THE PAINT IN Ms. Willoughby’s office was chipping in several spots, mostly around the vents and door. One of the file cabinets must have been moved a hair recently, revealing a thin strip of carpet brighter than the discolored majority. There was not one but two permanent rings on the desk from sweating plastic cups, and that’s just what Jenny could see in the limited space not covered with paperwork. She hadn’t noticed the wear and tear the first time she met with the counselor, but now she had little else to do while she waited.
Ms. Willoughby was late for their meeting. The secretary had insisted Jenny wait inside the office. It was quite trusting of the woman; Jenny could only imagine what sort of confidential information about her peers existed in the binders and files cluttering the space. It paid to be labeled a good kid, and Jenny still managed to fall in that category.
“Sorry, sorry,” Ms. Willoughby muttered as she shuffled into the office, manhandling a stack of papers and a pen she almost dropped twice before finally dumping it all down on the desk. She looked at Jenny and released a big sigh, a symbolic start-over. “Jenny, it’s nice to see you again.”
Jenny smiled as the woman took her seat. It was an odd thing to say in the way it would be odd for a judge to tell a criminal that it was nice to see them again.
“Let me just …” The woman rotated in her seat to open the top drawer in the file cabinet behind her. She came back around clutching a file.
“Is that mine? Do I have a file?” Jenny asked.
“Yes, it’s just a formality. I make a file for everyone who comes in. It’s my attempt to stay organized.” She smiled. “How am I doing?” Ms. Willoughby used the back of her hand to plow a bunch of other files to the side of her desk to make room for Jenny’s.
“Great,” Jenny said, laughing.
“Did you get everything sorted out yesterday? Did your mom call and get the skip taken care of?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Ms. Willoughby stared at the open file for a beat, but with just a single sheet of paper that Jenny could tell didn’t say much, it was useless. “So, what brings you back to see me?”
“Same as last time. My parents think it’s good for me to come see you. I’m sorry, this is probably really annoying for you. I don’t mean to be wasting your time.”
“Oh my God, Jenny, stop right there. Don’t worry about me. You can come in as often as you like. I probably shouldn’t say this, but you’re the easiest part of my day. I thought we had a nice talk last time.”
“Yeah,” Jenny said, flattered but skeptical of her sincerity.
“How are you adjusting to eighth grade?”
“It’s fine,” Jenny responded with a canned teenage response.
“That’s good. It’s different, though, having multiple teachers every day. Are you handling the workload all right?”
“Yeah, I have to take a makeup quiz after school because of the day I missed, but it’ll be easy. Mr. Jacobs uses the practice questions from the book. If you fail one of his quizzes, you’re just an idiot.”
Ms. Willoughby grinned, not bothered by Mr. Jacobs’s inadequacies or Jenny’s insults.
“It helps to have an easy class here and there. You won’t get much out of it, but sometimes a break is more valuable. Gives your brain a chance to recharge. You’re in the advanced math class, right?”
Yeah, with your boyfriend who you have sex with at school, Jenny thought, but certainly didn’t say. Instead she nodded.
“See, one easy class and one difficult class, averages out to be two regular classes.”
“I guess.” Jenny laughed.
“That was a math joke. I knew you could handle it.” Ms. Willoughby joined Jenny in laughing until it waned naturally back to silence. “And I’m guessing you’re still out on cheerleading?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you considered any other extracurriculars? Auditions for the fall play are coming up. They don’t usually give the eighth graders the good parts, but you could be a tree or a townsperson or something. It’s still fun to be involved.”
“Maybe,” Jenny said, knowing it wasn’t going to happen. Lately she’d felt repulsed by anything with that kumbaya, school-spirit camaraderie vibe.
“Or not.” Ms. Willoughby chuckled, seeing right through her. “I’ll tell you a secret, but I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, promise?”
Jenny’s spine straightened. Has anyone in the history of the universe ever said no to learning a secret? “Promise.”
“It really doesn’t matter what you do this year. Eighth grade is like a free trial. Colleges only care about your four years of real high school. Don’t get arrested or expelled and try not to develop any destructive patterns that you can’t break next year and you’ll be fine.”
Jenny grinned. Experiencing Ms. Willoughby’s candor and lack of bullshit felt like a privilege. “That sounds good to me.”
