7.

 

 

            I’m officially mad at Ms. Poplar. She called me over at the start of class, again with one of those ominous pink slips, and said, “They need you in the office.” She offers me a sympathetic smile, pats my arm, and says, “It was the right thing to do, hon. I could have been fired if I didn’t tell someone. And who knows, it might help.” Immediately, I knew she had told someone about my poem. Why did you have to write such an emotional poem?

 “Great…” I mumble, and snatch the slip out of her hands, trudging down to the office.

            453 lockers on my way to the office, 11 doors, 6 posters. I am really dreading this. I don’t know who I’m talking to, and I don’t know what about…but I’m not too thrilled. Whoever and whatever it is- it isn’t good news to me. I just want to be at home, or at my tree. I don’t deserve this. I purposely walk slowly, because I am just afraid of the unknown. That’s why I like things that are predictable, stable…something I can control. Anything I can’t control is possible to end up in pain, and I don’t want anymore pain in my life.

            Here I am again, sitting in the office. The clock must be old, it is clicking away very loudly, and Mrs. Larn, the secretary is smacking away on her gum. Gross. There are three other kids waiting in the chairs, a jock who looks pleased with himself (meaning he probably stole the rival school’s mascot suit,) a stoned skater, (who just looked stoned,) and a really smart girl, (probably to receive a few awards.) And there is me. The jock looks over at me as I sit down next to him, and wordlessly moves over a seat. Great. The skater absently laughs at that, although I doubt he realizes why he’s laughing.

            So once again, I stare at my converse, I have my blue ones on today. They are so muddy from walking through the creek the other day, Caked and built up on the sides of my shoe. That really bothers me, so I start picking off the pieces of chunky mud from the sides with a fingernail. It starts collecting on the floor, but I don’t really care.

“Excuse me!? What do you think you are doing? Pick all those up.” I look up, and Mrs. Larn is glaring at me, but I don’t care. She kind of looks like a cat that has had a face lift, it’s hard to not be thinking about that when she looks over.

“Do you hear me?” She demands. I don’t say anything; I’m just imagining her eating a mouse.

             A tall, slender woman walks into the office. The door clicking shut draws my attention from my shoes to the lady. She is wearing sophisticated gray slacks, shiny clacky black shoes, a black turtle neck, and a long chunky turquoise necklace. Her hair is silvery in a sleek bob, with straight bangs and deep red lipstick. She breaks into a smile when she sees me looking at her.

 “Oh, are you Jill? Hi, my name is Dr. Sandburg, the school psychologist, and I just wanted to have a little chat with you.” Well, I don’t feel the same, sorry lady.

 “Okay.” I say, because I can’t really say no. I feel Mrs. Larn’s eyes burning into the side of my face. She gestures towards the door, and I gratefully leave with her, I’m sick of Mrs. Larn’s judgment.

            We go to another room I have never seen before. There is soft music, acoustic guitar, playing in the background, lots of glowing, soft light, and lots of comfy things to sit on.

“Just take a seat anywhere, Jillian.” She offers. There are a lot of choices. Overstuffed sofas, a bean bag chair, even an inflatable chair.

“Uh…you can call me Jill.” I say. She nods and jots it down on a manila folder. She kicks off her shiny shoes and sits cross legged in her office chair, facing towards me. She seems to be sizing me up with her eyes; I really hate it when people do that to me. After about 25 seconds of her bizarre scrutiny, she reviews what I guess to be my file, nods, smiles, and pulls out a sheet of paper. My poem.

            “Okay, Jill…so I will introduce you to myself.” She says more friendly that she needs to be. I stare blankly at her. Her smile gets brighter. “I’m Jennifer Sandburg. I like cats, snowy days, and warm tea. Would you like to introduce yourself?” I stare at her.

“I’m Jill. You know that.” I say, stuck in my stubborn ways.

“Oh, okay Jill. Maybe later, maybe you can tell me more about yourself later?” This is not really a question. What a push-over. I look down at my hands; I’m picking a cuticle on my finger. The skin rips and I start to bleed a little. There’s a little twinge of pain. I like it.

            “So, really Jill, the reason I decided to have a chat with you is because I would like to get to know you better. Sometimes people just need a friend.” She looks at my expression carefully for a response. Why is she playing the dumb act? I know she has my poem.

 “I don’t really need friends.” I offer, half heartedly. She straightens up, grabbing her pen, looking for an opportunity to break into my soul, or whatever those people do.

“Oh, so you would categorize yourself as popular? Or friendly? Or maybe you don’t use categories?” You know that’s not the case.  She offers lots of ways for the conversation to go, but I’m not interested.

            She taps her pen on the edge of her desk .29 times. It is getting really irritating, and I know she will probably only stop when I say something.

“I have a friend, her name is Bethany.” I’m right, her annoying tapping stops.

“And what’s she like?”

 “I don’t know. Like me I guess. She’s helpful I guess.” She writes something down. That’s making me a little uneasy.

 “What…are you writing down?” I stare at the paper. She flashes me a cheesy grin,

“Just a few notes for the benefit for me! I’m not so young anymore; I might need a reminder sometimes!” I know this is crap. She’ll probably compare this with her quack friends later.

            Instead of trying to make an effort to talk to this weird lady, I decide to go into my own little world. I just keep thinking about that dream. That dream with the girl. It’s that kind of dream when you wake up, and you wish you were still asleep so you could finish it and find out what happened. I want to know who she is…who the adults are…and why I am so young. But I think that’s pretty normal to have weird dreams. Dreams aren’t meaningful; I learned that in science one year. It’s just random brain patterns. I don’t really listen to any other theories, because I don’t care. I hate the word theories, because it’s a word smart people use for their discoveries when they know they are right. They could be 100% positive they just had found a cure to Aid’s, and would say, “Well…..I have a theory…….” while pushing up their tortoise-shell glasses and sniffling.

            I look at the clock, and 28 minutes have gone by. Dr. Sandburg looks a little defeated.

 “Okay, well, that was awesome, Jill! Thanks so much, it was great to meet you, but don’t be sad!” Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.

 “We will do this often, I’ll just pick a few dates, but whenever you want to talk, just come on in…and we can have a nice little chat. If you want, tell me your favorite tea, and I’ll bring some in, and we can sneak into the teacher’s lounge for the microwave and coffee cups.” She laughs at her mediocre rebellion. I don’t laugh. Her laughter quickly fades, and turns into a forced smile.

“Well, shall we?” opening the door for me. She grins at me. “You’re a good person Jill, behind your barrier you have built up with the world.”

            How did she see that barrier? I thought I was the only one that saw it.