Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
I’ve walked down this hallway a million times, but it’s different this time. The gray floor and blue lockers are still the same, but everyone, and I mean everyone, falls silent when I walk in. Way too many eyes focus on me, and most of them don’t bother to hide their pity.
I keep my head down, hoodie-less thanks to our school’s dress code. I aim for my first period class instead of my locker because I just want to sit down and get away from as many people as I can. Besides, my locker is at the other end of the hall. Why burn more calories than necessary?
Even though it’s crowded beyond belief, I have an invisible bubble pushing my classmates out of my way. They part like the Red Sea.
Sadie.
I don’t mean to make eye contact, but I do—for a half second. She’s leaning against her locker wearing Ethan’s green jacket. Her red hair is cropped just below her chin, and her black eyeliner is so thick I can see it from here.
Her face breaks out into a big smile. She launches herself off the wall and rushes down the hallway, waving wildly at me. “Becca!”
My shoulders scrunch up, waiting for impact.
She may be short and petite, but when she collides into me, I stagger back. She wraps her arms around my torso, squeezing me tight. “I’m so happy you’re back.”
Every single person around us is staring. My hair stands on end. I hate being the center of attention. I would rather go shopping all day with Mom than be watched like this, and that’s saying a lot considering I absolutely hate shopping.
Sadie steps back, putting her hands on my shoulders even though it looks funny with our height difference. “Did you get a new number? I don’t think my texts are going through.”
I stare at my feet. I can’t bear to see her overly joyful face right now. Why is she this happy? Her boyfriend died three months ago. She should be sulking, like me.
“No,” I say. “I’ve just been busy.”
She drops her hands. “Oh, okay.” Her smile dips.
“Well, there’s a lot to catch you up on.
Do you want to head to the cafeteria with me?
I want to grab breakfast before the bell rings.
I was going to make an omelet this morning, but then my hamster got loose.
It was in its little ball, running around the house wildly and before I knew it, he escaped right out the side. ”
I stagger closer to Ms. Smith’s open door. It’s only a few feet away. “That’s okay. We can talk later.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come? I have so much to tell you,” she says, her eyes wide and hopeful.
I inch farther away from her and her joy. “I’m sure.”
Her head lowers as she nods. “Okay.”
Guilt tugs at me for making her feel bad. I know she’s trying to pretend things are the same as they’ve always been, but they aren’t. They never will be.
“I’m just really behind and want to get a head start for the day with my homework,” I say.
“Yeah, no problem,” she says, quietly. It only lasts a moment before she goes back to her chipper self. “I’ll see you at lunch then.”
I nod and duck into the classroom where Ms. Smith sits behind her desk. Her glasses are perched on the top of her nose while she marks up a paper with a red pen. Her chin lifts when I walk in. “Hello, Becca,” she says with a grin. “We’ve missed you.”
I shrug, facing the rows of desks that fill the entire room. “Where should I sit?”
“The one right here in the front is open.” She points at the second desk from the right.
Great. Of course, it’s open. The only kids that ever want to sit in the front are the overachievers or the unruly students that need a timeout.
I sit down anyway because, after the morning I’ve had, I don’t have the capacity to argue.
The rest of the class trickles in the closer we get to eight o’clock, and by the time the bell rings, almost every seat is filled. The faces that surround me are all familiar, and even though I’ve never spoken to the majority of them, they all know who I am and what happened.
I arrange my books on the desk, opening one to make sure it looks like I’m in the middle of something. I wouldn’t want someone to get the wrong idea and try to start a conversation with me. I'm closed for business.
Ms. Smith stands at the front of the class. Her style is straight out of 2010: layered shirts, a belt strapped across her waist, a string of bead necklaces tied into a knot. Even her hair is straightened with highlights that aren’t blended enough.
Before she has a chance to speak, the phone rings.
The chatter around me continues, and I go back to my pretend reading.
Ms. Smith walks over to her desk and sets down the dry erase marker, lifting the ancient phone to her ear. With a nod, she looks in my direction. “Yes, she is.”
There are lots of other kids sitting around me. She’s talking about one of the other girls. She has to be.
“Of course, I’ll send her up right away,” Ms. Smith says, ending the call.
I don’t want to stand up in front of everyone.
Please don’t say my name.
“Rebecca?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes?”
She picks the marker back up. “Your counselor, Mrs. Williams, would like to see you,” she says.
Great. I’m thrilled.
I close my book and lift it, putting it back into my backpack.
She walks over to me, handing me a hall pass. “You can leave your things here. It won’t take long.”
The counselor’s offices are upstairs on the second level of the school.
I’ve seen Mrs. Williams a handful of times, but we haven’t interacted much.
She’s always been around, but the most I’ve ever said to her was “hi” in passing.
This is the first time I’ve ever been called into her office.
I don’t have to guess to know what this is about.
The stairs lead right above the entrance of the school, spiraling upwards around the corner. I drag my feet up, dreading her nearing presence.
