Other People's Houses(17)
To be honest, Frances admired the way Ava was starting to bring serious artillery to these discussions, reinforcing her arguments with actual information and well-researched ideas. Frances thought she spent too much time online, but it was clear she wasn’t just watching cat videos. Ava often regaled her mother with facts Frances didn’t know, sometimes casually, sometimes with enormous excitement. She had almost weekly obsessions, her future plans changing accordingly: She was going to restore old houses, she was going to breed rare lizards, she was going to be a psychologist, she was going to be president, she was going to move to Ireland, Iceland, New Zealand, New York.
Everyone loved to warn you about teenagers, particularly teenage girls. They’d raise their eyebrows as they watched your four-year-old cartwheeling about: “Oh, wait till they’re teenagers, then the trouble starts,” or something equally dark. Sure, Ava gave her way more attitude than she had at seven, but she also came to her full of enthusiasm about things Frances had never heard of, and asked her questions about morals and metaphysics. Frances had privately decided the world just didn’t like teenagers to have fun, or to be enthusiastic and confident, so they told everyone teens needed squashing or fearing. It was the same old bullshit, and ignored the thrilling excitement of watching your child’s world open up in front of them, unfurling like the yellow brick road, the emerald spires of adulthood a distant, shimmering dream. Anything was possible, they could do and be anything, they could try on eighteen different personalities a month. Frances believed in Ava, and held on tight, even as her daughter bucked and bitched and tried to throw her off.
The bell rang, and after waiting a few minutes for the kids to mill to their various rooms, Frances stepped out of the car. She believed in her kid, but that didn’t mean she didn’t need to go talk to the counselor. Trust, but verify.
* * *
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The counselor’s name was Jennifer, and she was approximately half Frances’s age. She had been born perky, but had also refined her natural talents through years of pep rallies and cheer squad at school, and was now pert and energetic enough to jump-start a tractor trailer.
“Your daughter’s doing great!” she said, her eyes strafing across Ava’s file. “Her teachers love her, she appears relatively popular, the nurse hasn’t seen her all semester . . .” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Although, she has dropped all her extracurriculars. Did you know that?”
Frances didn’t. “Like what? The school paper?”
Jennifer nodded. “Yeah, she quit that, and the orchestra. She used to go to animation club once a week, and she quit that, too.” Her eyes lifted to meet Frances’s. The poster behind her urged everyone not to eat the marshmallow, which was making Frances hungry. She thought back . . . Ava had definitely stayed later at school the week before for “orchestra practice.” What the actual fuck?
“Well, could she just need more time for her schoolwork? I’m concerned that her grades are slipping a bit.”
Jennifer smiled. “Grades aren’t the only metric we look at here, as you know. They are only one of many indicators of success.”
Frances hated it when neonates lectured her about things she already understood. Youthsplaining. But outwardly she smiled. “I understand that, Jennifer, but last year she got A’s in English and Art, for example, and this year she hasn’t gotten above a B. I just wanted to check in to make sure you aren’t aware of any problems here I might have missed?”
Jennifer looked back at the file, and lifted a piece of paper. A Post-it caught her attention. “How are things with Piper these days?”
Frances was surprised. “Who’s Piper?”
It was Jennifer’s turn to be surprised. “Piper is a new student who arrived from New York over the summer. Ava hasn’t mentioned her?” Frances shook her head. “Huh. Ava was assigned to be her buddy, you know, when Piper first got here. For the first month they were inseparable, a great pair, a good match. Then something happened, and Piper and Ava stopped hanging out overnight.”
Frances frowned. “Well, couldn’t that just be natural? You know, you get a buddy at a new job, or whatever, and after a week or so you make your own connections and kind of stop hanging out with the buddy . . .” Jennifer was looking at her blankly, but Frances pushed on. “Have you read The Mezzanine by Nicholson Baker? He talks about it, he might even give that relationship a name, it’s an awesome book . . .” Now Jennifer was looking openly concerned, so Frances trailed off and cleared her throat. “No,” she said, “Ava hasn’t mentioned Piper at all.”
Jennifer shrugged. “Well, that’s the only thing her file mentions, that and the extracurriculars. Are you seeing behavior at home that concerns you?”
Frances shrugged back at her. “No, just the usual crankiness and complaints that we don’t give her a phone.”
Jennifer was shocked. “She doesn’t have a phone?” Brief pause. “Pretty much every kid in ninth grade has a phone. What if she needs to call you?”
Frances said, “Well, apparently she could borrow one of the many phones around her. I can’t believe every kid has a phone. They’re very expensive and that’s not including the monthly bill.”
Jennifer looked genuinely concerned. “No, really, they all do.” She got to her feet, the meeting apparently over. “I’m sorry, I have a staff meeting to go to.” She held out her hand. “Always a pleasure, Frances. You should consider getting Ava a phone, though. Not having one really singles her out.”