w a t e r s o n g

before

3 months earlier...

Miranda rolled her eyes when she saw the next appointment on her schedule. It was with Crissy Andrews, her eldest daughter's so-called best friend. She came in at least twice a month with a life-threatening crisis: situations like when her mother cut off her credit card or the time a picture of her with an awful pimple on her nose was released in a group chat. Not that these weren't items of concern for a teenager, particularly one in Crissy's social group, but it was hard to empathize with the girl when Miranda routinely saw students in authentic crisis. Families were being torn apart. Children were starving, being abused. But Crissy took up their time with her fretting about how she was going to lose the five pounds she gained over Christmas break.

In preparation for her upcoming meeting, Miranda closed the door and readied the box of tissues that she knew would be necessary for whatever was disclosed during the session. She sat down at her desk and closed her eyes, imagining herself floating in the middle of the ocean, staring up at the sky, teasing out the shapes of the clouds. Usually the visualization technique worked, but today she could only discern the outlines of diamonds and designer handbags. She hadn't managed to cleanse herself of her preconceptions, but she had at least garnered enough patience to deal with Crissy.

There was a short rap on the door, which opened before Miranda had a chance to call for the girl to come in. At least she knocked this time. The moment Miranda saw the girl's face, she could tell something was different with this girl; something was really wrong. Her eyes and nose were red, the latter running freely. Miranda knew it would take something serious for Crissy to allow herself to be seen that way, what with everyone running around ready to capture everything semi-interesting on their phones for Instagram or Snapchat or whatever platform they favored. The social media platforms popped up too quickly for her to keep track of.

Miranda rose and beckoned Crissy to a seat close to hers, ready to open herself to whatever was coming her way. The teenager fell into the chair while Miranda closed the door.

"What's wrong, honey?" she asked.

Crissy didn't wait long enough for Miranda to sink into the chair opposite when she began babbling. "I've done something bad, I think. I'm not sure exactly, but I'm afraid."

"Of what, Crissy?" Miranda passed across the tissues. "Can you be more specific?"

Crissy took one of the tissues and blew her nose. "I had a party."

Miranda's stomach clenched. She knew about this party. She had sent her daughter to this party. If something this upsetting had happened at the party, she didn't know if she would be able to separate her professional self with her mom self. Her folded hands clenched so hard that her knuckles turned white, but Crissy wasn't even looking at her to notice the change in her demeanor.

She took a deep breath and tried to sound neutral. "Yes? Did something happen?"

Of course Crissy knew Miranda was Regina's mother. The woman had baked cookies at their sleepovers, had put band-aids on her knee after the little girl misjudged the distance between the curb and the wheel on her bicycle. From the way Crissy forced herself to breathe, slow down, lower her eyes, Miranda understood that her daughter's friend was choosing her words wisely.

"Yes." Her shoulders shook in a shuddering sob. "Something happened. Just not the way I thought it would."

Miranda's mind searched out the possibilities, which--with Crissy--could be anything from another girl texting her boyfriend behind her back to something more serious, experimentation gone awry. She forced herself to keep her daughter's name out of her mouth. This had nothing to do with her. This was her job. She had to do her job.

"Go on."

Crissy raised her eyes to meet Miranda's. They were wider and more innocent than Miranda had ever seen since she'd first met the girl.

"I..." Crissy whispered, almost unable to finish the sentence. "I hurt someone."

"Physically?" Miranda asked, immediately on guard. She was a mandatory reporter and had to alert the authorities of any possible abuse that may have happened, be ongoing, or about to occur. She'd learned more than she wanted to about the ways that girls could hurt people so viciously, usually emotionally, but occasionally physically. Hormones were high, and impulse control was low. She didn't want to have to call anyone about this conversation, but it was possible.

She was relieved when Crissy shook her head vehemently. "No. No. But I don't know. Maybe something could happen. I'm afraid."

Miranda leaned forward. "Do you think something bad is going to happen to you? Are you afraid to go home right now?" She visualized calling Crissy's parents, questioning them about what went on in their home, and the picture sent her stomach into turmoil.

"No," Crissy swallowed. She wiped her nose and straightened up a little. "Nothing like that. You know what? This was dumb of me. I just thought..."

"Yes?"

"I thought that you might know how to help. But I think this is something that I need to figure out myself. Can you just forget we ever had this conversation?"

Miranda didn't know what to think. Teenagers often backtracked, thought they wanted solace and then tried to retrieve their words, pick them up off the floor like scattered puzzle pieces. In those instances, she tried to maintain their dignity as much as possible, step back and let them have room to sort out their emotions, but this was her daughter's best friend, and she'd been set on high alert.

Pressing her lips together, Miranda thought about how to respond. She didn't want to close the door completely, but she didn't want to alarm the girl by putting on too much pressure in case it scared her from trying to get help again, if this turned out to be something serious.

"Crissy, I won't forget it, but I will keep your concerns private. And, as you know, my door is always open. We've known each other a long time."

The girl nodded, wadding up her tissue and standing up, smoothing her skirt. "Thank you."

When the door closed, Miranda turned to make a note in her planner to check with Crissy in a few week's time, just to make sure everything was okay. Most likely it was nothing, a fight with a friend or her boyfriend. Those things usually cleared up pretty quickly, but just in case...

She'd remember to follow up.