Fiction.

I actually got summoned to my guidance counselor’s office today. Who knew they really did that? Well, they do and they do it to me.

To make matters worse, rather than sending a discrete note, they called me over the intercom right in the middle of art class, the only time of the day when I’m not hating my life. My schedule didn’t let me take art with the rest of the seniors so Mr. Temple, my teacher, worked it out for me to do an independent study during the time he teaches Art I to a bunch of freshman who either don’t know anything or don’t care. It’s not too bad, though. He’s set me up a spot in the back of the room so I can have my own space to work. I decided to do my independent study on printmaking. I’m doing a series of pieces inspired by traditional Japanese art. In fact, I was halfway through inking the plate for my first piece when the school secretary’s voice crackled out over the P.A. that I was to report to Miss Gregory’s office immediately. Being that I’m in high school and it is by definition awesome, I was assaulted with choruses of “ooooooooooooooooooooh” and “Someone’s in troooooouuuuuuuubllllllllllle” as I quickly washed my hands and bolted out of the room to avoid any further undesired attention from my classmates.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and started down the hall to Miss Gregory’s office. I knew exactly why she was calling me to her office, but I clung to the slim chance that it was something else. Maybe someone had started a rumor that I was pregnant and she wanted to see if it was true. Or maybe she had gotten a line on a scholarship at SCAD (that’s Savannah College of Art and Design to you) and she couldn’t wait to tell me.

Yeah right. I knew why she wanted to see me.

Chemistry.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate chemistry. Ok, yes I do, but it’s not like I’m rude about it or anything. I go to class and I’m polite to the teacher and all. I just don’t so much do the work. It turns out that not doing the work means that you fail. And failing chemistry doesn’t make graduation a particularly real possibility. Teachers, guidance counselors, and especially parents don’t really like it when you don’t graduate. Neither do colleges.

Miss Gregory’s office door was open when I arrived. She looked up as I got there and didn’t say a word - she just nodded towards the chair facing her desk. I slumped down in the seat and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt. Miss Gregory slowly got up, walked around the desk to shut the door, and sat back down. She leaned back in her chair and pressed her finger tips together. She did not look happy.

I decided to make the first move. And by move, I mean idiotic babbling, a teenage girl’s second most valuable weapon. It’s goal is to put forth as many words as possible in at an ultrasonic pitch as to confuse the listener to the point where he/she will do anything to get you to go away. And it went a little something like this:

“Miss Gregory I know why I’m here and I know how serious it is but it’s just that I don’t like chemistry and I never have and I haven’t liked it since I started it but the problem is even if I started to like chemistry now I’m too far behind to ever know anything and all those symbols and numbers make me nauseous and I’ll do anything I’ll do summer school or tutoring or whatever because I know that I need to graduate because college is the only way for me to get out of this town it’s just I don’t understand anything in chemistry and if you look at my record you’ll see that this is the first time I’ve ever even come close to failing something and I don’t know what to do.”

Miss Gregory just looked at me, an unreadable expression on her face. I started to think maybe I needed to conjure up some tears to get some sympathy - that would be a teenage girl’s *most* valuable weapon, one most used by the more spoiled variety but useful in a pinch to even to girls like me. Miss Gregory has been my guidance counselor since 9th grade and she knows me really well, so there was little chance she’d really fall for it. But, it was worth a shot.

I was ready to start the chin-trembling when Miss Gregory took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

“Lauren, I would love it if this meeting were about your grade in Mr. Goode’s class. And believe me, we will be addressing it and soon. But unfortunately, I called you in to see me because of something else. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“What?” I asked her, my eyes wide.

“I just got a call from your mother. She’s on her way to pick you up but she wanted me to talk to you before she got here. Your cousin Courtney’s body was found last night. In some cemetery in Richmond.”

Courtney. A cousin, yes, but someone I hadn’t seen since we moved from Richmond to Allentown when I was 10. We had been back lots of times during the summers, but Courtney was always off at some cheering camp thing. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it - on the one hand it was shocking and tragic, on the other it meant a trip to back to see my family in Richmond and a break from Mr. Goode and his periodic table for a few days.

Is it bad to be excited for a funeral?