“I’m supposed to be waiting for Ms. Bree out there,” I tell her.
Dr. Rose opens the door and asks the guard to give her twenty minutes. “Now we’ve got a little time,” she reassures me. She sits at a small round table and pulls out a notebook. “So, you just saw Director Brewster. Maybe that’s where you want to start?”
“I mean, she said I can get out early. That’s pretty much all I heard,” I say.
Dr. Rose nods and jots something down. “And do you think you can manage staying out of trouble enough for that?”
“Umm, yes. I wasn’t technically getting myself in trouble in the first place. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Before that, well, I just ignored a few stupid rules,” I say, thinking of my behavior back then and how innocent it all seems now, in light of where I am. “My mom just didn’t know what else to do.”
Dr. Rose scribbles in her notebook and then looks at me thoughtfully. “Are you having a hard time acknowledging why you were sent here? If so, we need to work on that. Acceptance is the first step to real breakthrough.”
Something about her wording makes me sit up straight, puts me on the defense.
“Well, Iacceptthat my mom made up really strict rules because she was busy a lot, and I didn’t ‘break’ them to get in trouble, I was just trying to live my life. Plus, now I know that she had a boyfriend and that’s probably also why she was so busy. She was living hers too.” I lean back into the couch and cross my arms.
“Your mother is an adult, and you are a child. She sets rules and you are to abide by them. That’s why you’re here, your failure to follow rules, Jasmine,” Dr. Rose notes sternly.
All of a sudden, this is feeling a lot more like a sentencing than a therapy session. I put my hands on my thighs to stop them from shaking and silently vow to never say another honest word to Dr. Rose. I’ll save everything for my journal.
“Do you understand that? We have to start there, at taking responsibility for—”
“I would like to leave now,” I say firmly.
She pauses for a moment, and I expect her to scold me again or to tell me children don’t get requests either. But she just says, “We have a lot of work to do, Jasmine. See you next week.” She closes the door softly behind me.
In the hallway, Amari is stepping away from the guard’s desk. She plops down on a chair against the wall and makes a face like she’s surprised to see me. The guard snaps his fingers.
“Amari, unit or class?” he asks.
“Wherever she’s going,” Amari says, pointing to me.
The guard shakes his head and picks up the phone to call our escort. I sit on the chair next to Amari.
“Hi to you too,” she says.
The guard hangs up the phone. “Ms. Bree will be here in fifteen minutes.” He opens a drawer and pulls out a small paper cup. “For water,” he says, pointing it at the cooler by the door.
“Oh, no thank you, sir,” I say.
“You can call me Mr. Rick,” he says with a smile.
Amari chuckles and he shoots her a look. “New Girl’s being a kiss ass?” she whispers.
“When are you going to start calling me Jasmine?” I ask. It’s been months now.
Amari shrugs. “I like ‘New Girl’ better.”
I roll my eyes and focus on the door Ms. Bree is going to walk through.
“Where are you from anyway?”
Her question catches me off guard. We’ve chatted a bit on our way to class but mostly just about our days, nothing personal. She isn’t whispering anymore, and I look at Mr. Rick to see if he thinks I’m talking too. He isn’t paying attention to us, but I don’t want to take any chances. I cannot be written up.
“We can talk, New Girl, relax.”
“But who says I want to?”
“A lucky guess, since you answered me.” She leans back in her seat with a confidence that’s slightly intriguing.
