Page 4 of Confessions of a High School Guidance Counselor

“As we speak, major producers are considering him for roles in upcoming movies. He’s not about to throw an opportunity like that away on something like college.”

“Why does it have to be either/or?” I argued, getting fired up. My parents had told me the same thing—that I didn’t need to go to college because my husband and family money would take care of me. Dax had proven how flawed that logic was. “You know, plenty of famous actors have attended college. Adam Driver, Natalie Portman—”

“Just because you’re obsessed with theStar Warsfranchise does not mean my son needs to become a trekkie.”

I closed my eyes, wishing I had paid more attention in the yoga classes my mother forced me to attend with other rich white ladies when I was a teen. “A trekkie is someone who likesStar Trek,” I explained. “They’re not the same thing.”

“Potato, tomato.” She stood, hitching her purse in her elbow, then leaned over my desk. “You listen here, and you listen good. My husband and I donate so much to this school we could buy it if we wanted to. We have friends on the board of trustees, and my husband golfs with the headmaster. Do you understand?”

“Golf?” I asked innocently. “I’ve never taken much intere—”

“Don’t be smart with me. I have friends in important places. Friends who could land your bargain-bin-wearing ass on the curb. Comprende?”

I stayed silent, keeping my gaze strong despite the tumult in my gut. She was right. And I couldn’t afford rent as it was. I needed this job.

She stood. “That’s what I thought.” Then she walked to the door, and in the doorway, she smiled brightly and spoke loudly. “Thanks for such a productive meeting, Miss Melrose. Talk soon!”

As she walked away, I fell over my desk and hit my forehead on my arms.

The force wasnotwith me today.

2

Cohen

I pulled along the curb at my son’s school, Emerson Academy. The place always scared me a little. Probably because it was nothing like the public high school I’d attended in the next town over.

Ollie lifted his backpack into his lap as I drew to a stop, and his fingers were already on the door handle.

“Hey,” I said. “I know we’re running behind, but what about a ‘see you later, Dad?’ or ‘have a nice day, Dad?’” He was only a sophomore in high school, but it seemed like yesterday I was his hero and all it took to earn a smile was an airplane ride or a piece of gum.

Ollie gave me a lopsided smile that looked so much like my own at that age. But where my hair was mostly straight, he’d gotten his mother’s curls, and they grew out messy atop his head. “Bye,father dearest.I hope you have an astounding day enabling alcoholism.”

“Sarcasm,” I said. “Nice.”

He pushed open the door and got out. “See you Monday. And water the plants, please.”

“Will do. Love you,” I said, wishing he wasn’t too cool to hug me in front of all his friends walking past us in their navy-blue private school uniforms.

“Love you,” he said quietly before shutting the door and walking away.

I stayed in the spot for a moment, watching him. Maybe it was teenage brain, but he’d been so up and down lately. Happy and chatty one moment and withdrawn in his room the next. Not for the first time, I wished I had a parent to call—provide some perspective—but that ship had long since sailed, crashed, and sank to the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again. Maybe I’d call Gayle later—despite not having children, she was great with teens. I knew firsthand.

A horn behind me honked, and I looked in the rearview of my Tesla to see a soccer mom with bug-eye sunglasses pursing her lips at me. I went to drive forward but stopped just in time. Pam Alexander, venom in heels, was walking in front of my car. She gave me a mix between a glare and a grin, and I lifted my fingers at her in acknowledgement. I wasn’t one to wish away time, but I couldn’t wait until Ollie was out of this school.

The clock on my dash told me I was already late for my next appointment, so I gunned it out of the parking lot and headed to meet my realtor. It had been two years since my wife and I split, which meant two years too long in an apartment.

I wanted to have a place for Ollie and me where we could make our mark—paint the walls, build displays for the houseplants he had all over our place, maybe even get a small yard for him to garden. The mild California weather meant he could have something growing all year long.

My GPS told me I was approaching the house, but I would have known anyway because of my realtor’s small purple car. It had sparkles and a giant picture of her face on it. That car alone would have been reason enough to decline her services, but Steve, the manager at my bar, swore up and down she was the best.

As soon as I parked in the driveway behind her car, she stepped out, her hair and spiky pink heels making her almost as tall as I was. In the back of my mind, I could hear my ex’s sure-fire criticisms. That made me like Linda even more.

“Hi, Linda,” I said. “Tell me about it.”

She gestured at the house. “Two bedrooms, one bathroom, galley kitchen, and a sizable backyard.” The disappointment in her voice was apparent.

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked. There wasn’t any point wasting our time if this wasn’t the one.

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