***

Mr. Elliot’s office was like a second home to me. I leaned into the cushioned seat, which was placed right across from his desk, and sighed. I had sat in that chair so many times before that I was pretty sure the outline of my body was permanently imprinted onto it. Tapping my hand against the cherry wood armrest, I gazed around the office and took in the sight of various trophies, awards and diplomas—things I was sure I’d never get. At least not in this lifetime.

“Jesse, Jesse, Jesse.” Mr. Elliott dropped a giant sized file onto his desk. It was stained with coffee and dog-eared with a number of different colored papers sticking out from inside. The folder had definitely seen better days.

“I take it that’s not a homecoming present for me?” I quipped.

He narrowed his eyes. “I find it funny that you think you’re allowed to attend homecoming this year. You’re lucky you’re still even allowed to go to this school.”

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “Oh, boo hoo. I was just kidding. I don’t care about that crap. When have I ever gone to a school dance? Trust me, not my cup of tea.”

Mr. Elliott pushed aside my file and clasped his bony fingers together. “Mr. Tyler, let’s talk.”

“Thought we already were,” I murmured, keeping my eyes down.

“It’s been my experience that children—”

“I’m almost eighteen,” I snapped in annoyance.

“Children are those who act with a certain level of immaturity and, I’m sorry to say, that’s you.”

I snorted.

“As I was saying, in my experience children,” he looked at me pointedly, “who usually act out are those who are suffering in their home lives.”

I shifted uncomfortably and shielded my eyes.

Mr. Elliott cleared his throat. “As you know, we have great resources here at school. I know at your age it may seem embarrassing to ask for help, but—”

I cleared my throat and folded my arms tightly around my chest. “I don’t need any help.”

The corners of his mouth turned down slightly. “We have a staff of great counselors who can help you turn that restless energy into something productive. You don’t need to go down this path of destruction.”

Productive as in smashing Dwight’s face in again.

“Listen, Mr. Elliott, I have no problems. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.” It was a blatant lie. We both knew it. Everyone in Bethel Falls High knew it. How else can you explain my clothes reeking of alcohol—not all me, I promise—and anger issues? Sure, some girls loved that whole ‘broken rebel’ thing I had going on, but honestly I would give anything to be normal. Just a regular schmoe—another Dwight…well, maybe not him. He’s a douche.

“I see…” Mr. Elliott’s voice trailed off and his eyes lifted, meeting mine. There was definitely pity in them, which I hated more than anything else. I’d take furious yelling over pity any day. He tapped his fingers against the desk and sighed. “As much as it pains me to say this, I’ll give you one last chance.”

I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You screw this up and you’re out,” he clarified.

“Of homecoming?” I was skating on thin ice and I knew it, but nothing was more hilarious to me than the thought that I’d care about some bullshit dance.

His eyes narrowed. “Of this school, Mr. Tyler.”

I licked my lips and tried my hardest to maintain a straight face. As much as I hated school, there was no way I could get kicked out. Where would I go? What would I do? It wasn’t as if Daddy Dearest would take me in with open arms, and I sure as hell didn’t want to spend 24/7 with my mother.

“Okay…so, what do I have to do to stay in?”

“For you not to get into any more trouble!” He threw his hands in the air as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

No guarantees.

“Whatever.”

“That’s not all,” he interjected.

I let my head fall back and silently groaned. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“I want you to volunteer for a school activity.”

“Wait, what?” I grasped the armrests and leaned forward. “I must have heard you wrong, because it sounded as if you want me to partake in extracurriculars.”

He shook his head in exasperation. “I think the only way you’ll learn to respect this institution is by promising some of your time and effort toward it. Seeing as your grades are surprisingly satisfactory—”

“What, do you really think I’m that dumb?” I snapped in annoyance.

His jaw clenched. “Don’t make me regret giving you this chance, Mr. Tyler.”

I pressed my lips together and looked away. Expulsion suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

He took a deep breath and ground out, “I’m sure you need some other stimulus to make sure you keep your idle hands busy and out of trouble. I think working with the school will be good for you. Teach you some responsibility.”

“There’s really no getting out of this, is there?” I asked hesitantly.

He shook his head. “I suggest you start looking for clubs to sign up for. They’re filling up quickly.”

“Surprisingly,” I murmured. This fucking sucked. Not only would I have to endure school during its regular hours, but I’d actually need to stay afterwards? So fucking lame.

Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Mr. Elliott scribbled some notes into my file and slammed it shut. “Do this right, and I may consider letting you go to homecoming after all.”

“I thought we’d already established that I think school dances are wack.”

“Good luck.” With that, Mr. Elliott diverted his attention to his computer, making it obvious he was done with me.

With a shake of my head, I stood up and walked out the door.

***

“Volunteer? School club?” Stephanie burst out laughing, flashing those ugly braces once again.

I narrowed my eyes, waiting for her to calm down, but after about a full minute of snorting, hysterical cackling, and tearing eyes, I turned to Rocky and sighed. “This is bullshit.”

“Well, you got off easy,” she shot back, surprising me.

“What do you mean?”

“Why start the fight with Dwight to begin with? That was beyond stupid.”

Because he asked you out? We both know the answer to that. Come on, Rocky.

I growled. “It’s because he’s been trying to get under my skin since freshman year. From the swirlies and wet willies of ninth grade to the face punches and name calling of senior year. I can’t take it anymore, Rocky. I just can’t.”

Stephanie finally quieted down, prompting Rocky and I to look over at her in annoyance. Wiping tears from her eyes, she asked, “So what club are you looking into? French? Debate? Ooh, how about water polo? I’m sure those banana hammocks would look really cute on your little willy. Oh, wait, it’s not so little, is it? I’ve heard stories.”

“Shut up, dipshit,” I muttered.

“What about if you join Art Club?” Rocky piped up. Her cheeks looked flushed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was getting sick.

“I doubt my knowledge in graffiti and vandalizing counts as art, Rocky. Thanks for the thought, though.” I laughed.

“I’m serious. We’re always looking for models.”

Stephanie jabbed Rocky in the ribs. “Ah, you just want him to pose naked so you can see his willy for yourself.”

Rocky and I both wore identical masks of horror. I glanced over with a sneer. “Didn’t I tell you to shut it?”

To my surprise, Stephanie didn’t have a smart comeback. She merely shrugged. “Just trying to make you feel better.”

“Well, you’re not.” Feeling an overwhelming need to ease the sudden tension, I blurted out, “You know what? Maybe I will take art. Won’t be too bad, considering I have a friend in there.”

Rocky flashed me a weird look. “Well, we have a meeting after school if you want to go with me.”

“I don’t really have a choice.” I sighed.

“Okay, friend. I’ll see you then.”

Stephanie snorted silently with a shake of her head.