Page 64 of Confessions of a High School Guidance Counselor

I nodded, wishing I was brave enough to just ask him where he was going with this. Wishing the mere mention of Pam’s name didn’t make my blood run cold. I needed this job, though. Not only because I loved working with the students, but because any apartment complex would require income to pay my rent.

“It means we’re dedicated to keeping our families happy,” he said. “And lately, she’s been quite unhappy with you.”

“Because of Ryde?” I asked. “I only did the mandated college planning session with him and—”

“We’re going to wave future meetings,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows. “Every student has the meetings. It’s a requirement for graduation.” In fact, Emerson Academy’s excellent record of Ivy League college placement was one of the things that made us a top high school in the country. “Won’t it be holding him back to not know what his options really are? The long-term success of child actors—"

“If you’re unwilling to fulfill the duties of your role as instructed,” Headmaster Bradford said, “we can revisit your contract at the end of the year and see if Emerson Academy is a place you’d like to continue working.”

I lowered my gaze and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Great.” He opened the door and walked toward the hallway, leaving me alone in the lounge. Except my stomach didn’t much feel like coffee anymore.

Slowly, the door to the bathroom in the teachers’ lounge opened, and Mr. Davis stepped out.

My cheeks instantly reddened with shame. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” he said, but his eyes told me he knew it all. “But if I did hear anything, just know that I’ve got your back.”

He left the teachers’ lounge then too, and I was alone with my empty cup. I filled it, if only out of habit, and walked back to my office. Leaving the door open, I sat behind my desk, waiting for Sierra Cook to come for her appointment, feeling worse than I had before.

Maybe I didn’t want to work at this school. Surely Mara wouldn’t mind me staying until I could find another job. Or...I could stay with my parents until I built up an employment record at another place. Maybe even a private business until I could find a position at one of the local public schools.

Except then I would have way more students to work with. Which meant I’d have less time with each of them to make any real difference. But I would be away from the school where I’d begun my career, getting a fresh start. And I would be able to pursue a relationship with Cohen...

I shook my head to snap myself out of that line of thought. What was I thinking? I hardly knew Cohen, and I was ready to throw away my career for a chance at what? Happily ever after?

As far as I knew, the possibility of that happening with him or anyone else for that matter was slim to none. No, I needed to focus on my job, on my students, on finding a home for Ralphie and me.

I sighed. I hated that people could throw around their money and toy with someone’s life. I’d seen my parents do it before, and now that I was on the receiving end, it made me sick.

The first bell rang, and soon after, the tread of Sierra’s loafers signaled her presence.

I set aside my upset from this morning and gave her a smile. “Hi, Sierra, how is your morning?”

She dropped into a chair, sitting back and folding her arms across her chest. “Okay.” Although, her face told me she was anything but. There was far too much shadow under her eyes for any girl her age, and her lips pinched down at the corners. Even her hair seemed askew, as though she’d attempted a braid without a mirror.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Her eyes darted toward the door she’d left open, then she looked down as she nodded.

Gentle. “Let’s talk about colleges. You’re interested in studying art, right?” I reached into my filing cabinet for the information packets I’d gotten from schools with some of the best art programs. “UCLA, of course, has a good program if you’d like to stay closer to home.”

She shook her head.

I put that packet aside, then held up the other two. “Yale has a strong reputation for their program. I’ve also seen excellent artists come from the Art Institute of Chicago. Do either of those locations appeal to you?”

Looking withdrawn, she folded her arms across her chest. “Can I be honest with you, Ms. Melrose?”

“Birdie,” I said. “And of course.”

“I don’t think I want to go to college.”

My stomach bottomed out, and I rose to shut the door. If a teacher heard her say that, she would never hear the end of it. Especially since she didn’t come from big money or have acting plans after graduation.

“Is that so?” I said, clicking the door shut. “Now that we have some privacy...what are you thinking?”

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