Playing with Forever

Chapter 3: The Guidance Counselor

I came back to the conversation as Mrs. Hansen wound up her tangent. "Now, have you gotten all the bumps in your schedule figured out?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Have you had any trouble catching up? Your grades for the last few weeks seem excellent."

"I'm an insomniac, so I have a lot of time for studying."

She frowned at me, displeased. "Oh, that's not good. Studies show that teenagers need eight to ten hours of sleep a night."

I shrugged. "I do alright."

"Hm," she hummed disapprovingly. "You should definitely work on that. Maybe see a doctor?"

I certainly wouldn't plan on it. They'd make me talk about the nightmares, and that wasn't a road I was going down. "Good idea," I lied.

"Do you have any questions that I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually, I do have one," I said, trying to sit forward in the greedy green couch and mostly failing. "I have Ms. Reynolds for Humanities, and she uses an outside program for homework submittals, and I've been having a hard time getting in."

Mrs. Hansen waved her hand in dismissal. "Oh, computers aren't my thing, sweetheart. We'll see if we can get someone to help you out. Let's see, who's in that class?"

"I sit by a boy named Sam," I offered.

"Sam Durand?" Mrs. Hansen asked, her eyebrows rising in surprise.

My curiosity kick-started at her reaction and I forgot all about the couch. "Yes." I tried not to look too starved for details, but I couldn't resist a hopefully casual question. "Is there something I should know about Sam?"

She looked around slyly, like someone might hear her even though we were the only ones in her office, then leaned closer. "Naturally, I don't promote gossip here," she insisted in the low voice of someone about to impart gossip despite that claim, "but I think it would be in your best interest to not associate unnecessarily with Mr. Durand. On the social side, he's not very pleasant."

"Huh." This threw me off guard. I'd expected something like, 'bad home life,' or 'drugs,' or something like that, something dramatic. Not 'unpleasant.' I said, "Like socially awkward?"

"No. He avoids people like the plague, rejecting everyone, and the kids return the sentiment." She heaved a big sigh. "But he is handy with a computer, so we'll get him to show you the program. Beyond that, though, I wouldn't recommend associating with him too much. You know how people talk. I'd hate for you to ostracize yourself because of some boy."

Some boy. She was his counselor, too, wasn't she? Shouldn't she talk better of him?

After some unimportant small talk, I walked out a few minutes later, alive and freed from the hungry green couch, and completely shocked that the school counselor had just instructed me to be careful of another student, all because it might put my reputation on the line.

How completely terrible.

After school was my tryout for the volleyball team. I changed nervously into the athletic clothes I had brought from home in the girls bathroom—I didn't feel like I'd earned a place in the locker room just yet—laced up my sneakers, and made my way to the gym.

I had quickly understood that volleyball was a big deal at Hartford High School. The team worked all year long, not just for the season--they were part of a club system that played all year. The prospect of playing volleyball for my entire senior year made me smile, but it was small because of the anxiety. I had been forced to quit the team as a sophomore and hadn't played for nearly two years, though I had longed to be back on the team in Sacramento. I would have made it, too. Varsity.