Page 25 of Rules

“Good morning, Brook! Have a seat.”

I mumble incoherently something that should sound like a greeting as I take one of two available chairs on the opposite side of the desk. My backpack slides down with a softthud, and I have to cover my mouth to stifle the yawn.

After everything that happened, I couldn’t fall asleep. My mind kept going back and forth—rehashing what happened with Max on the night of the Halloween party and last night. Past and present mixing so tight they kept me up until the first morning light peeked through my window. At that point, I gave up and got out of bed.

Josephine was nowhere to be found. If we were a normal family, I would try to call and figure out where she is, but our relationship is far from ordinary and her staying out or even leaving for days on end isn’t anything unusual. It went as far back as I could remember, and I was always relieved andgratefulwhen she wasn’t around. She’s a hot mess, and I don’t have the time or strength for her bullshit. Especially not after last night.

She was on edge lately more than usual. I wasn’t sure if it was the breakup, loss of job or lack of money. Maybe all three mixed together, or it could be something completely different. Either way, I didn’t care.

I stayed out of her way as much as possible, only being home when it was absolutely necessary. Preferring school, Lia’s… hell, even my work is better than being home. And that’s some sleazy place we’re talking about.

It pays money. Money you’ll need once all’s said and done. Money you might need sooner rather than later.

“Sorry, I was trying to deal with this mess in here, but it seems hopeless,” Miss Jenkins says, smiling apologetically.

“No problem.”

Miss Jenkins is new at our school. She came at the beginning of this year. In her late twenties, she was fresh out of college and had some crazy need to help everybody around her. I guess that made her good at her job as a guidance counselor, but I didn’t need saving or help.

I was summoned to the counselor’s office last year, as were all the juniors. We talked SATs and colleges. I took the SAT like the rest of my class, getting pretty decent scores too, but I was adamant about not going to college. College was expensive. And yes, I could apply for a scholarship; on paper I was the perfect candidate, but I didn’t want anyone’s pity money. I got enough of that as it was. Pity, not money.

Miss Jenkins has tried to talk to me on a few different occasions since she got here too, but I told her what I told our previous counselor. College is not in the cards for me. She nodded her head in understanding, dark, long dreadlocks swaying with the motion and brushing against her white coffee-colored skin before suggesting something local.

I laughed in her face.

There was no way I was staying local. Not for college, not for anything else.

Just a few more months. Then I can begin again. Somewhere far, far away from here.

“Why did you need me, Miss Jenkins?” I ask, so done with this day, hell, this whole week, although it’s barely started.

I watch her shuffle the files on her desk before she triumphantly pulls one out, opening it on top of everything else scattered on the surface. She scans the file, buying some time. I’m sure she knows what’s inside since she wrote it and we’ve been playing this game for a while now.

Sighing, she leans in her chair, brown eyes zeroing in on me. “Still determined that college isn’t for you? I’m sure we could find something…”

I cross my arms over my chest, giving her a hard stare that conveys more than words ever could.

“I figured as much.” She closes the file, her elbows digging into it as she leans her head in her hands. “How about something else? Maybe…”

“Miss Jenkins, with all due respect…” I start, but she ignores me.

“Maybe a summer program or night school? Or maybe I could help you find an art contest.”

I shoot to my legs, angry. “Did Mrs. Brown put you up to this? Did she show you my artwork?”

Her hands fall down as she jerks away surprised by my outburst. I’m usually quiet and disinterested. My best weapon is silence, not anger.

“Of course not!”

“I told her I’m not interested! My art is my own, not for other people to gape at.”

“Brook…” She comes around the table, her arm extended like she’s nearing a wounded animal. “Mrs. Brown didn’t show me anything. She only mentioned she has a talented student who’s reluctant to show off her work, and I noticed you’ve been taking art class since freshman year.”

“Yes, right.” I don’t believe her. Not one word. Mrs. Brown always encourages me to show off my stuff, to apply to one competition or another. My answer is always the same, but she never gives up. And now this? “Leave it alone. My plans after high school are mine. They don’t concern you or anybody else.”

With those words, I grab my things and cross those few short steps that separate the chairs from the doorway of her tiny office. I pull the door open harshly and step out, only to run into somebody.

Quickly, like I was burned, I pull away, my eyes grazing up from the hard chest covered in the soft black shirt to silver eyes.

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