Page 46 of Confessions of a High School Guidance Counselor

I lifted a corner of my lips. “I think part of me felt like maybe Dax was the best I could do. He wouldn’t even keep the lights on, Mara. If my own fiancé didn’t want to see me, who am I to think that anyone else would?”

Mara gave me a side hug, and I hugged her back, wishing I could undo all the years of dieting my mother had put me through, all the times I’d accepted Dax’s silent dismissal of my size.

“What does it say about me that I’d rather be with someone I felt lukewarm about than be by myself?” I asked. I knew it couldn’t be anything good.

“Um, maybe that you grew up with frigid WASPy parents and you’re trying to make up for lost time and affection?”

“Okay.” I held up a hand. “When did you get your therapy degree?”

“I write romance; it’sbasicallythe same thing.”

I giggled, feeling a little bit lighter, and took a sip of my coffee.

“So are you going to see him again?” she asked.

With a small smile, I took another sip and said, “Of course.”

How could I not?

Soon, the crowd picked up and Mara chatted with guests while I ran the cashbox and helped them purchase books. By the end of the day, she’d sold a couple dozen copies (and handmade book sleeves to go with them) and I was completely exhausted.

The evening passed by quickly after that, with a visit to Ralphie and another couple apartment tours that turned out to be busts as well. One was well over my budget with all the added fees, and the other had clearly falsely advertised on their website. I hated it when apartment complexes showed off pictures of the “clubhouse” and forgot to show that the actual units looked like they had been inhabited by squatters for the last five years.

On Monday, I went to school, ready to spend some more time with Ralphie and get to the bottom of what was going on with Ollie. Between first and second period, I caught him in the hallway and asked him to come to my office.

Ollie was a sweet kid, with a pile of curly hair atop his head and wide green eyes that looked so much like his father’s. But I noticed the shadows under his eyes and the way his shoulders seemed to hunch forward dejectedly.

When we reached my office, he sat in the open chair and said, “I thought my planning meeting wasn’t until next semester.”

He was right. We spoke to juniors in the spring semester about their plans for the fall so they could get a jump-start over the summer. “Actually, I called you in to talk about something else.”

He looked toward the ground. “My mom made me work on my missing assignments over the weekend, and my dad set a homework time for when I get home every day. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said, waiting for him to meet my eyes. When he didn’t, I said, “Ollie?”

He looked at me, and said, “Yeah?”

“Is everything okay? Is there anything I can help you with?”

He blinked slowly, looking down again. “I’m fine. Can I get back to class?”

Clearly, he wasn’t fine, but prodding him would only make him throw up his walls even harder. And he needed to talk to someone—withdraw from social life and schoolwork for no apparent reason could indicate any number of scary things to come.

So instead, I stood with him and said, “Sure. But I want you to know, this office is a safe place. And I’m here for you, no matter what it is.”

With a nod, he pushed the door open and left.

I sighed and shut the door behind him, then got my cell out of my purse. I pulled up Cohen’s number and sent him a text.

Birdie: I talked to Ollie today. He said he’s all caught up on homework, but still no word about what is going on.

Cohen: Thanks for checking in on him. It means a lot.

Birdie: Of course... but I’m wondering if speaking with a therapist in a private setting might be helpful for him? I can give you some referrals if you want.

I cringed, waiting for his response. My parents thought therapy was self-indulgent—an excuse to sit around for an hour a week and cry when you could easily replace that time with work or cocktails. I hoped Cohen was different, because whatever was causing Ollie’s behavior wasn’t likely to go away on its own.

Cohen: Please. I’m at a loss.

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