Westbrook Academy for Metahumans: Forums

"You know you're not really old enough to dress like that. You've got, what, another five years or so before granny status kicks in. This whole deal is only adding years and pounds that aren't there yet."

"Thank-you, Arthur," Ms. Wilson said with a small smile. She was pretty good; he had to give her that. She was the closest to unflappable he'd seen in a long time. "Would you say that appearance is something that's important to you?"

"Wow. Penetrating stuff." The boy smirked and leaned back in his chair, one leg kicked over the side. She was lucky he wore pants today. It would just be cruel to taunt her with things she could never have. She wasn't ancient, but she was definitely on the elder edge of the cougar spectrum. A little gym time, new hair and makeup, and a sizable investment in clothing made for females and she might enter the maybe range. "Yes, looks count. Anyone who says different is blind or a liar. And I'm pretty sure most blind people would agree anyway."

"Why's that?"

"It's all anybody sees. First time you meet somebody, you've decided before they open their mouth whether or not they're worth a damn. You know what they like, who they like, where they fit, everything about them in the first second. Everyone does it. It's instinct or some crap like that. I just cut out the b.s. where we pretend not to do it. Why waste time lying about stuff everyone can see for themselves?"

She listened to every word he said, pen and paper in hand but unused. Her eyes occasionally drifted down to the blank page or over to the loud print on the boy's shirt, though never to the clock on the wall beside them, and they always came back to meet his. "It seems like you've thought about this a lot."

"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"You mentioned liars and lying a few times. Is honesty another thing that's important?"

No segue and no apology for not having one. At least the clothes weren't hiding a complete lack of confidence. As a reward, he could follow along with her little investigation. "Sure, except when it isn't." Following doesn't necessarily mean helping, of course.

"When's that?"

"Not everybody needs to know everything."

"I'm not sure I understand, Arthur."

"Think about it. If everyone knows every last little thing about you and what you've done, does it really help them any? Sometimes there's stuff people just don't need to know. And," he added with a cocked eyebrow, "congratulations on knowing my name, but you can stop repeating it. There's no one else in the room you could be talking to and I feel plenty enfranchised or whatever already."

Yep, unflappable. She didn't even show a crack in the demeanor. "Is that why you don't talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about. I don't see why I need to be here in the first place."

• Something about school counselors makes every one of their offices more alike than different. On the opposite side of the country, not many years before, the same words had been spoken in the virtually the same office. The smells and paint colors were different, but the suffocating feel was a perfect match, like the room was one breath short of having enough air.
  
  "I don't see why I need to be here for this."

"Arthur." There she went with the name thing again. "You've been through a frankly terrifying experience."

"Me and everyone else at this school."

• "Mr. Rawlings--"
  
  "Doctor." Daddy sat in the worn-down chair like it was a throne, and the illusion held. While he was in here, it wasn't Mrs. Jones' room. "But, please, call me Andrew."
  
  "I'm sorry. Dr. Rawlings, Artie is having some very real problems at school."

"Not everyone at the school was targeted individually."

"Then you should be talking to Eli or Diego or any of the other crazies." The boy's leg made its way down off the chair arm as he spoke, his back straightening and pushing forward out of the soft recesses of the cushions. "I didn't have a single hallucination. I didn't start screaming out of nowhere and try to claw my own throat open. I didn't snap and throw somebody into the ceiling."

"That's true, but you did destroy more than one piece of furniture in the commons."

• "He's a good boy." She paused when Daddy's blackberry went off, but he nodded up at her to continue while he typed out a reply. "He's, uh, bright, with a wonderful attitude and a great sense of humor. And very compassionate, empathetic even. But he's starting to fall behind his peers."
  
  "No," Daddy spoke to his phone where another conversation was well underway, probably with Papa, "he should be performing on par with the best you have at minimum."
  
  Mrs. Jones sat for a moment, blinking uncertainly. "He does, yes, but only on the days when he's at school. And the absences aren't just hurting academically. Artie is having a hard time making friends among the other students."

"I paid for those, and the second table was Kai's handiwork."

"You aren't in trouble for those, but what they tell me is that things got pretty intense for you, too."

"For fuck's sake, it was a rat! It was just a rat. Why does everyone insist on making such a big deal over a stupid rat? Why the hell do I have to talk about the damn rat? It's gone. It's over. It's time to move on. Past time."

• "I assume you have a suggestion for how to fix the problems you see in my son?"
  
  "There is nothing wrong with Artie, nothing at all. However, if he doesn't meet minimum attendance requirements, we won't be able to promote him to the next grade level in the Fall."
  
  "I'm afraid wasn't very clear. I'm waiting to hear your suggestion about what to do."

"We don't have to talk about the rat if you don't want to. This is your time."

"Now that's just not true. If this was my time, I could be wasting it a million better ways than this. No, this is your time that you insist on throwing away for no good reason. And you're going to keep doing it until I say all the right things you want to hear about that fucking rat. It's not gonna happen, lady."

The small, gentle smile didn't leave Ms. Wilson's face, but it did get a little sadder around the edges. Almost unflappable. "I won't make you come if you don't want to, but I'm going to keep this time slot reserved for you if you ever feel you need it. There are people who care about you, Arthur, and I am one of them. It doesn't have to be me, but I do hope you talk to someone."

• Her lips tightened at the corners, but that was all the anger Mrs. Jones showed. None of it was in her voice when she went on. "I feel it would be in Artie's best interest to begin attending school regularly, every day. I've spoken with his teachers; they are all eager to help. There's still time to make up the work he's missed, and I know he'll make friends easily once he's here on a daily basis."
  
  "No, the schedule is already set for the next several months. What about home schooling?"
  
  "That... is also an option, yes. But for a social, sensitive child like Artie, a setting where he can interact with his peers is, I feel, the best choice."
  
  "Excellent, it's decided then," Daddy said, rising from his chair. "We will oversee his education at home. You can direct any further questions, concerns, and paperwork to the email address you have on file."
  
  With that and a soft pat on his son's head, he left. Papa and Daddy always had a lot to do, and this day was even busier than most. Artie had tried to explain that to Mrs. Jones, but she had insisted that someone meet with her today. It was a good thing too, he supposed. Now he'd be with his dads all the time. It'd be like one big holiday that just kept going.
  
  "Alright then, Artie. We're sure going to miss you around here. Let's, uh, let's get you back to class."

"Awesome. So I can go now?"

The boy was already on his feet walking to the door when she nodded.