The ceiling fan whistles above my head with a thwump, thwump, thump, and I wiggle nervously in my chair. The pantyhose that I'm wearing rides up, and I wince as I struggle to get them unstuck. My eyes find the old black and white analog clock, and I start to bop my leg up and down as I see the hands tick closer to 10 am. That's when I'm supposed to be in my journalism class, making some last-minute edits to the paper before I send it off to the printers. Only twenty minutes left until class is supposed to start, and I'm still waiting for Ms. McClain, my guidance counselor. We were supposed to begin our meeting at exactly 9:45, and I can't help but be annoyed that she's late. Granted, she's only late by a few minutes, but still... I have a tight schedule to keep, and a full day ahead of me. I don't need anyone messing it up.

A door down the hall finally opens, and I hear the musical voice of Ms. McClain. It's soft today, and I suspect she's trying to soothe someone. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear a sniffling voice, and a few seconds later I see a girl with thick curly ginger colored hair sobbing into her hands. Ms. McClain whispers something to the girl, and I catch something about a breakup. Annoyance roars inside me like a monster. My day is about to be completely thrown off because of one stupid girl's breakup? Are you kidding me?

The curly-haired girl leaves a few minutes later, and finally Ms. McClain's eyes turn toward me. I plaster a smile on my face, even though my guts are churning from the stress of a potentially missed journalism class. "I am so sorry, Summer," she says to me as her fingers smooth over the wrinkles in her purple print paisley skirt. I don't know why Ms. McClain can't dress like a normal adult. While all the other teachers stick with professional clothes, our school counselor dresses like a hippie from the 1960s every day. The crazy colors make me feel a bit uncomfortable. It's hard for me to believe she graduated from Yale University.

I shrug my shoulders. "It's okay." I'm lying, and she knows I'm lying. We've had this relationship now for over two years, and she knows how busy my days are. I've already had a morning run with Beth around the school's track, a study session in the library with my French classmates, and a debate club meeting (hence the pantyhose that are still riding up my ass). Later today I have my journalism briefing for our school newspaper, The Raven's Review, two more classes, a student council meeting, a study date with Beth at her house, dinner with my parents, and then four chapters to read (with notes) before I can finally shower and go to bed. My schedule is jammed packed and will continue to be tight for the next two weeks. This meeting with Ms. McClain is very important, and now it's going to be cut short. To say I'm aggravated is an understatement, but I try not to let it bother me. I'll just have to keep it brief.

Ms. McClain lets me into her office, and the smell of musty books and fake plants slaps me in the face. In the corner of her office sits her fat tabby cat Louise, and scattered across her dark blue floor are cat toys the cat hardly ever touches. Ms. McClain gestures for me to take a seat as she starts clicking around on her open computer. Probably looking for my e-file, which should already be readily accessible. Man, she is just wholly unprepared today. I'm disappointed in her. I expected better from a Yale graduate. She attempts small talk for a second as she searches for my records, and then with one final click, my e-file opens up, and I know we're ready for business.

"Let's see," she says as she scrolls down my file. "Doesn't look like you have anything to worry about here. Your GPA is currently at a 3.9." I cringe, silently cursing my mother for forcing me to take a week from school last term. "I know. That one point is going to drive you crazy." Oh boy. She knows me so well. "But I really don't want you to beat yourself up for that. You had a lot going on last semester, and--."

"I'm not as worried about that as much as I was," I lie. "My extra curriculars should cover any blunders in my GPA. Did you hear that I made it into the Student Ambassador Program?"

Ms. McClain shakes her head, but she doesn't look surprised. "I did not. Let me guess, France?"

"The UK, actually," I reply, and watch as she blinks in surprise. "I know, France does seem like the obvious choice. But the UK was available."

She smiles at me, and I wonder if she knows the real reason I chose the UK. She's not stupid. I'm sure she has her suspicions. "Well, that's great news, Summer! Congratulations! When do you leave?"

"I leave after Christmas and will be returning in the spring. I'll be studying abroad while I'm gone. Working on transferring all my transcripts right now."

She turns and makes a note in my file. "Excellent. Well, it seems you're on top of things, as always. I assume that you're going to be staying with your grandparents while you're there?"

Here we go. I was dreading this, but I knew it was coming. "No, actually. They don't... they don't know I'm coming. They live about three hours away from where I'm going to study. I plan on visiting while I'm there though." This is a lie. I have no intention of spending time with them while I'm there. I mean, I don't even really know them. But I'm hoping this puts this part of the conversation to rest.

It doesn't. Ms. McClain reaches out to me and places her hand gently on my forearm. She's giving me a sympathetic grin, and my throat gets tight. I swallow hard, hating myself for feeling this way. I didn't even know him. So it shouldn't bother me as much as it does. Why does it bother me so much? "You know, Summer... I'm not just here to talk about your Columbia goals. We can talk about anything you want to talk about. I hope you understand that."

