![]() “New year, new month, new slate to start over on.” Not even waiting for a reply, she continued, “Do you like the curtains? I made them myself.” I was missing first period calculus, my father was missing some very important meeting, and my stepmother from Oz? I’m sure she was missing her brain. My father checked his watch from the chair to my right and, on my left, the Wicked Witch of the West shifted impatiently. ![]() The stench of cheap coffee and freshly sharpened pencils hung in the air. My new therapist hummed when she found my three-inch-thick file and rewarded herself with a sip of coffee, leaving bright red lipstick on the curve of the mug. She shoved a stack of files to the side of her already cluttered desk and flipped through various papers. Collins, Eastwick High’s new clinical social worker, acted as if I hadn’t spoken. Instead, I blinked three times and said, “Fine.” Collins’s question, but my father placed too much importance on appearance for me to answer honestly. That’s how I would have loved to respond to Mrs. “My father is a control freak, I hate my stepmother, my brother is dead and my mother has … well … issues. ![]()
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