Strange

3

With my bag slung over my shoulder, I walk slowly through the empty highschool halls. Everyone has moved onto second period, meanwhile I have a meeting with the school counselor. She's an older lady that's thin with a million wrinkles, bright blue eyes and thick framed glasses that slide down her nose as she talks to you, she constantly re-adjusts them. I used to go to second period (history) and sit in the back while chubby Mr. robbs (who always wears different colored ties might I add) drones on and on and on about how the only way to prevent future genocide is by studying the past. I know, eye roll right?
Anyhoo, I was hesitant about the counseling sessions right off the bat, until I realized I don't have to speak, I can doodle during them and I get to miss an entire class period. Boo-yah.

when I walk into the school office, the receptionist (Tracey) looks up from behind her big computer screen and smiles a big bright lipstick covererd smile at me. I attempt to return a half smile and she points to the door for the counselors room.
"You know what to do." She says, before looking back at her computer. Of course I do.

"Alice! Good morning!! How's your day going so far?" Mrs. Bee gushes the second I enter the counselors office. Today she's wearing an ocean blue knit cardigan that's sliding off her shoulders, revealing her turquoise button-up that is tucked neatly into her black slacks. The blue and turquoise look matches her eyes perfectly, bringing out the deep sky color. The light in her eyes reminds me of those rocks you break open, amythist. the ones with the pretty blue or purple crystals inside that look like glitter when you move them in just the right way.

I shrug in response. "I'm.. Good."
I slide into the comfy leather armchair in the corner of the office and sink into the cushions. The room smells like green tea.

"Oh that's wonderful!" Mrs. Bee exclaims. "And.. Any cravings?" She plops down on her spinny chair and clicks open a tab on her laptop, typing loudly with her long bony fingers.

"No, not really." I say quietly. That's a lie.
"Well, sometimes." I add. I fidget with the buckle on my bag and slip my sketchbook out, skimming through the pages until I find a blank one.

"Oh?" She asks. I nod. "When was the last time?"

"Uh..." I begin sketching an eye, a big blue one that's magnified by a glasses lense. "Probably yesterday." Of course its gonna be one of these sessions. I forgot about today, at least twice a month Mrs. Bee does a question screening to check for progress (or lack thereof).

"And what triggered it?" She asks, pursing her lips and tapping her finger to her chin. The eye I'm drawing looks slightly misshapened. I start erasing so I can fix it.

"Um. I dunno. I saw a needle on the sidewalk outside." I try to be vague. I press my pencil to the paper. I'm running out of lead so I have to be more firm as I trace the outline of the shape I erased.

"But you haven't given in?" Mrs. Bee continues. She looks at her laptop and does her click-clack typing. Her fingernails looks too long to type with.

I press harder to get the shading that I want in the corner of the eye.

"No." I say, my voice flat. Suddenly I'm more aware of my body, the itchiness. I'm more aware of the scabs on my arms. They're healed, there's no scabs.

"And have you thought about the incident with Jess lately?"

My pencil snaps. Fuck. I dig around my bag for a new one.

"No." Yes.

"No sense of guilt or remorse?" She adjusts her glasses, places her chin on her hand and cocks her head slightly, searching with those big blue eyes.

"No." Every day.

"She was just as much involved as you were Alice."

New school, new people. New life.

"I know." I respond after a moment. I'm still digging through my bag, Squirming under Mrs. Bee's gaze.

"I don't really feel well, can I go home early?"

Pause. She types a few more words into her laptop and shuts it. She turns back towards me and presses her lips into a smile. "Of course, I'll let the nurse know and I'll email you your homework to do at home." She says before handing me a pencil from her desk and standing up to stretch.

"I'll see you on monday." She continues. She never bothers to ask why I feel sick.

I grip the pencil in my hand. Right, it's friday.