High School Sucks.......

Not a good day at old DHS.  And I’m pretty sure it’s because of Celeste.

Celeste is one of the few girls at school I can relate to.  And I count on her sometimes to watch my back.  Well, I think she’s been watching it a little TOO much lately because, today, I got called into the drug counselor’s office.  Okay, Mr. Zullo doesn’t only work with kids who are on drugs but, when you get called into his office you might as well be because everyone is going to think you’re messed up one way or another.

He started the visit with the usual come-sit-in-the-bean-bag-chair-I’m-cool-you-are-in-a-safe-space sort of bullcrap.

“Some of your friends are worried about you,” he says in his quasi-fatherly, tight-ass tone.  The super-calm before he aggravates you into a storm with his presumptuousness.

SOME of my friends?  I’m so busy with my family, and my band, and school, and Farrell, I don’t have “some friends”, I tell him. (Especially this year since I’ve spent a lot of it chasing after supernatural beings and running off to foreign countries searching for long lost relatives – but I DON’T tell him this part.) So, who are SOME of my friends?  And what have I done that’s so worrying?  Gone down half a grade in Honors English?

It seems SOMEONE I know is concerned because this “person” says I’ve been acting a little out of character lately.  Doing things I wouldn’t normally do.  I have, he points out, cut classes a few times this year.  Not like me at all.  And she…um…this “person” suspects that I might even have been pretending to have the flu to get out of school.

Celeste.

You see, my brothers, and the guys in the band, and Farrell are the only ones who would know me well enough to suspect that something might have been going on this past fall.  But they KNOW about the banshees and the trip to Ireland and all the rest.  No explaining necessary there.

But then there’s Celeste.  I never told her what was going on because I knew she’d run right to Mr. Zullo.  Which, I guess, she did anyway.  But they’ve got nothing to go on.  And if they want to know, they’re going to have to read my book.  If the world thinks I’m crazy after it’s published, so be it.  But I’m not talking to anyone before that.  Not to Celeste, and CERTAINLY not to Mr. Zullo.

It takes more than a comfy bean bag chair to get Brandy Connor to spill her guts.