At the end of AP Art History it happens. The intercom blares: "ROSS SHOR, PLEASE REPORT TO THE GUIDANCE OFFICE. ROSS SHOR, PLEASE REPORT TO THE GUIDANCE OFFICE."
My stomach sinks. I know something awful has happened. My mom's been in a car accident. My dad's been fired and I have to drop out of school and start working so we don't end up homeless.
Stepping into the office, the receptionist directs me to an empty bench. Doesn't she know I'm about to receive terrible news? That my life is going to be forever changed, and not for the better? Shouldn't she be a little less cheery?
The guidance counselor's door opens and the blonde boy from the woods steps out. The guidance counselor says something to him and pats him on the back. I don't think he notices me staring. It's been 3 weeks since we ran into each other, he must have forgotten all about me by now. In the daylight I can see that he looks perfect. I wish I looked like him. Tall, the perfect height. Skinny, but not so skinny that he looks unhealthy. He was wearing all black. I don't think I'll ever look as cool as he looks right now.
Once he's gone, I realize the receptionist and guidance counselor are both looking at me. I guess the guidance counselor is waiting for me to go into her office. She looks bored, propping the door open with her hip and repeating my name ("Shor, Shor, Shor...").
Surprisingly, not bad news. I feel my shoulders relax. My phone had been found.
The guidance counselor hands it to me and I start to leave.
"Ah, there's one more thing actually," She starts.
Great. Now I'm going to get the terrible, life altering news.
"I was looking at your transcript and you don't have any extra curricular activities."
"So?"
"Well, do you want to go to college?"
"I guess."
"You're gonna have to do more than just your homework, Ross."
"I get that," I explain, "but I don't do sports. I don't like school events or school spirit. There's nothing I really want to do."
"What about volunteering somewhere outside of school?" The guidance counselor questions.
"I can't drive."
"Don't try to limit yourself, Ross. The Church Street food bank is less than a mile from school, and they're always looking for help."
I don't like the sound of that. I'm content to stay home.
"I guess I'll try it. I probably won't like it, though." I hear myself say. Why did I tell her that? I didn't want to try it. Ugh.
"Perfect," She smiles.
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The food bank is a short walk from school, but of course it's raining on my first day there. I show up soaked. The woman in charge, Grace, pulls a massive sweater, a pair of paint-covered pants, and some thick socks out of the donation closet for me. My wet clothes hang on a makeshift drying rack.
My first job is to put away the contents of the most recent boxes of donations. "You've gotta learn where it's all at." Grace tells me. I feel like I should tell her I'm not planning to be a long-term volunteer, but I don't want to let her down.
One of the boxes I'm emptying contains only bleach and sanitizing wipes. When I go to put them in the chemical closet I find that it's locked. I can see Grace is on the phone, so I set the box on the floor and wait for her to finish her conversation.
15 minutes go by and she's still on the phone. I don't want to waste any more time, so I go into the food bank's kitchen and look for someone to ask for help.
In the center of the kitchen, writing something down, is the blonde. My hands start shaking. Everyone else in the kitchen is cooking or washing dishes, so I decide that the blonde is the best person to ask for help.
"Um. Uh- do you... Have a second? I need to. Um. I need help." I can hardly speak. This is so embarrassing. He's still dressed in all black, but there's a flour handprint on his shoulder. It's so adorable.
Without looking up at me, he replies: "Yeah, what's up?"
"I need to put some stuff in the, uh. Closet. And it's locked."
"Okay, yeah, the code is 433." He still hasn't looked up from his paper.
"Thanks, man." I say, and start to walk away.
"Are you new?" I hear, and turn to face him. He's looking at me. I'm frozen.
"Hello? Are you new?" He repeats himself.
"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I'm new, yeah."
"Alright. I'm Riker."
"I'm Ross."
"Ross," He smiles. "Nice to meet you."
