“What was that?”
“Bennet,” I say, sounding annoyed. “My last name is Bennet.”
“I thought you preferred Halliway.”
“I prefer Bennet. I use Halliway at school because I’ve been told I had to in order to fit in.”
She frowns. “Who told you that?”
“Your boss.”
“I see.” She scribbles down something in her notepad. “Moving on. How is school going?”
I keep quiet, focusing on a string that’s hanging off the hem of my skirt. Staring at the hem reminds me of Jackson’s hand going under it, sliding up my thigh to my panties, then—
“Ms. Halliway,” Ms. Adams says. “I need you to pay attention.”
“I’m really not into this today,” I say, sinking farther into the chair and tipping my head up to the ceiling.
“I didn’t stay past regular hours to have you ignore me. I’m here to help you so I would appreciate it if you’d sit up straight and pay attention.”
Remaining in my current position, I close my eyes and yawn.
She taps her heels on the floor really fast. We just started, and I’ve already annoyed her to the point she probably wants to kick me out of her office. Brock would be proud of my acting job.
“You’re booked for an hour,” she says. “I’m not letting you go early for acting this way. We’ll just sit here until the hour is up.”
“Works for me,” I say, getting out my phone.
She lets out a long sigh. “Rumor, I realize this is a difficult time. Many teens tend to act out when they lose a parent. It’s their way of expressing sadness. They use anger to cover it up. Or they might be angry at their parent for leaving. I don’t know what you’re feeling right now but I understand.”
“I’m sure you do,” I say sarcastically, flipping through my phone.
“I lost my mother too, when I was fourteen.”
I stop scrolling and wait for her to continue.
“She stood in front of a train and waited.”
My eyes lift from my phone. “She killed herself?”
Ms. Adams nods. “She hadn’t been taking her meds. She had severe depression and had tried suicide twice before that.”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
“I’m not telling you this for your sympathy. I’m telling you so you know you’re not alone. Although it’s different for everyone, I do understand what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age.”
“Was your dad around?”
“He was, but he was never the same after that. He spent all his time at the office and didn’t come home until after I was asleep. I didn’t have brothers and sisters, so I spent a lot of time by myself. It took years to get over my grief. If I’d had someoneto talk to, someone who would listen, I wouldn’t have been stuck in my grief for so long.”
She seems sincere and like she really does want to help, but I don’t trust her. I can’t. She works at Twisted Pine, where everyone lies and puts on a phony act, and nothing is as it seems.
“Sorry, but I’m just not into it,” I say, looking back at my phone. “I’ll sit here for an hour, but I’m not going to talk.”
She writes something in her notebook, then goes around to her desk. I hear her typing on her laptop, which continues for the next half hour. Then she comes back to the butterfly chair and attempts to get me to talk again. When I won’t, she goes back to her desk and types some more.
At five, she stands up, gazing down at me in the bean bag chair. “You can go now. I’ll see you on Friday.”
