Dick detested interruptions. After all, he so kindly left no room at the end of his lectures for questions, because every question would be answered if we only waited until the end. But since I knew my questions would never be answered in any of his lectures, I raised my hand.

Mr. Click’s eyes boggled. He sniffed so hard his nose wrinkled, scooting his glasses back in place. “Yes, Miss Moore? Are the gang members back? Do you require a hall pass?”

Dick Click was such a jacktard. But I wasn’t going to let him bait me into any more embarrassing arguments. “What about freedom of will?”

“What about it?”

“I’m sorry, but that Manifest Destiny shit is a load of crap. Just an excuse to do whatev—” He started to object. But I objected more. “We’re people, Mr. Click. We have free will. We can make choices. Hell, isn’t that what makes us so freaking superior?”

“Well, Miss Moore, your free will and foul mouth just earned you a trip to the principal’s office.”

And for all the Oprah fans out there keeping track—that would be my brick.

seventeen

Considering I was sitting in Mr. Teasley’s office for the third time in two weeks, I should’ve felt more repentant. But after unleashing some of my fury on Dick Click, I felt a glimmer of something good.

I tried to pinpoint it, but before I could nail it down, Mr. Teasley returned to his office and he was not alone.

“Serena Moore, I’d like you to meet Catherine Giles.”

I reached out and shook the woman’s hand. Everything about her—her shoulder-length blond hair, her long flowered skirt, her yellow cardigan—said: “I’m a counselor.” There’d been several like her since the accident. They roamed the halls, offering their time should anyone need to vent or cry or whatever. Sympathy I didn’t want filled their eyes.

“Serena? If it’s okay with you, I’m going to leave you two alone for a minute to talk about what you’re going through.”

I nodded because I didn’t really think I had much say in the matter, and besides, from the way the woman’s eyes went all soft when she looked at me, I could tell Mr. Teasley had already filled her in on all the juicy details.

After Mr. Teasley stepped out, Catherine pulled a chair up next to me.

“I know it must be hard, coming back to school and focusing on things that may seem, well, not as important as they were before.” Her comment seemed more like a question, so I nodded. She looked at me for a minute, assessing, and then asked, “Is that how you feel, Serena?”

“Not exactly.”

“Use your own words. Tell me how you feel.”