“Yeah, I thought it would. That doesn’t mean go crazy. I just know you’re conflicted. Are you feeling a lot of pressure from your parents?”
“I guess,” Jenny said, not wanting to talk about her mother. She didn’t want to share that part of her life with Ms. Willoughby. If she was honest, her file would no longer be just a formality. She would be another one of those students stressing the guidance counselor out with their problems, and Jenny would be her job, not her respite. She wouldn’t be special. She liked things this way much better. “It’s fine,” she added, tying a big fat bow on that line of questioning.
IT WAS ALREADY after four on Friday afternoon when Jenny finished her social studies quiz. Mr. Jacobs agreed to let her make it up after Linda called him five or six times begging him not to give her a zero. It was a weekly quiz and only about 1 percent of her total grade, but Linda wouldn’t drop it.
The halls were completely empty at that hour, and even Jenny’s own steps did little to disrupt the silence. There wasn’t much ventilation in the back stairwell, and the smells of puberty lingered. She took her time down the first couple steps before she heard a noise; a brief mumbled moan came from directly below.
Jenny pressed her body against the railing and leaned over just in time to witness Trevor Larson’s head roll back and let out a much louder sound. When he was done, his whole body relaxed. Jenny thought he might be hurt until a bob of blonde curly hair rose up and revealed itself. She recognized that hair immediately; it was Mallory. Jenny knew enough about the world to know what was going on. Mallory just gave Trevor Larson a blow job in the disgusting high school stairwell.
Jenny turned to sneak back upstairs, but as she did, her backpack brushed against the railing and the zipper scratched the metal, creating a faint noise that shattered the silence. Trevor and Mallory whipped their heads toward Jenny, who stared back long enough for everyone to get a good look at each other.
“Sorry,” Jenny muttered as she sprinted back up the stairs.
JENNY HUSTLED DOWN the hallway, not sure where she was headed but knowing she had to get out of there.
“Jenny!” Mallory called after her. “Jenny, wait! I know you can hear me.”
Jenny could tell that Mallory was running from the cadence of her words. She couldn’t escape without changing her pace and giving away that she did hear her, a lose-lose. Jenny threw her hands into her pockets and spun around casually.
“Hey, Mallory.” Jenny stopped and waited for her. “I won’t tell anyone what I saw.”
“What is it you think you saw?”
“Nothing,” Jenny tried to insist.
“C’mon,” Mallory scoffed. “I trust you. You won’t say anything. I just, like, don’t want anyone else to know, OK?”
“Is Trevor your boyfriend now?” Jenny asked.
“Ew, no. He’s just good practice, and he knows to keep his mouth shut. He’s teaching me stuff so I won’t be a total spaz with someone I actually like.”
“And you like doing that stuff?”
“Jesus, Jenny, don’t say it like that. You sound like my little sister. Don’t you want to start doing stuff? It’s totally normal.”
Jenny thought about the question. Did she want to start doing that stuff? Kind of. Well, not putting a penis in her mouth in a dirty stairwell, but kissing, stuff like that.
“I could find someone for you if you want,” Mallory said as if it were a new offer and not something she was constantly trying to do to everyone around her.
Jenny was so tired of deflecting everyone’s advice and pressure to do stupid crap she didn’t want to do.
“Unless there is already someone?” Mallory pressed. The corners of her mouth curled a bit, salivating at the prospect of stumbling onto a secret.
“No, you’re so obsessed. There are more important things in the world,” Jenny snapped.
“You don’t have to be a bitch,” said Mallory. “I was just trying to help you, because people are talking about you. There’s only so much I can do to protect you, you know?”
“I just want to be left alone,” said Jenny.
“It’s not that easy. You’re making yourself a target because you’ve gotten so freaking weird.”
“Well, if people need something to talk about, I just saw something interesting in the stairwell,” said Jenny under her breath, without making eye contact.
“What the hell? Is that a threat?”
Jenny took a deep breath. She wasn’t interested in threatening Mallory. It just came out in the heat of the moment. It was maybe a glimpse of the Jenny that she was supposed to be. “No, sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m not going to say anything.”
“I swear to God, if anyone finds out—”
“OK,” Jenny accepted the threat before it was vocalized. It didn’t matter. It held no weight in the grand scheme of things to be nervous about; she had arranged to meet Benjy’s friend Gil the next day, alone.