I nod my head, feeling my heart start to thrash around inside my chest. "I do. Thank you. But I really would like to stay focused on my goals. I think... I think that's what he would have wanted." Another lie. There's no way I could possibly know what he would have wanted, because he was never really there for me to begin with. He never even bothered to show he cared. The man never even sent me a birthday card, for God's sake. But it seems to pacify Ms. McClain enough to remove her hand off my arm. My throat begins to loosen, but I remain composed.

"You have such a positive outlook on the situation," she says. "Well, I look forward to next fall when you come back with plenty of pictures?" She says this like a question, and I nod my head. "Wonderful. Well, okay, it looks like we're about finish--"

"Valedictorian?" I ask, interrupting her because we are absolutely not finished. Not until I have the answer to this question. The most important question of all. The whole reason why we're having this meeting today. Her bubbly smile falters now, and my eyes narrow suspiciously. "Is there a problem?"

She shakes her head. "Not at all. I just... well, you are definitely one of the best students in your class. Close to the top. But...."

"Hold on," I say as I lift my hand up to silence her. "What do you mean... close to the top? Am I not the top anymore?" Oh God. Breathe, Summer. Just breathe.

"You're actually... second. Currently." Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. "But that's okay. Second in the class still gets to make a speech. And the Salutatorian is just as important as the Valedictorian."

"Who... who is first?" I have to stop myself from saying who stole my spot, because it was never actually mine. Not yet. I was just borrowing it. For over two years. But now someone else holds it, and I feel like I'm going to faint. The sides of my vision are getting dark, and I feel like the world is tunneling around me. Spinning. One week, and it's killing my GPA. ONE WEEK. I feel Columbia slipping through my fingers.

Ms. McClain shakes her head. "Summer, listen to me, if you don't end of up being our Valedictorian, there's still a very strong possibility that you'll make it into Columbia. Just take a deep breath."

"Who is first?" I ask again, and I can hear a hint of a threat in my voice. Ms. McClain's frown deepens, but I don't care. I want to know. I need to know. Who the hell is my competition? Who took my spot?

"Well, you are second," she says, turning back to her computer. I wonder if she's a bit afraid of me right now. She should be. I'm seething with rage inside and barely able to contain my composure. I'm suddenly more aware of the pantyhose still making a home between my butt cheeks as my anger spreads throughout my whole body. "But top of the class, currently, is Baker Scott."

I glare at her computer screen like it's offended me. Which it has. Ms. McClain tries to change the subject. She tries to talk about the upcoming play that the school is going to be putting on in December. The one that I'm starring in. But I can't think about anything else now. All I hear in my head are the words Baker Scott, again and again and again. Rehearsal, debate, student council, French club. None of it matters. I'm losing my golden ticket into my dream school. All because of one week. A week I didn't even want to take off. A week my mother forced me to take off.

The meeting ends, and my head is spinning with this new information. I think about crying, but that's not the answer here. The answer is doing better. I just have to maintain my current GPA and hope that Baker Scott manages to screw his up somehow. I hate that. I hate having my fate in the hands of someone else. No. My fate is in my hands. I am in control. Take a breath, Summer, I tell myself. Take a breath and remember that you're in charge of your own destiny. Things are going to work out. Everything is going to be okay. I'll just put extra effort into my schoolwork now. I'll extend my bedtime. Consider the possibility of all-nighters, which I'm usually dead set against. Everything will work out for the best. I just have to work harder. Do better.

Ms. McClain gives me a little advice about my writing my college essay, which I don't really need because I've been researching it since I was twelve. I don't know the subject of it yet, but I'm confident that whatever the topic is, I'll be able to write a solid piece for it. Then she walks me out of her office. Behind me I can hear Louise let off a loud yawn as she stretches across the floor, her paws scratching the carpet before she curls back up into a ball. And as I walk out of the office, I remember the ginger haired girl from earlier crying Ms. McClain soothed her. In a weird, completely unrelated way, I kind of feel her pain. I've lost something today too.

My journalism briefing goes well. All the articles of the paper are ready, and the editors have gone through and proofed everything. I've made my final corrections, and I'll take it to the printer's office tonight before I go to Beth's place to study. We begin work on the next issue, brainstorming ideas back and forth. I'm trying to stay focused on the paper, but my head feels dizzy, and I keep thinking I'm going to be sick. I'm planning my schedule for the next couple months in my head, because the solution is inside of me. Still, I can't help myself. I have to know. So midway through class, I sneak my phone out of my bag and text Beth just a few words:

WHO IS BAKER SCOTT?

Author's Note:

You've all been so great to me these last few months, so I wanted to say thank you by posting the first chapter of The Line Between Us. The next chapter won't be up until this summer, but I hope you enjoy this glimpse into Summer Lumen's character and the start of her story. Let me know your thoughts in the comments! And as always, stay safe and healthy, my dears.
XOXO,
~Aly