↠Tuesday, November 5, 4th Period 

I had pretty much been doing nothing but trying to get Beckett to accept my friendship for the past week. Call me desperate, call me desperate, but I had no friends and Beckett was easily the first person who had spoken to me without making any comments on how awkward I was.

And I am not the kind of person who just lets that kind of thing go to waste.

But I was also pretty certain that Beckett wanted nothing to do with me. But maybe I'm just overreacting.

I mean, it's not like he comes up with some lame excuse every single time I try to talk to him or anything.

Oh wait. That's exactly what he's doing.

I talk to him before class starts > "Sorry, I have some paperwork to pick up before class starts."

I talk to him between classes > "Sorry, I've already been late for this class too many times."

I talk to him after school > "Sorry, my parents don't like it when I get home too late."

Beckett was just so stubborn. But so was I.

So I set to work devising several diff--

I suddenly blinked. My background noise had shut off. The teacher had stopped talking. Mrs. Hendrix was standing at the front of the class, her hands on her hips.

I whipped my head around to find that everyone in the class had the same expectant look on their faces.

Wh...at?

Oh, she asked me a question, didn't she?

"I, uh," I cleared my throat. What had she been talking about? "I-I don't know."

I had walked directly into her trap.

"Well, Mr. Rhodes, had you been listening then you would know--"

The bell suddenly rang, and I leaped to me feet to avoid her lecture. Fortunately, she wasn't one of those... "the bell doesn't dismiss you, I do" teachers.

But she was one of those teachers that held students after class when they were too busy daydreaming about how to get friends to pay attention to the lecture.

"Spencer, come speak with me."

No!

Doing my best--which wasn't very good--to avoid the snickering of my fellow classmates, I approached my teachers desk. Painfully aware of how awkward this conversation was going to be, I fidgeted with my fingers while she put her glasses on.

"Spencer, you know what I'm going to talk with you about."

Glancing at the window, I saw several students waiting to come into the classroom. But they didn't, because Mrs. Hendrix had not invited them in yet.

Because of me.

I then nodded slowly.

"Then why does it still happen? I suspect you realize your grades in my class are not so great to start off the year with, and I wasn't surprised to learn that the same is happening in your other classes."

I knew exactly what she was going to say next, and no amount of preparation was enough.

"All of your teachers from last year told me how intelligent and well-behaved you were. What happened?"

I licked my lips and looked away. My mouth was suddenly very dry. I clasped my hands together, staring at my left foot--which seemed very interesting right about now.

"Spencer, I've booked you an appointment with the guidance counselor for Thursday after school."

"W-What? You what?"

"I can tell there's something on your mind, and Mrs. Abbott is there to help with that sort of thing. I was also informed of an incident that occurred about a week ago..."

Confidentiality much...?

How long was it before every teacher in the school knew what happened? How long was it before every student in the school knew what happened?

"Um..."

I wanted to protest so badly. I didn't need to go to the Counselor's Office...!

Don't be a pushover!  Put your foot down. Tell her no.

"Y-Yes. I'll talk to her. Thank you, Mrs. Hendrix."

not today, not today, not today, not today, not today, not--

Mrs. Hendrix nodded slightly, and I took my leave. Gently working my way through the crowd of students that had formed outside the classroom's door, I hurried to my next class. Oh, my next class was a First Aid class that I'd taken because two electives were mandatory and I thought it would be interesting--plus useful! 

Unlike most "fine art" related classes. They certainly could be interesting, but painting and pottery were never really my think. Makes me too anxious.

But what didn't?

Most importantly, Beckett was also in my class...!

I wasn't giving up yet! Maybe all of my attempts so far had been completely useless, but this one would be different! Just you wait and see.

Oh, boy. No, it wasn't. It was not any different. Not at all...

↠Thursday, November 7, Directly After School

I honest to God, for some reason, thought that Tuesday would've been any different. I was very wrong.

He just completely brushed me off again. Exactly like he had done for the 6 days before that.

Maybe I was really just getting my hopes up for something that simply wasn't going to happen?

But today was Thursday, and I refused to give up just yet.

I always hated having P.E. as my last class of the day, but hey, what can you do? So, basically  causing everyone to rush out of my way in fear of being smacked into by a sweaty teenager that was only 5'5"--yes, fully grown--I made my way down the hallway.

In the least creepy way possible--I hoped--I had figured out Beckett's last class of the day. And I was going to meet him. Right now.

As I passed by the Counselor's Office, I froze.

Oh no, I'm supposed to be in there.

I was hoping that I could leave and come back when Beckett inevitably avoided me, but Mrs. Abbott suddenly stepped outside.

"Spencer, I've been waiting for you. Please come inside," she said smoothly, holding the door open for me.

No! No, no, no--

I felt that I wasn't myself as I stepped through the doorway and walked into the Counselor's Office with no protest.

She stood for just a moment, motioning to one of the chairs. "Have a seat."

I did. To say that I didn't want to be in here would be... probably the understatement of the year. I watched as she sat at her desk. She turned her swivel chair to face me, folding her hands and placing her elbows on the desk.

The Teacher Arm-Fold™. The little thing that just about every teacher does before she gives you a personal one-on-one lecture that you didn't want to hear.

Except I supposed she wasn't technically a teacher.

I wiped at the back of my neck, suddenly realizing that most of the sweat that was there was NOT from P.E.

Thinking back on it, I realize that what happened next was almost as awkward as I am.

"So, Spencer," she had some papers on her desk that she smoothly grabbed, but not before I saw that my name was at the top of them.

"This paper says that you've never been in here before--"

Thanks for pointing it out. It's not like I wasn't thinking that myself or anything.

"--but one of your teachers recommended that you come here."

Completely unable to look her in the eye, I stared almost directly at a suicide hotline number written on the wall. Nor for any particular reason, but, in retrospect that was probably not the best place to stare at, because she most certainly noticed.

"Since you've never been inside before, I have to ask... Has anything changed in your home recently? This could easily be the cause of your sudden... distractions."

I coughed, my mouth drier than the Sahara Desert.

"N-No."

"You have to be honest with me, Spencer," her voice was so gentle that I felt bad for lying. I guess that's her job though...

"I-I am."

she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows, she--

"I know that you don't want to be here."

Shock flashed through my head. Was she reading my mind?

Okay, okay, okay. Calm down. She's just a regular Guidance Counselor, this is what they do--

Smile if you can read my mind.

She smiled softly at me--oh my God--before continuing, "But the faster you let me help you, the faster you can leave."

I was sold, quite frankly.

"Well... uh..."

I paused.

"Take your time," she said.

And everything spilled out of me like extra buttery popcorn that one time I went to an amusement park and then proceeded to go on a roller coaster.