Fall or Fly

Chapter 4

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I absentmindedly​ tapped my finger against my leg as I sat in what I assumed to be Mrs. McCarver's office. When we had sat down, the phone rang, and she had hurriedly excused herself to answer it. Now, ten minutes later, I found my confidence to be, once again, washed away by my doubt. Annoying thing, doubt. It seems to slip into your brain at the worst times.

Scratch. Scratch.

I started to scratch a speck of paint off  of my jeans, then stopped and sighed in defeat. It was a lost cause. I was just bored and nervous, a combination that usually didn't go well together.

Bam!

The door was thrown open as Mrs. McCarver came back in. She walked past my chair and sat down at her desk, rubbing her temples.

"I'm sorry, it's been hectic ever since the..." She waved her hand in a circle. "Well, you know."

I vigorously nodded. "That's why I really wanted to come here. Is your son okay? The police wouldn't even tell me his name, and I was so worried..."

"Yes, yes, he's fine," Mrs. McCarver said. "Physically, that is."

I gave a sigh of relief and sat back. Then I furrowed my brow as the rest of her sentence registered. "Physically?"

"He won't admit he has a problem," she said, exasperation leaking out of her voice. "We've gotten him the best psychologist money can buy, but he refuses to talk to him."

I gave a slow nod as I tried to comprehend what she had told me. To me, it seemed like having some old man who was only there because his parents were rich enough to afford him didn't seem very helpful to me. But then again, what did I know about psychologists and feelings?

"Well, I'm glad he's okay, and I'm glad he's getting help," I said. We sat in silence for a few moments. Mrs. McCarver looked at me with a puzzled expression, and I wore an awkward smile as she continued to scrutinize me. I took this strange opportunity to take in her appearance. She looked around forty-five, but her troubled expression and her wrinkled brow seemed to add a few years. Still, she was beautiful, and I found myself hoping I would look as beautiful as she did at her age. Her hair was a light blonde, pulled into a tight bun. I absentmindly tugged on my dark brown hair, which was currently surrounding my face in thick, long locks. Her skin was light, as were her eyes. I found myself astounded at how different we were. My skin was browned, like everyone in my family, and my eyes were a dark brown. My house was shabby, full of trinkets and odd combinations of colors, while her's was a palace of white. We seemed to contrast each other in every way possible.

I jumped slightly as she leaned forward and looked into my eyes. "I've heard about you, you know."

"About me?" I asked, raising my eyebrow. She had heard about me?

"Well, after I was told who had saved my son's life, I just started asking around. Well, I got Carlotta to ask around, that is," Mrs. McCarver amended, leaning backwards slightly. "It's a very small town, as I'm sure you know."

"Yeah, I definitely know," I said, and gave a small smile at the mention of our town. I loved it so much. The culture, the people, the little one story homes that were the color of the sand we were surrounded in. "Wow, I've never had someone ask about me before. What did they say?"

"Nothing bad," Mrs. McCarver assured, and gave a small laugh. "Actually, I was very impressed. Everyone seems to have a good story about you."

"Well," I said, trying not to blush, but failing. "I have been here awhile. You get know the people pretty well."