Perfectly Flawed by Nessa Morgan

Author:Nessa Morgan
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: young adult, flawed, teen read, perfectly flawed

Nine

After lunch, I head to American Sign Language, wishing my friends a good rest of the day. I don’t have any classes with them other than lunch—which isn’t even a class—and gym with Harley, but I choose to ignore that as well. I take my seat in the second row and wait patiently for class to start.

During class, a student office attendant walks into the room and hands Mr. Penn a pale blue slip of paper, signing thank you before she leaves. He looks at it, signs my name, and I’m off to the guidance counselor’s office for some reason.

Should I be worried?

I really hope this has nothing to do with the fight. The last thing I need is to talk about my feelings like I used to in elementary school. I already have one shrink; I really don’t need another.

Mr. Stone, the guidance counselor assigned to my class, had his door closed when I walked down the hall. I hate disturbing others but I knock quietly and politely, waiting for him to wave me in through the tiny window on the door.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Stone?” I ask after poking my head into the tiny office, noticing the clutter accumulated throughout his employment. There’s a plant hanging in the corner that desperately needs water—it’s turning brown and drooping—but I seriously doubt he notices. There’s a stack of books, several stacks in fact, in the corner of the room. His desk is too big for the office but I don’t think he minds or notices. He’s not one to notice things like that. He’s a bit of a scatterbrain. How did he even get this job, anyway?

“Yes, Joey.” Mr. Stone sets aside the folder in his hand he was looking through and points to a desk chair in front of his desk. “Take a seat, please.”

I sit down, crossing my legs at the knees. I let my backpack back in class so now I’m trying to find something with which to fidget. If this is going to be a discussion about what happened the other day, I’ll need something to distract me.

“What’s this about?” I ask, worried I may’ve done something else wrong thought I haven’t a clue as to what. I haven’t injured or threatened anyone since yesterday, I swear. I’ve turned in my homework, I’ve complied by the rules, and I haven’t snapped at anyone in a few hours. I’d say I’m doing pretty well.

“Just touching base with you,” he tells me, folding his hands in his lap. For a guidance counselor, he looks young enough to understand teen issues, but I strongly doubt that he’d understand my generation, whatever that really means. “Seeing how everything’s going.”

“Everything’s going good.” If you ignore the detention and the fact that I introduced my foot to someone’s private parts, I’m doing just great.

“I can tell.” I’m not sure if I should take that sarcastically… He grabs the file—it must be mine—opening it and flipping through the multicolored papers inside.

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