Her office is right across from the staircase, and her door is open, giving her a clear shot of me walking toward her. She smiles and waves me in—too enthusiastically. It’s like people think if they act overly happy, it’ll rub off on me somehow. They are sorely mistaken.
Her office isn’t that big, but it has enough room for her desk and an ugly red futon. In the corner is one of those tall fake trees with leaves that desperately need to be dusted. Does anyone ever clean those things? Every time I see a fake plant, it needs a bath.
“Rebecca, I’m glad you came in today,” she says, standing from her chair to shake my hand. She’s wearing a bright blue shirt that pops against her brown skin, and her hair is starting to gray at her temples. Small wrinkles frame her eyes every time she smiles.
Instead of shaking her hand, I cross my arms. “It’s Becca.”
“Of course. Sorry. I’ll remember that for next time,” she says, sitting back down.
Ugh . . . there’s already a next time?
She moves around the things on her desk to make room for the folder she pulls out of the drawer. It’s thick, with multiple tabs poking out the side. “How have you been doing?”
“I’m fine.” My posture shifts, and I tug on my sleeves until they cover my palms.
Her head tilts and her eyes squint ever so slightly, analyzing me. Then, she nods. “You went through something that no one should have to go through, and I just want you to know that you can—”
“I said I’m fine,” I say, firmly.
“Okay.” She takes a slow breath in as if to try and buy her more time to concoct the perfect response. “Ethan was a good kid. He used to come visit me every once in a while when he needed to talk to someone.”
I look away. “Is this the only thing you wanted to tell me? Because I need to get back to class. I’m far enough behind as it is.”
She cracks open the folder on her desk. “I actually needed to talk to you about graduation.”
My foot starts to tap. “What about it?”
Her finger grazes down a list until she stops at my name. “I’ve been talking with your teachers to help create a plan moving forward. It’s not possible to make up everything you’ve missed. You also haven’t completed your volunteer hours yet.”
Worry creeps into my mind, making my jacket too tight. I pull on my collar. Was coming to school today a horrible mistake? They’re the ones that said if I came back, everything would be okay. Was that a lie? “Are you saying I won’t graduate this year?”
She pats the air, pushing that thought away. “Oh no. That’s the opposite of what I’m saying. We are going to create some alternatives to what you’ve missed. You’ll walk with your class at the end of the year.”
A weight melts off my shoulders, and a quiet exhale of relief escapes my lips. “Oh, good.”
“It won’t be a free pass, though. It’ll take work, and you’ll have to keep your attendance up through the rest of the year.”
I nod. “I figured.”
My attention is pulled away to the tiny clicking of the clock on her wall. It’s already ten past eight. That seems impossible.
She follows my gaze. “I’ll just get right to the point because I know you want to get back. I’ve decided to reduce your volunteer hours. Instead of the traditional one hundred hours, I’m going to require you to join our school’s tutoring program.”
My mouth drops open. “You want me to do what?”
She jumps a little at the harshness in my tone. “It’s only three hours a week.”
I laugh, standing to pace in her tiny room. “Me?” I point at myself. “I’m failing most of my classes right now.”
“Except”—she holds her finger in the air—“Algebra II.”
I shake my head. She can’t be serious. Me, a tutor? Some people are born to teach and others, like me, are born to sit under a rock—far away from humanity. I have no patience. Me tutoring would result in Hurricane Becca. “There has got to be something else.”
“It’s either tutor three hours a week or do the required one hundred hours. The choice is yours.”
My nails dig into my skin. “That’s not fair.”
She leans back in her chair, eyes challenging me. “Tutoring is a very generous option. It’ll reduce your hour requirement by more than half.”
“But I . . .” I say, looking for something I can argue, but at this point, I’m grasping at straws. “What if I’m bad at it?”
“Then, I’ll help you,” she says. “But I want you to try your best. Remember what’s on the line.”
My shoulders sag, and I drop my gaze. I’m not going to be able to get out of this. She’s holding my diploma and my chance of escaping this city for ransom. I have no choice but to meet her demands.
“Don’t worry,” she continues. “It won’t be too hard. I promise.”
“Who will I have to tutor?” I ask.
She smiles, pleased with the crumb of interest I showed. “I have a couple of students in mind, but I’ll have to speak with them to see who would be the best fit. I prefer to only assign one student per tutor.”
I nod, blinking away my frustration and tears. “Is that it? Are we done?” I need to get out of here and think about something else to suppress the tears that want to fall. I don’t want her to see me cry.
I can tell she wants to say more. But she gestures to the door. “We can be done for now. I really appreciate you coming in, and I’ll let you know what I decide soon.”
I move to the door, hoping she won’t say anything else.
I’m halfway out when she calls my name. “Becca?”
I pause, keeping my back to her. “Yes?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to talk to me about your brother, but at some point, you’ll have to talk to someone.”
I walk out.