Our Broken Pieces (Preview)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The sound of someone pushing open the heavy glass door startles me and I open my tired eyes and try to remember where I am. I must have fallen asleep because now the waiting room is crowded and the only spot left is the space next to me on the couch. I figure this out right about the same time the new arrival does, and I sit up straight, putting my feet back on the ground so he can sit comfortably. The boy looks familiar but I can't quite place him. His dark hair is cut very short, like Brady wears his for football, and his face is clean shaven. What really stands out, though, are his unusual multicolored irises.

I quickly turn my head so I'm not staring, and he sits down beside me, the scent of men's soap drifting past me as he gets comfortable. He's wearing jeans that hang a little from his hips and a black hoodie. I also notice he has on flip-flops and for some reason that makes me smile. He's holding a spiral notebook on his lap and I chance a quick look at his face again, curious about all the colors in those unusual eyes—the ones I find looking back at me a second before he looks away.

I've never actually seen anyone my age in the waiting room before. I know that plenty of other teenagers see therapists, but sometimes it feels like I am the only one my age who actually goes to one. I wonder what the boy's story is and whether it is anything like mine. I try not to look at him as he pulls a cell phone from his pocket and checks the time: 3:50. I must have been sleeping really soundly. The door to Laura's office opens and a mom with a baby on her hip makes arrangements to meet with her again. "One minute," Laura mouths to me and I nod my head. The woman and baby leave and Laura's door shuts.

I wonder if she saw me out here sleeping. How embarrassing. I take a deep breath again, catching a hint of the boy's fresh scent. The faint smell of chlorine has me intrigued—maybe he's a swimmer or a pool cleaner. One of the reasons why I got into volunteering and peer mediation is that I love talking to new people and finding out about their lives. It's probably why I'm almost tempted to ask him about it, but I don't know what the rules are here—not the actual rules, I'm sure I'm fine there, but the unwritten ones. Is it okay to talk to another person while you wait for your therapist? While they wait for theirs? What's he here for?

I know that looks can be deceiving, but he seems fine. He smiled, even. There are probably a million reasons why someone would go to therapy. I don't get much of a chance to really think about it though before Laura steps out of her office again and motions for me to come in. I stand up and take a few steps in her direction, but stop short when I hear a low voice call to me from the couch.

"Everly, you forgot your book." I turn and watch the boy close the distance between us and hand me the tattered paperback I'd left next to the couch. He looks down to the cover and smiles. I open my mouth to say something, but the door next to us opens and an older man steps out.

"Gabe, are you ready?" He looks right at my cute boy—not my cute boy, the cute boy. With a slight smile Gabe lets go of my book and slips inside the office of the gray-haired man, closing the door behind him.

"I'm sorry, Everly," Laura says as I move around a few of the pillows on her couch. I grab one and hold it in front of me to give my hands something to do. "That boy knew your name. We can switch your appointment time if you want more privacy. I try to make sure I don't book kids the same age back-to-back to avoid awkward waiting room run-ins, but I can't control the other therapists' calendars."

"That's okay," I assure her. "I don't know him. Maybe he knows me because of my sister or something." If he went to my school I would have noticed him before, wouldn't I?

"If you're sure." She looks at me carefully like she might have the power to see if I'm lying.

"I'm sure. He might not be here for therapy every week like I am. Probably won't see him again." I wonder if she will give me a little more information, like maybe that she's seen him here before or that he always comes here on Mondays so him being here today was a surprise. My therapy appointments are always on Tuesday. Instead she just shrugs and then sits down in her high-backed chair.