Dr. Anderson's hair was cut really short and dyed a honey blonde. The first day I saw her I thought it was odd with her dark complexion, but I had gotten used to it by the time our hour was up.

The only reason I noticed it then was because there was a small piece of blue lint on the side of her head. Most likely from her blue scarf, which hung on a coat rack next to the door. Maybe I should've told her, but then I'd break my three day silence streak.

Three days I'd come to the same office, sat in the same chair and stared out of the same window in complete silence. On the first day, I was going to talk to her. I thought about where I'd start and everything. Once I sat down in the armchair across from her desk my mouth refused to open.

I felt like she started analyzing me the moment I stepped in the room. Wasn't that what these people did? Analyze everything from what you say to how you say to what you're doing as you say it? Did I really have to say anything or did my body language do all the talking?

"Your suspension from school is almost over," she said, pulling my attention away from the blue fuzz. "You go back to school on Monday, correct?"

That wasn't a rhetorical question. I've noticed that every once in a while she'd ask me something I knew she knew the answer to just to get me to communicate with her. Despite being aware of that trick I replied with a simple nod. I did have to go back to school in a few days and it had me on edge.

Everything I didn't want to deal with was at school. My ex- boyfriend, the mean girl, the friends I let down. School was definitely the last place I wanted to be.

"I've never been suspended," Dr. Anderson continued. "But I broke my legs—yes, legs.  Plural.—when I was twelve and missed about a month of school. I was excited about the break, but by day two I was bored out of my mind." She emphasized that by tapping her head. The blue lint moved a bit, but it still clung to her.

I couldn't relate to her anecdote, though. My time away from school wasn't so much boring as it was fun. Which I wasn't expecting at all. I thought Mom would have an infinite list of chores to busy me with or I'd be forced to accompany her at work and work as a candy striper.

What I actually got were surprisingly fun game nights with her, Tyler and Anthony. Every other night—when Anthony had dinner with his dad—Mom and I would join them. After dinner we'd choose something from Tyler's board game collection and play until Anthony's mom picked him up.

At first, I was completely against it. Then it kind of became my favorite part of the week. There was no pressure. Nothing I could ruin by making poor decisions.

"Do you miss school?" Dr. Anderson asked, causing me to laugh.

"No." My silent streak was officially broken.

"You don't miss seeing your friends?"

"Don't have any," I said, glancing out the window.

She attempted to go deeper on the subject, asking me why I felt that way. I didn't answer. I felt like I'd talked enough for the day.

+ + +

It was only seven o'clock on a Monday morning and I was already over it.

I had woken up to an email from Beauteen informing me that I had come in third place in the competition and that my participation gift basket would arrive in six to twelve business days.

My lack of surprise is what surprised me the most. Things didn't work out like I wanted them to and I was slowly becoming okay with that. I accepted the fact that some aspects of my life just weren't meant to go right.

I wasn't meant to have a boyfriend or friends, at least not now. Maybe someday in the future things would go my way. Maybe I'd be rewarded for surviving this crap when I was older.

That sounded like something Miles would say. His never ending optimism had somehow managed to rub off on me.

It always sucked when a random memory would sneak up on me. I'd catch my smiling before the reality set in, reminding me that those days were over.

"Loren," Mom called from downstairs. "You're going to be late for school."

I slung my bag over my shoulder and made my way down the stairs. Mom was on the porch looking into a glossy black gift bag.

"What's that?"

"It was sitting on the porch," she said.

My eyes widened when she pulled out the contents. It was the cheer uniform. I took the red and gold fabric from her, examining the garment. To my surprise it was all in one piece. I was afraid Vivian would've ripped it to shreds.

The note tag on the bag read: Sorry -V. She didn't write it though. I realized immediately that the messy handwriting belonged to Miles.

He must've gotten her to hand the uniform over. I could only imagine how he got her to admit she had it.

I bit back a smile as I stared down at the note card, thinking about him creeping up to the porch to leave this behind. Was this a subtle hint that he was ready to talk or was it just a nice gesture? Maybe I was over thinking it.

"Loren!" Mom shouted, impatiently from the driveway.

"Coming!"

+ + +

"Ahem!"

My hand froze midway to my locker, leaving my English textbook in the air. Recovering from the spook, I slid the book in my locker and shut it before turning around.

Kimber and Jem stood in front of me in their signature match outfits, their arms crossed over their chests in an intimidating manner.

"Hi?" I said, after a few seconds of silence.

"Hi?" Jem echoed. "That all you have to say?"

They were mad. Why shouldn't they be after I let my temper ruin the fashion show they worked so hard on.

"I'm really sorry about the fashion."

"The fashion show?" Jem questioned, tilting her head to the side. "That's not why we're upset."

Oh?

"Just because you and Miles broke up, doesn't mean you had to stop talking to us."

Kimber nodded in agreement with her sister. "We were your friend first."

I was a little relieved. I thought for sure that I had ruined things with them. "You're not mad about the fashion show?"

"I mean, it sucks," Jem said.

"But it's not the end of the world," Kimber finished.

"Besides, there's like a million apps we can use to sale the clothes," Jem added, waving her phone in the air.

"We'll figure out something," Kimber assured me. "We can have a brainstorming session after practice."

"I have somewhere to be, actually."

I had another appointment with Dr. Anderson after my hour of on campus detention. Maybe this day I'd take advantage of my time with her and actually talk. It was necessary if I wanted to survive the rest of the school year.

"Alright, well, start replying to our texts," Kimber warned, playfully.

"Or we'll be a lot less civil next time!" Jem added before they darted off to their next class.

+ + +

I speared a discarded chip bag and dropped into the trash bag I lugged behind me.

Cleaning up the quad gave me a whole new appreciation for janitors. There were about five trash bins scattered around the outdoor eating area, yet it seemed like no one bothered to use them.

Just as I went to spear a burger wrapper someone beat me to it. I looked up to find the last person I should be around while I had a sharp object. Vivian.

"We need to talk."

Did she ever give up? I side stepped her, focusing my attention on a corner that had accumulated quite a bit of litter.

Just like last time she followed me. "Alright, I'm sorry. Okay?"

I snorted a laugh. She's sorry? Wow.

"I'm sorry about all the crap I gave you over Miles and my mom," she continued. "I just get a little protective."

"Possessive," I muttered under my breath.

"Possessive, protective. Same difference." She waved off. "I gave the uniform back, doesn't that count for something?"

Mr. Petal, the teacher watching us, whistled, ordering us to stop talking and start cleaning. Vivian ignored the man and continued to follow me around as I did the work.

"When Rose died, Miles was a wreck," she told me. "He wasn't in a good place. Especially not when his dad started being a dick. He'd been going through the motions ever since. Then you happened."

I took a break from picking up trash to face her. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because he's my best friend and he's hurting," she said, pushing her hair out of her face. "And if you broke up because I was being a bitch—"

"Girls!" Mr. Petal shouted, becoming frustrated. "This is not social hour."

Vivian whipped around, glaring at the man. "Do you want me to tell your wife that you're screwing your TA?"

Mr. Petal paled, guilt washing over his face as he turned his attention back to the book he was reading.

She thought we broke up because of her? "He didn't tell you what happened?"

"No." She frowned. "He just told me to stay out of it."

It shocked me that he wasn't confiding in her about this. If he didn't tell her, I wasn't going to.

"Then maybe you should stay out of it."

I walked away, continuing to clean up and she, finally, left me alone.