Ten Things

Ch.6-You Can't Play the Blame Game

Grace

The tutoring session with Cole wasn’t as horrid as I thought it would be. He was full of himself, that was plain as day from the start. One thing I didn’t see was the potential Principle Powers was preaching he had. The kid was horrible at math. And science. And basically every subject. Okay, not horrible enough to fail, but mediocre enough to get average and slightly below. I knew I wasn’t applying to any colleges myself, but I was sure you needed a tad bit higher grades for even a chance to get in.

He left after exactly an hour had passed, fast as lightning. I didn’t blame him, of course. Imagine if anybody knew he had spent time in my house.

I wasn’t ignorant to the rumors about me.

My parents were still out. I had drunk mine and Cole’s iced tea. I had a thing for the beverage. I was sitting on the couch, immersed in silence, able to think clearly for the first time in weeks.

There was somebody I needed to see.

I slid into my boots, pulling on a second sweater overtop my first. It was probably fifty degrees outside but I was susceptible to the cold. It felt like thirty.

I didn’t own a car—another needless precaution taken by my parents—but the place I needed to go wasn’t far. Before moving to Heart there were several places I had scoped out beforehand. The hospital was one, Heart High School being another. There was also the local bookstore . . .

And the place I was headed.

I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets, furrowing into the soft material of the sweaters. I must have looked downright odd, by anybody who passed by. But I couldn’t worry about that. There were always bigger issues than what people thought of you.

The building was small and brick, a crooked sign hanging from the front. I entered through the door, the receptionist from the desk glancing up fleetingly. “What can I do for ya, hon?” she questioned, snapping her bubble gum.

“Um,” I murmured, stepping farther inside. I rubbed my palms up and down my sleeves. “I’m looking for a Mr. Greene?”

She didn’t even look up from her computer. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“No.”

She sighed. “Does he even know who you are?”

“I don’t believe so.”

She propped her elbow on the desk, staring strangely up at me. “What is your name, hon?”

“Grace Loving.”

“Loving? You new here?” I nodded. “That’s what I thought. Hold on a sec.” she dug around in some files by her feet, mumbling to herself the whole time. I stood awkwardly with my hands folded in front of me, unsure what I was supposed to do.

The office was nice enough. Quaint. Decorated like your average family living space. I liked the pictures hanging from the walls, and the fire place in the corner. It was very welcoming.

“Here we are. Oh, my.” This time when she glanced up at me there was sympathy in her eyes. I hated that look and it could only mean one thing. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

I forced my lips to smile, though it felt more like a grimace. I didn’t see why people were sorry all the time. It wasn’t like they all got together, decided I would have cancer, and then made it happen. “Don’t be. Is Mr. Greene available?”

“Yes, he is. Right upstairs, the first door to your right.”

“Thank you.”

I ran my hand along the smooth wood of the hand rail, ascending the stairs. Mr.—I should really say Dr.—Greene was a therapist that specialized in sick victims and their families. Terminally sick victims. I didn’t want to have to go to him but I wasn’t seeing any other options.