I nodded, understanding now why he didn’t look anything like Quintin. I had just assumed his mom’s genes were stronger, like how I didn’t look anything at all like my father.
“I feel you on the whole sperm-donor situation. I’m really happy your mom met Quintin, and you got to be raised by him.”
Jae reached across the table to squeeze my hand. I cleared my throat and turned back to Enoch.
“Where’s your favorite place you’ve lived?”
Enoch hummed in thought, looking off into the distance like he was replaying memories in his head.
“Colorado. Definitely Colorado,” he finally said. “The landscape is awesome. There’s tons of outdoor sports and the people were nice.”
I nodded with a smile.
Sounds nice. If only I were going to get the chance to leave this place one day.
The bell rang and I quickly stood up to return my tray. With all the free time I had, since Mr. Crane wasn’t allowing me to be a part of the peer tutor team until my grades pulled to a B average, I was actually catching up on sleep for the first time in my life. Maybe avoiding schoolwork and sleeping was the answer to all of life’s problems.
I thought things were looking up, well more tolerable, until I got called out of the class I was planning to take a nap in. I grabbed my bag and slowly made my way out to the hall. I had no fucking clue what they could want from me, other than maybe something regarding flunking my AP class and needed to change my schedule.
I scowled at the secretary who held up her finger for me to wait while she spoke to someone on the phone. The office smelled like hot paper and ink from the copier, making the room feel stuffy and crowded despite me being the only student in the office.
Finally, she hung up the phone.
“Yes, dear?”
“I was called to the office,” I answered.
“Name?”
“Shiloh Tellez.”
She glanced at a notepad on her desk before looking up with recognition. “Oh, yes. Yes. Ms. Gonzalez will see you. Her office is just through the door at the end of the hall.”
I stared at her blankly, confused as to who Ms. Gonzalez was. The secretary gestured for me to get moving and I might have audibly mumbled for her to fuck off. I followed her directions, reaching the door at the end of the hall and reading the placard.‘Ms. Gonzalez, School Psychologist’
“Fuck you, Mr. Crane,” I cursed under my breath before knocking on the door. Of course, his crusty old ass would send me here after our last meeting.
A moment passed before a ‘come in’ resounded from the other side of the door. I stepped inside, rolling my eyes at the bright colors and motivational posters on the wall.
“Shiloh?”
I nodded and she motioned for me to take a seat on one of the seating options against the wall.
She was much younger than I was expecting, probably barely thirty, with thick, black, curly hair that had red highlights in it. She wore glasses that seemed a little too big for her face, but maybe that was trendy. I was never one to really pay attention to that stuff. I crumpled my body into the mustard yellow armchair, clutching the pillow that was on it against my stomach.
“So,” she said as she took a seat in the matching chair opposite me, crossing her legs. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself.”
I let out a huff of irritation. “Look, Ms. Gonzalez, I get that you have a job to do, but I have no interest in talking to you,” I said honestly, watching as her soft expression never changed.
She hummed in response, nodding slowly, maintaining eye contact that was beginning to make my skin crawl.
“How about I talk, and you listen? If you still aren’t willing to participate afterwards then you can stay ‘til the end of the next class and just take a nap,” she offered with a look like she knew I wouldn’t say no.
“Fine.”
She adjusted one of the bracelets on her wrist as she began speaking. “I’ve read your file, so I at least know whatever they put on paper. Your birthday is coming up in April, you’ve been a solid student since kindergarten, with the grades to prove it. Your first language was Spanish but you somehow managed to take Spanish classes with the rest of the student population as if you weren’t fluent.” She gave me a smirk like she was impressed that I’d somehow weaseled my way out of the native speakers’ classes.
“You’ve got an older brother, who didn’t finish high school, making you the first in your family to graduate and hopefully attend college.” My lip curled with bitterness at how wrong she was. “Well, that is if you put in the work to improve your grades,” she added, and I rolled my eyes. “And Mr. Crane tells me that up until recently you’ve been an active member of the peer tutoring center since freshman year.
