gone. Away from him. And maybe, just maybe, I’d be with her, living a different life.
Pulling myself out of my own mud hole, I thought about the positives. I had wheels and I had the clothes on my back, even if they were wrinkled and crumpled. I also had an empty belly. Deciding that the breakfast of champions would be a 7-Eleven breakfast burrito, I picked the one that didn’t look eight years old, grabbed a Gatorade, and ate in my car.
Fifteen minutes later, and with a lump of lead in my stomach, I had to decide about school. The last thing I wanted to do was go, but something inside of me, a new thing, told me I needed to. Not to learn, but to at least not give in. If I was honest with myself, Lance Killinger scared me. Tilly might have the muscles, but Lance was far more dangerous because he knew how to play more than football.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Mr. Reeves looked at me, contemplating. He tapped his pen on his desk. “About what, Brett? Football?”
“No. Well, yes. Everything has just sort of fallen apart.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything. We’d been talking for ten minutes and getting nowhere. He wasn’t the type to press, and I wasn’t the type to tell people the truth about how I felt about things.
I went on. “If I tell you stuff, is it private?”
“Yes.”
I knew he was full of crap because I’d Googled confidentiality with school counselors on my phone that morning. If he thought I was in danger—a danger to myself or being abused—he
had
to report it to the authorities. After reading that, I’d laughed. It meant anybody with any serious problems might as well sew their mouth shut rather than talk to a counselor with any honesty.
But I had to trust him, because on my way to school I realized that I truly didn’t know what to do. I was more lost than I’d ever been. So I told him. Everything. Football, my dad, Coach watching the fight, Tilly, Killinger, and last but not least, Preston. I didn’t tell Mr. Reeves his name, though. The last thing I wanted was Preston sitting in the hot seat because I’d blabbed.
And when I finished telling him, he looked at me, and my world crumbled. So much for trust.
Mr. Reeves took a breath. “You are being harassed, physically assaulted, and bullied by fellow students. They could be suspended and put into mandatory counseling. Your father, by throwing the football at you, could be charged with domestic violence or child abuse. He could also possibly be charged with neglect for kicking you out of the house with no means to support yourself. Coach Williams could be severely disciplined for allowing students to fight. Your friend, whoever he is, puts himself in life-threatening situations and is in need of immediate counseling.” He stopped and stared at me.
“What are you going to do?”
He shook his head. “No, Brett. That’s not what this is about.
You’re
going to tell
me
what to do.”
“But that
is
what this is about. I don’t know what to do.”
He shook his head again. “I misled you when I said this conversation was private. I had no idea the severity of the situation. I assumed you were dealing with the typical problems surrounding quitting a team.” He paused. “But that doesn’t mean I need to force things all at once. I’m a counselor, and under those same laws, I have leeway.”
“Then what? What are you going to do? My dad might be an asshole, but he shouldn’t be arrested.”
He nodded. “First, I clear my afternoon. Second, I excuse you from your classes. Then you figure out what you need to do while I sit here and listen.”
“N ice window,” Preston said. He’d been standing by my car after school, waiting.
I looked at the empty space where my rear window had been. “Thanks.”
He shuffled. “It would complicate my life if you told my mom what I do.”
“Is that why you were waiting here? To tell me that?”
“Partially.”
I stepped to the rear of my car. “One of the good
Pulling myself out of my own mud hole, I thought about the positives. I had wheels and I had the clothes on my back, even if they were wrinkled and crumpled. I also had an empty belly. Deciding that the breakfast of champions would be a 7-Eleven breakfast burrito, I picked the one that didn’t look eight years old, grabbed a Gatorade, and ate in my car.
Fifteen minutes later, and with a lump of lead in my stomach, I had to decide about school. The last thing I wanted to do was go, but something inside of me, a new thing, told me I needed to. Not to learn, but to at least not give in. If I was honest with myself, Lance Killinger scared me. Tilly might have the muscles, but Lance was far more dangerous because he knew how to play more than football.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Mr. Reeves looked at me, contemplating. He tapped his pen on his desk. “About what, Brett? Football?”
“No. Well, yes. Everything has just sort of fallen apart.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything. We’d been talking for ten minutes and getting nowhere. He wasn’t the type to press, and I wasn’t the type to tell people the truth about how I felt about things.
I went on. “If I tell you stuff, is it private?”
“Yes.”
I knew he was full of crap because I’d Googled confidentiality with school counselors on my phone that morning. If he thought I was in danger—a danger to myself or being abused—he
had
to report it to the authorities. After reading that, I’d laughed. It meant anybody with any serious problems might as well sew their mouth shut rather than talk to a counselor with any honesty.
But I had to trust him, because on my way to school I realized that I truly didn’t know what to do. I was more lost than I’d ever been. So I told him. Everything. Football, my dad, Coach watching the fight, Tilly, Killinger, and last but not least, Preston. I didn’t tell Mr. Reeves his name, though. The last thing I wanted was Preston sitting in the hot seat because I’d blabbed.
And when I finished telling him, he looked at me, and my world crumbled. So much for trust.
Mr. Reeves took a breath. “You are being harassed, physically assaulted, and bullied by fellow students. They could be suspended and put into mandatory counseling. Your father, by throwing the football at you, could be charged with domestic violence or child abuse. He could also possibly be charged with neglect for kicking you out of the house with no means to support yourself. Coach Williams could be severely disciplined for allowing students to fight. Your friend, whoever he is, puts himself in life-threatening situations and is in need of immediate counseling.” He stopped and stared at me.
“What are you going to do?”
He shook his head. “No, Brett. That’s not what this is about.
You’re
going to tell
me
what to do.”
“But that
is
what this is about. I don’t know what to do.”
He shook his head again. “I misled you when I said this conversation was private. I had no idea the severity of the situation. I assumed you were dealing with the typical problems surrounding quitting a team.” He paused. “But that doesn’t mean I need to force things all at once. I’m a counselor, and under those same laws, I have leeway.”
“Then what? What are you going to do? My dad might be an asshole, but he shouldn’t be arrested.”
He nodded. “First, I clear my afternoon. Second, I excuse you from your classes. Then you figure out what you need to do while I sit here and listen.”
“N ice window,” Preston said. He’d been standing by my car after school, waiting.
I looked at the empty space where my rear window had been. “Thanks.”
He shuffled. “It would complicate my life if you told my mom what I do.”
“Is that why you were waiting here? To tell me that?”
“Partially.”
I stepped to the rear of my car. “One of the good
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