* * *
At school the next day, I catch up with Kristen as she’s leaving class.
“I need to talk to you,” I say.
“About what?” She continues down the hall, walking fast, her nose in the air.
“Not here,” I say, as people hurry past us.
She glances around, then grabs my arm and yanks me into an empty classroom.
“What do you want?” she snaps.
“I want you to stop spreading lies about me. You know I’m not into girls.”
She slowly smiles. “That’s not what Steven said.”
“I don’t care what he said. You know it’s not true. And you didn’t need to spread it around the whole school.”
She cocks her head. “Why would you tell Steven you’re a lesbian if you’re not?”
“I didn’t tell him. He assumed.”
“And why would he assume that?”
“Because I told him I was meeting a girl.”
“With roses and cupcakes?” She laughs. “How romantic.”
“Just tell me why you did it.”
She leans down to me, her eyes narrowed, brows drawn together. “I know who gave you those roses. I know why you were at the beach. And I know why I wasn’t allowed to stay at his place the other night.”
“I never told him to do that. It was his decision.”
“You really think I believe that?” She lowers her voice. “Jackson is mine. If you can’t get that through your tiny little brain, then more stories about you will be coming out. Stories way worse than the one about you and your little girlfriend.”
“You think you have Jackson wrapped around your little finger but I’m going to change that. I’m going to make him see what you’re really like.”
She stands up straight. “Jackson will never turn his back on me. You might as well stop fighting it and find someone else.” She smirks. “Like Braden.”
She turns and goes to the door. It swings open and she passes by some girls as they walk in the classroom. I go out to the hall and see her talking to Kade. She’s probably already making up more stories about me.
I knew she was still trying to get Jackson. If only I could get him to believe me.
After school, I head to Ms. Adams’ office, dreading another counseling session. I don’t want to go to the one Brock set up either. I don’t like talking about my personal life, and I reallydon’t like talking about my mom. I miss her so much it hurts. Everyone told me it’d hurt less as time went on, but it’s not true, at least not for me. The more time that goes by, the more I miss her.
“Ms. Halliway,” Ms. Adams says when I walk into her office. “Have a seat.”
I sit on the bean bag chair this time, dropping my backpack on the floor next to me. The chair is so low to the ground that I can’t even see Ms. Adams.
She gets up and comes around to the butterfly chair. “I’ll take this one.” She smiles. “Studies show casual seating makes people feel more open and willing to talk.” She reaches for her notepad and pen. “What would you like to start with today?”
I stare at the floor and don’t answer.
“Ms. Halliway?” she says.
“It’s Bennet,” I mutter.
