Page 70 of Confessions of a High School Guidance Counselor

My lips parted. “I’m—I’m not sure I heard you correctly. Sex ed indoctrination?”

“Of course. They want to make sure everychildhas access toadultcontraception. It’s entirely inappropriate.” He extended a placating hand my way. “Of course I’m not blaming you for the work you do. You’re just doing your job.”

“Wh-what? Hold on.” I sat in my chair, reeling from what he’d said. “What?”

“I mean, you understand.” The waitress came by, and he tapped the empty wine glass sitting in front of him on the table. Even the gesture, his lack of words for her, was so pretentious. He took a sip, slurping slightly, and said, “Besides, why should schools be shelling out birth control anyway? With taxpayer money?”

Okay, maybe Iwasin the mood to argue. I stood up, because sitting would have been too much for this conversation. “So taxpayers’ dollars can’t provide contraception, but they can pay for housing for single teen moms when their parents kick them out? Or free school lunches for kids when their teen parents can’t get an education and a good job because they’re busy raising children they weren’t prepared for in the first place? Oh, but you’re probably against that too.”

“Well, I, uh, you’re, uh—” he stammered, half standing, half sitting.

“Well, I, uh, you’re—” I mocked. I threw my napkin on the table. “Bye, Walter. Enjoy your free lunch.”

I yanked my purse over my shoulder, storming away from the restaurant. Surely the car was still there, but I was gone. I was done playing by the rules of people who had no idea what the real world looked like. I was done thinking I was less than because I had less than others.

I didn’t know how but I was going to make it work on my terms.

37

Cohen

I’d been working on this paper so long, my eyes were starting to cross. But I had to get it perfect before sending it on to Jonas to read so I could get his feedback.

Marjorie, the secretary at Emerson Academy, had seemed so confused at my question on how to get a handbook item changed, she sent me back to Headmaster Bradford. I’d hardly had any interaction with him other than watching him introducing the band at showcases.

He was a little shorter than me, but broad, with hawk-like eyes that made me understand why Birdie was so reticent to break any sort of rules at the school.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Bardot?” he’d asked. So proper.

When I asked him how to have a line item in the handbook changed, he’d told me it practically required an Act of Congress. I needed to get a hundred signatures on a petition from students, staff, or parents to even have the rule changeconsideredby the board of trustees. Then, I needed to give a presentation in front of the entire board, showing that a new rule really was merited. The next meeting was a couple months away, so I had time, but that was the worst part.

I had time.

Time away from Birdie. Time to wait for her to get snatched up by some guy, because she would. She was beautiful and funny and sexy as hell. A man would have to be blind not to notice, but even a blind man could hear the clear chime of her voice and be smitten as well.

I had to stifle that feeling of hopelessness as I worked on the speech. On the email I would send to everyone in the directory if I had to.

Birdie had told me she didn’t want to break the rule, which I’d respect. And if by some miracle I got the rule changed and she didn’t want to see me, well I’d cross that bridge when I got there.

The thought of her dating someone else, the thought of her turning me away, it was too much to handle.

I finished the closing paragraph, knowing I would need to rewrite it a million times before it would be good enough for stuffy people like Headmaster Bradford. After saving, I sent it to the printer in the apartment complex’s business office and took the elevator down to get it.

With the few crisp sheets in my hands, I took the elevator back up and went to my room. I’d play some TV in the background while I worked over the writing again and eventually sent it to Jonas.

But as soon as I sat down, my phone started ringing.

I blinked at the name on the screen.

Birdie.

She couldn’t be calling.

But I blinked again, and there she was, like a fucking star in the blackest of night skies. I hurriedly swiped to answer, trying and failing not to get too excited.

“Hello?” I said.

Her voice was a balm. “Come pick me up.”

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