My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,71

escorting her,” Papa replied serenely.

“But why do I have to come?”

Papa gave her a pitying look in the rearview mirror. “I’m just going to go ahead and let you figure that one out on your own, Lisa. Now, I know thinking is not your strong suit, but look on the bright side—at least you’ll have this little puzzler to keep you occupied for the next hour or so.”

I smiled. I was really enjoying this new take-no-crap attitude of his.

• • •

I was glad when we got to the meeting a little early, because I wanted to talk to Roxie. I found her arranging store-brand cookies on a platter, her emerald green fingernails twinkling under the church basement’s lights.

“Hey,” I said.

She looked up in surprise. “Lucy! You’re back!”

“Yeah, sorry. The snowstorm made traveling difficult.”

“Oh, that’s right. I always forget you come here from upstate.”

“Westchester is hardly upstate,” I said. “It’s only twenty-five miles away.”

Roxie laughed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend. But for real, I thought you were seriously pissed at me.”

I grimaced, remembering the last meeting. “I was. Actually, I still kind of am. Why did you do that, again?”

“I guess I thought it would help. My bad.” She looked up at me sheepishly.

“If I’m being honest…it might have.” I explained all about my fight with Lisa, and how we found out Lisa had been doing drugs this whole time.

“Whoa,” Roxie said, wide-eyed. “You’ve had a busy week.”

“Oh, that’s not even the half of it,” I said, and rolled up my sleeve to show her my battle wound. I told her about starting the meds, and what had happened with Evan and then with Max and Courtney. But I kept the Ty stuff to myself. I knew I shouldn’t have slept with him, for many reasons, and I was trying to convince myself that entire snowy Friday afternoon had never happened.

I didn’t know it then, but moving on from that mistake was going to be harder than I could have imagined.

I got home that night to a message waiting on the house line voicemail.

“Hello, this is Mr. Fisher, from Eleanor Senior High,” the voice said.

My principal? Why would he be calling?

“I’d like for Miss Moore to come meet with me in my office tomorrow morning before school. Say, seven a.m.? Thank you, see you then.” The message ended.

My dads and I stared at each other. What could that be all about?

36

(Ya Got) Trouble

I smoothed the wrinkles from the front of my skirt, took a deep breath, and knocked on Mr. Fisher’s office door. I’d talked my dads into staying home, but now I was regretting that decision. I had no idea what faced me on the other side of that door and I was suddenly feeling the need for backup.

I hadn’t even thought that Mr. Fisher knew who I was. I was a straight-A, problem-free honors student who never cut class and hung out with the drama kids. Maybe this was something he did with all the juniors, as a pre-SAT, pre-college application catch-up session? No, if he had the entire 600-member class to get through, the meeting would surely be during school hours and scheduled far in advance. This was an emergency.

The door swung open and Mr. Fisher looked down at me. I’d never been this close to him before—he was a lot taller than I’d thought, well over six feet. His mustache was redder than the rest of his hair, and his glasses were smudged.

“Please come in, Miss Moore. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” he said, and closed the door behind us.

I wasn’t aware I’d had a choice. “Sure,” I said.

“Have a seat,” he said, and gestured to the high-backed leather chair across from his desk, before sitting in his own high-tech office chair. I hoisted myself into my seat, my feet dangling several inches above the floor. I wondered if he purposely kept this chair here to make the students sitting in it feel small. “You’re probably wondering what this is all about.”

“Actually, yeah,” I admitted. “Did I do something wrong?”

He hesitated, and I realized for the first time that he was nervous too. “No, no, no one is in trouble here,” he said.

“Okay…”

“I’ve received some rather…sensitive information, and I would like to speak with you about it,” he said, still avoiding specifics.

My eyes narrowed. “Regarding?”

“Regarding your…health.” He swallowed and forced himself to look me in the eye. “I assume you know what I mean?”

Of course I knew what he meant. But what