SHRINK RAPT

Wednesday, 12:02 P.M.

Just two minutes after the lunch bell, I stood outside Philippa Meyers, Psy.D.’s office, hand poised to knock.

“Girls?” Dr. Phil’s soothing voice sounded from behind the door, along with the prolonged notes of some kind of chanting music.

I jumped back. She had a freaky way of sensing when someone was loitering outside her office. I wondered if she could also sense that I’d run out of clean underwear this morning and was wearing bikini bottoms beneath my hot-pink tights.

“Kacey?” Paige nudged me forward, and we stepped inside the lemongrass-scented office.

“Kacey Simon.” Sitting at her desk by the window, Dr. Phil popped a handful of raw almonds into her mouth. “And our esteemed seventh-grade president.”

Paige bowed her head ceremoniously.

“Oh, please.” I plopped onto the couch with a huff. Just being in this office put me in a bad mood. The lavender walls clashed with the mustard-yellow armchair, and the trickling stone fountain made me need to pee.

“I’m glad to see you girls.” Dr. Phil rose, her gray-and-black maxi skirt floating around her ankles as she settled into her armchair. She propped a pair of green, fabric-soled flats on the coffee table. “Paige mentioned you have some feedback about the dance, although I believe I heard another student was chairing the planning committee.”

“Yes, Molly Knight.” I perched so close to the edge of the couch I was almost falling off. I refused to get comfortable. If you weren’t careful, you could end up curled in a ball, sobbing about how your little sister had more finger paintings on the refrigerator door than you’d ever had as a kid, and seriously, didn’t… [sniff] your mom know… [sniff] how that made you feel?

“But Kacey’s handling some of the more important… details.” Paige wedged herself between me and the couch arm.

“Right. Like… the music. I know who we should hire to play the dance.” I held my breath. The busted couch springs squeaked beneath me with Paige’s excitement.

“Oh, good. I’m glad you have some ideas. I actually have a list of school-approved DJs somewhere around here…” Dr. Phil rummaged through one of six piles of paperwork at the foot of her chair, tossing an old Trib out of the way and frowning at a Pottery Barn catalog. “If I can get my hands on it, you girls can take it back to the planning committee and decide at your next…” Her voice trailed off. “Has anybody seen a green Post-It?”

“Actually, you don’t have to worry about the Post-It,” I said graciously. “I think it would be really cool if we hired a band, and—” I stopped short as Dr. Phil’s gold-coin earrings swung from side to side.

“I’m afraid a live band won’t work.” Dr. Phil tapped the diamond nose stud in her nostril, probably worried she’d lost it along with the green Post-It. “It’s school policy. With a DJ, we can approve the song list ahead of time. A band is just a little more… unpredictable.”

“Wait. What?” I scooted even further toward the edge of the couch. “But—so you’re saying a live band isn’t even an option?”

“I’ll tell you what that is.” I’d momentarily forgotten about Paige, until she unleashed her outrage just inches away. “It’s censorship. It’s Marquette being the Man, flexing its Man muscles, and stomping on the People for no reason.”

Dr. Phil’s rosy lips twitched. “With its Man muscles?” she asked.

“No. With its Man foot,” Paige huffed. “Just… whatever. It doesn’t matter. My point is that this is unfair.”

“I have to say, I—” Dr. Phil lifted her brows in my direction. “Off the record?”

I nodded. Maybe.

“I agree with you. It’s your dance, and as long as the music is appropriate for middle school, I think you should be able to choose.”

“Great!” My heartbeat returned to normal and I stood up. “Then it’s settled. Thanks for your time.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t make the rules.”

I dropped again.

“I’m sorry, girls, but there truly is nothing I can do. I’m relatively new here, and I just don’t have much pull.” The shrink shook her head, sending locks of short dark hair across her forehead. “But I’ll catch up with you as soon as I find that DJ list. Deal?”

Deal? My entire body tensed. Clearly, Dr. Phil had no idea what was at stake here. My band. My best friend. My future. No way was I going to stink of incense for the rest of the day without getting what I wanted.

