The Dust of 100 Dogs - A. S. King [21]
“Are those brass?” Brass catches like on Emer’s chest.
“I believe so. Have you seen one before?”
“In museums and stuff,” I lied. “It’s cool.” I babbled for about ten minutes about my humanities class and our recent visit to Philadelphia to see the museums.
“Saffron?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you come here today?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he smiled, “you don’t seem to want to be here.”
“I don’t.”
“Because your mother sent you?”
“Well, do you think it’s right that she just sent me here, without asking me first?”
“She’s just trying to help,” he explained. “She wants to make sure you utilize your potential.”
“Do you know why?”
“What?”
“Did she tell you why she wants me to utilize my potential?”
He pushed his glasses up. “You know, you’re not the first clever teenager I’ve met who’s scared to go to college.”
“Really?” I asked sarcastically.
“I think you’re smart enough to know that if you just talk to me about what’s on your mind, you’ll be wasting less of your time, my time, and your parents’ money.”
“What’s on my mind?”
“Yes.”
“I couldn’t tell you what’s on my mind. You’d think I was nuts.”
“You could try me,” he said softly, raising his eyebrows.
“And what? You’d call my mother before the bus drops me at the corner and tell her all about it, right?”
He laughed. “I won’t tell anyone. That’s the rule.”
“Sure. Rules. I still don’t feel like telling you.”
“Well what’s the big secret? I mean, what is there to do instead of college that could be so awful?”
“I didn’t say it was awful.”
“Why are you hiding it, then?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
He sighed. “You could really try me, you know. I’m not on anybody’s side.”
“I can’t tell you. I just can’t. So, if that’s the only thing we’re going to talk about, then there’s no point in us being here. I can’t tell you, so ask something else.”
He nodded his head and rocked in his chair, thinking.
“I am sorry,” I said, feeling bad.
“No, it’s okay. Why don’t you tell me about your mother? You mentioned her earlier.”
“I’m mad at her today, so I don’t want to talk about her either.”
“Are you mad at her for arranging this meeting?”
“That, and other things.”
“Oh. But you don’t want to talk about them.”
“No.”
“What else is going on in your life? Your mother mentioned something about your brother.”
“Junior’s on drugs.”
“And what do you think about that?”
“I think what I always thought about Junior. He’s a spoiled lazy brat and he’ll end up a loser.”
“Have you ever tried any?”
“Drugs?”
“Yeah.”
“No,” I lied. I had tried pot a few times with a stoner girl from my history class, and Susan.
“Why do you think your brother tried drugs?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did your parents react when they found out?”
“Normal stuff. They flushed his stash. And they sent me here.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“They sent me here, and Junior is probably out smoking joints with his buddies right now.”
“You think Junior should have come to see me?”
“If you had a choice, and two of your kids bugged you on the same day—one who’s on drugs, the other who says she doesn’t want to go to college; one who’s been a discipline problem his whole life, the other who stays quiet, does her homework, and never acts out; one who gets awful grades and detention, the other who gets good grades—which one would you send to a shrink?”
“I would probably send the quiet one with good grades who says she doesn’t want to go to college,” he responded.
“Why?”
“Because maybe there’s no saving the other one.”
“Saving me? Saving me from what?”
“From bad decisions at a crucial time of your life. You do realize that you have opportunities other kids only dream of, don’t you?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” I said, imagining an emerald nearly as big as Doctor Lambert’s belly.
“Saffron, our time is up soon. Is this time good for you next week?”
“Do I have to?”
“It would be a good idea if we met a few times, at least. Maybe for the next month?”
“A month? Is that what she wants?”
“No. It’s what I recommend. Once a week for