Page 2 of Confessions of a High School Guidance Counselor

I hated that question. It hurled all of his shitty behavior in my face and forced me to find a solution. “You could start with goodbye,” I hissed and grabbed the bag closest to me, then threw it out the door, hitting his mistress. She cried out and stumbled backward.

It wasn’t like I meant to hit her. I hadn’t seen her coming. But considering she’d been in my house, helping break up my relationship, I didn’t feel bad.

Shelooked at me like I was a monster and then to Dax like he was her savior.

“Go!” I yelled, then walked tomyroom, slamming the door behind me.

With tears streaming down my face, I slid down the door until I sat on the floor. Just an hour ago, I’d been laughing with my best friend at Waldo’s Diner. And now? I was a mess.

I reached into my legging pocket for my phone, but when I clicked the button, it was dead. Deader than my relationship with my so-called fiancé who left me for a girl who couldn’t tell a finch from a parakeet if she had an encyclopedia. Deader than encyclopedias.

With a groan, I crawled on my knees to plug it in and adjusted my frayed charging cord to get a little extra juice. And while I was at it, I had to get ready for work. Emerson Academy was just as strict on staff as it was on students, and showing up late was out of the question, regardless of broken bones, cars, and even hearts.

I walked to my closet and threw on a plain black dress. It looked like most of my others—professional, sleek, tailored. Just what you would expect of the person guiding high schoolers in decisions that would affect the rest of their lives.

Too bad I was obviously terrible at making decisions of my own.

My curly hair refused to behave, so I put it in a bun, sprayed down the flyaways, and grabbed my one-percent-charged phone.

I needed to leave or risk being late for work, but I couldn’t bring myself to open the bedroom door. On one side was the bed I shared with Dax. And on the other side of the door?

I pressed my ear to the wood.

Nothing.

He was already gone.

My throat tightened, and my eyes stung, but I couldn’t let myself keep crying. Not before work.

I left the bedroom and walked into the half-empty living room. I folded my arms across my middle, taking it in. The home that I’d worked so hard to make ours had been dismantled in less than a day.

Knowing I’d fall apart if I stayed there any longer, I hurried to my car and got in. Except halfway down the road, I realized my skirt was trapped in the door. I had to wait for the next red light to open the door and give my legs some room.

I cursed Dax’s name right along with this stupid skirt. Could it tell the kind of morning I’d had?

It was one thing to dump your fiancée and leave her with a townhouse rent that she can’t afford on her salary. It was another thing altogether to make her late for work.

So, I sped as much as I could toward the school and ran in my sensible heels down the tile hallway. Faculty and staff were supposed to get to the school half an hour before the students, but I was closing in on fifteen minutes.

My office phone was already ringing when I reached my door. I fumbled with my keys, flipping past all of Dax’s stupid studio keys, and shoved in the right one. The doorknob was as old as this fancy private school, so it took some jiggling before I burst into the office, making my bird squawk excitedly.

I rushed to the phone, yanking it out of its caddy. “Hello?” I gasped, trying not to breathe too hard.

“Miss Melrose,” the secretary said in her sharp voice. “Why are you out of breath?”

I stifled my panting and said, “Chair yoga.”

That earned me a harrumph. “A parent called this morning requesting a meeting with you first thing. I added it to your schedule but wanted to make sure you saw it in time. You didn’t reply to my email when you should have arrived. Unless you were late...”

“Thanks for keeping track, Marge,” I muttered, logging in to my computer. Very rarely did I have parents request last minute visits, and it was typically not the best of news. I could not handle any more trouble this morning.

“Mhmm,” Marge said. The phone crackled as she hung up. At least it was Wednesday. Only two days left after today and then I could drown myself in a bottle or three of Cupcake wine.

I held the receiver to my ear until I clicked my way to my calendar, but it quickly clattered to the ground when I saw who requested the meeting.

“Pam Alexander,” I muttered. “Great.”

Ralphie twittered at me, reminding me to fill his dish, so I hung the phone back up and opened the top drawer of my filing cabinet where I kept his specially formulated pellets and bottles of spring water.

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