“Tell me about your home life.”
“Well, aside from living with a potential murderer, which I realize I’m not supposed to talk about because he’s Twisted Pine’s star football player, my other cousin thinks I’m not actually his cousin, but just some girl trying to get money.”
Ms. Adams tilts her head and frowns. “And how does that make you feel?”
“I think it’s kind of funny, to be honest. If I was going to steal money from some rich guy, why would I fly across the country to do it? I could just pick someone in New York.”
“And what about your uncle? Are you getting along with him?”
“I really don’t see him that much. He goes out a lot or stays in his office.”
“The one at the house?”
“You’ve been to the house?”
She shakes her head really fast. “No, I just assumed he had one there. Many people do.”
I think she’s lying. Brock never denied he slept with her, which means he probably did. Maybe she’s even been in his sex room. He likes his women young, at least the ones he uses for sex. Ana can’t be more than twenty-five, and this woman seems to be around the same age.
“How old are you?” I ask.
She half-smiles. “A woman doesn’t reveal her age.”
“Sure they do. My mom had no problem telling people her age. I’d say you’re around twenty-five.”
“Close, but no. I’m older than that. Now let’s get back to your family. What about your father? Have you been in contact with him since your mother’s death?”
“No. He was in rehab, or at least that’s what I was told.”
“You don’t believe he was?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about my dad.” I get up. “I need to get to class.”
“You can leave when I tell you to,” she says. “Now please, sit down.”
Sighing, I sit back in the uncomfortable chair.
“Are you angry with your father?” she asks. “For not being there for you?”
“Not really. I’m used to it. He wasn’t around when I was growing up.”
“But this is different. Your mother is gone. He’s the only parent you have left.”
“Would you want a parent who’s drunk all the time, or on drugs?”
“Nobody would, but he’s still your father. He hasn’t tried to reach out to you?”
I stop myself before telling her about the call I assume was from my dad. Why am I telling this woman anything at all? I planned to sit here, not saying anything, and yet I keep talking. How did she get me to tell her so much? Maybe she’s a better counselor than Brock thinks. Still, I need to get out of these sessions, and the only way that’s happening is if I refuse to talk.
“Rumor,” she says. “Has your father tried to reach out to you?”
Getting out my phone, I scroll through my messages.
“Rumor, put the phone away. Phones aren’t allowed during sessions.”
I ignore her and keep scrolling. She comes around the desk and snatches it from me.
“Hey! Give it back!”