I stared straight at Dr. Phil. Direct eye contact was one of her most powerful school-shrink weapons, but she wasn’t the only one who could stare a girl down. “Paige is right. This isn’t fair. A band can get their songs preapproved, too! And the band we want to hire is a student band! From Marquette! So we’ll be promoting extracurricular activities… and being… well-rounded, and stuff.”

Dr. Phil opened her mouth, probably to protest, but I kept going. “You guys are always saying you want to support your students. By hiring a student band, you’re encouraging kids to get involved! And haven’t you seen those public service announcements? People who don’t get involved in their school wind up, like, outcasts, and on drugs and stuff. Then they drop out of school. Which means the entire administration would be out of a job. So—”

“Whoa. Whoa.” Dr. Phil cut me off. “Slow down. I’m going to need a little more information first, okay? Tell me a more about this band.”

“It’s called Gravity, and a bunch of seventh-grade boys are in it.”

“And Kacey,” Paige added.

“Right. And me. But we’re really, really good. And we just want to show a little school spirit by playing the dance.” She didn’t argue, so I bit my lip and went in for the big sell. “It’s just that after all the trauma with my braces and glasses and lisp and everything, I just… I’ve been feeling like I don’t really have a purpose, you know?”

Paige stifled a snort, forcing a fake cough.

“And I think playing the dance would make me feel…” Was a sniffle or an eye dab overkill? I settled on a medium-length shuddery sigh. “… whole again.”

Aaand, scene.

Dr. Phil looked me straight in the eye and… slow-clapped.

My jaw dropped. “Hey! Aren’t you supposed to just sit there and listen?”

“Abort, abort,” Paige muttered.

“I’m sorry, Kacey.” Dr. Phil smiled, shaking her head. “I thought you deserved credit for a truly inspired performance.”

“But I’m serious!” My voice cracked—for real this time. “It really would make me feel better. And I swear: We’re really, really good.”

“It’s true,” added Paige. “She’s not just being an egomaniac, although I could see how you would think that.”

I kicked her swiftly in the shins.

Dr. Phil rubbed her chin, her expression suddenly serious. “You understand the position I’m in, though, don’t you? I can’t go to the principal and make a case for you without ever having heard—”

“Here! Just listen for a few seconds, okay?” I clawed at my Channel 5 messenger bag. My fingers were slick with sweat, but I managed to grab my phone. A text notification popped up on the screen.

ZANDER: U COMIN’ TO REHEARSAL THIS PM?

I hit IGNORE and scrolled through my list of Gravity MP3s. I found my favorite: a duet Zander and I had done of an Aerosmith song.

I pressed the PLAY button, turned up the volume as loud as I could, and held my breath.

The sound of Zander’s guitar emanated from the speakers, followed by our harmony. Zander and I were more in sync than the nerdy all-dude a cappella group that practiced in the hall during lunch. Unlike the Do-Re-Migos, we sounded cool. Smooth. Professional, even.

Dr. Phil’s head listed to one side, and she bobbed her head along with the beat. “Wow,” she said, sounding surprised.

“Wow, as in, we can play the dance?”

“Wow, as in, this is pretty good. And I’m a huge Aerosmith fan, so I’m tough to impress.” There was still a note of hesitation in her voice. “But you guys are talented.”

When the song came to an end, a heavy silence settled over the room. Something was holding Dr. Phil back, and if I didn’t figure out what it was, I was done. Out of luck. Over. Kap—

“We’ll do it for free,” I blurted. “The money you were gonna use to hire a DJ can go back into the seventh-grade budget. So we’re getting involved and giving back.”

Dr. Phil shook her head slowly, tiny almost-dimples surfacing in her cheeks. “Kacey Simon, you drive a hard bargain.”

“And?”

“Okay. And I’ll talk to the principal.”

“You rock.” I grabbed Paige’s hand and whisked her out of the office before Dr. Phil could change her mind.