The Dangerous Doors of Shannon Anderson

Chapter Sixteen

Monday, Dad called the school just like he'd said he would.

"Have a seat, Shan," he said, offering me a chair at the kitchen table across from Mom. She was wearing a suit. Monday was a work day.

"Well?" I said.

Dad looked to Mom, who gave him a single stern nod.

"We had a long conversation with your principal," he said. "And we all agreed that without knowing why you missed your exams, you won't be able to re-take them. For now, at least."

"Seriously?" I said. "What difference does it make where I was? I'm here now. I can take them now and be ready for graduation on Saturday and it will be like this never happened. I don't see what the problem is."

"The problem is something did happen," Mom said. "But you won't tell us what. Maybe you made a bad choice and got yourself into some kind of trouble you're too traumatized to tell us about, or maybe you just skipped for the hell of it to get some more studying in, but either way, none of us think you're emotionally fit to take exams at the moment."

"Dad," I said. "Please. Do I seem traumatized to you? I'm like the Olympic gold medalist of emotional fitness. Do you think I would actually miss my finals on purpose?"

"No," he said. "That's why we're so worried."

"But I told you -"

"What did she tell you?" Mom cut in.

"No, nothing," I said. "Dad, please...you promised you wouldn't tell her."

Dad sat in the middle of us, but he was staring fixedly at the corn-shaped salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table. He did not appear to be breathing.

"Shannon told me that she missed her finals because she was trapped in the Swiss Family Robinson. Literally stuck inside the book," Dad said, not looking up at either of us.

"Dad! It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that. There was a storm," I said, pulling at my hair. "It wasn't my fault."

"Jesus, Shannon, this again? How old are you?" Mom said. "I'm calling my therapist." She was already dialing. I dropped my forehead to the tabletop and banged my head against the wood.

A week ago I'd been dancing in my underpants, dreaming of my impending escape to Greenwich Village where I would begin my journey towards Tony-award winning scenic designer superstardom. Now I was weighing a new set of considerably less glamorous prospects: rural Iowa townie with no high school diploma versus psychiatric hospital inpatient.

I wondered if they let mental patients organize stage productions.

A/N: Let's take a moment to consider Shannon's parents' perspective. How would you be feeling in their shoes? Do you think the school should let Shannon take her tests? What will happen if they don't let her? Let me know your thoughts with a comment! Thank you for reading. :)