Underneath the Sycamore Tree(4)

He gives me an apologetic smile before rifling through a different stack. “The guidance counselor usually handles this.”

I’m not sure why he tells me that, so I just nod. I could ask him on the counselor’s whereabouts, but I’m not sure I care. If Mama were here she’d keep conversation going easily by asking about the school’s history or why Exeter High is home of the Wildcats and not something more fitting of the purple and gold colors.

She’s not here though.

Neither is the counselor.

Neither is Logan.

Principal Richman, according to the nasally secretary who guided me to his chaotic workspace, finally lifts a manila folder off his desk and looks at me triumphantly.

“Emery Matterson.”

At this rate I won’t make it to class until third period. Participation in Government, or PIG as my last school referred to the civics course, isn’t exactly what I want to start my day with, but it’s better than math. I’ll miss first period Geometry and second period Phys Ed. Nothing to cry over, that’s for sure.

His dark eyes scan the contents of my file before tugging on the collar of his white button-down. Clearing his throat, he reads over the paper I gave him with my father’s signature.

“Right.” He nods, setting down the papers and giving me a quick onceover. “Well, Ms. Matterson, it looks like you were mailed the schedule and school policies already, and you’ll receive textbooks in your classes today. Your schedule should list your locker number, which you’ll get the lock and combination to from the Phys Ed teacher. Your father mentioned setting you up with weekly check-ins with our guidance counselor and nurse. Our counselor won’t be back until next week, but I can take you to Ms. Gilly in the nurse’s office before I have someone show you to your locker.”

Wait a minute. “Why would I do weekly check-ins with the counselor and nurse?”

He hesitates, brows furrowing for a moment before locking his hands together on his desk. “Typically, we have transfers meet the counselor about the transition to ensure they’re comfortable during the first few weeks. Most students have been in the district their entire lives, so they know the whereabouts. We understand new schools, especially for later admitted students, can be difficult to adjust to.”

My jaw ticks. “And the nurse?”

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair until it creaks under his weight. “I assumed your father would have spoken to you about it. Students with extensive medical problems tend to build relationships with nursing staff early on. It’s our understanding that you’ve had some issues in the past…”

Issues. What exactly has my father told the school? I’m sure the file transferred from my old one says plenty about me without his influence. My twin died, I missed too many days because of the same disease that killed her, and now I’m here. But did Dad emphasize that I’m better than I was in their apparent conversation about me?

My spine straightens. “My father must have forgotten to mention it to me. But it’s not something I need to do, so—”

“All due respect, Ms. Matterson—”

“It’s Emery or Em.”

He nods once. “Emery,” he corrects, “I agree with your father that it’s of the utmost importance you get comfortable with the nurse here. Things happen despite medication and self care. If there’s an emergency, it’s best Ms. Gilly knows what to do.”

Like call 911?

Biting back the retort, I force myself to nod because arguing with the principal doesn’t seem like a smart thing to do. I’ve never gotten in trouble before and don’t plan to start now.

“If you don’t mind me saying, the guidance counselor also does sessions for those who grieve the loss of loved ones. Perhaps you’ll find a friend in her as well.”

I’m sure he means well by the suggestion, but it doesn’t sit well with me. “Principal Richman, my sister died nine years ago. I may never move on from that, but I have learned to cope all on my own by now.”

He flattens his already pristine shirt. “I won’t force you into anything, then. Come on, I’ll show you to the nurse’s office.”

Before we make it to his door, the nasally secretary with box dyed blonde hair and thick glasses calls out his name. “The new high school English teacher is here for your meeting.” The way she eyes me has me narrowing mine before glancing at the half empty hallway.

Principal Richman sighs and gives me an indecisive stare. Shifting from one foot to the other, I grip the strap hanging on my shoulder. “I can find my way. I brought the map that came with the schedule.”

There’s still time to make it before second period, so I’m thankful when his expression turns from reluctance to relief over my suggestion. I’m sure he doesn’t want to give the new student a tour anyway.

“The high school classrooms are all on the eastern wing of the second floor, separated from the new middle school wing, just up the spiral staircase down the hall. I’m sure if need be, we can get your stepbrother to show you around.” He clears his throat for what seems to be the thirtieth time. “Kaiden Monroe, if memory serves, correct?”

I nod.

He purses his lips. “Well then, you best be off. Welcome to Exeter High, Ms. Matterson. We’re happy to have you.”