us feel good. But that’s only an illusion because staying in our comfort zone forever won’t make us happy. It won’t make us feel brave enough to chase our dreams.
“Here’s a trick—every time your brain says you can’t do something because you will fail or feel stupid or weird, think of the worst thing that could happen. And make it silly, just like we’ve just done. You’ll see how ridiculous it is—there’s no way any of those crazy scenarios will actually happen. Consider it homework for next week.”
We move on to the second poster board, then the third. The kids continue to be collaborative, some of them more openly now that almost an entire hour has passed.
After they each share one thing they’ve learned in today’s session, we say our goodbyes and the classroom falls into a comfortable quietness.
“That was…” My lips are moving before the thoughts have fully formed in my mind. I feel tired, happy, accomplished. And I haven’t even done anything, but just watching him is an otherworldly experience. “You are a natural.”
He gives me a lopsided smile that looks as tired as I feel. My focus shifts to his hands as he hikes up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing those strong forearms I need to look away from this instant.
“I just love my job,” he says in a quiet voice. “Do you have any feedback for me now that we’re done with the session?”
“I can’t think of anything right now,” I tell him truthfully. “But I’d love to help you organize the next one, if…if you need the help, that is.”
His eyes drift to me. “You have any ideas in mind?”
“A few,” I admit. “Now that I know how you run things, I can adapt them to your session plan and sketch an outline. I can send you an email later.”
“Sure,” he agrees. “I’m curious to see what you come up with.”
That feeling of belonging grows in my chest, becoming bigger and brighter until I feel like all this excitement is going to make me burst.
I wasn’t of much help in this week’s session, but I did help Melody with her spelling and, hopefully, with her self-confidence too.
There’s a part of me that still believes I’m not good enough, that I don’t belong working with children, that I will fail, that I will become a pariah when people on campus find out who my internship supervisor is.
But Reed’s words ring louder—staying in my comfort zone forever won’t make me happy.
Today, I’m tired of feeding my inner demons.
Today, I choose to let the light win.