33. Birdie

Confession: I don't follow all the rules.

Monday morning, I walked into my office and dropped my keys on my desk. The chairs around the table were shoved to the side, and I put them back, my heart skittering and my stomach aching. Kissing Cohen had been even better than I'd imagined, which was somehow worse than if I'd never kissed him at all.

Now I really knew what I had to sacrifice in order to keep my career.

Cohen had been a perfect gentleman afterward, adjusting himself and walking with me to the parking lot. He even smiled at me as he said goodbye, dropping me off outside of Mara's house. He didn't walk me to the door, which all things considered, was probably a good idea.

I still felt guilty. Sad. So many things. Because I knew what I wanted, and I also knew there was no way it could happen.

Maybe in a couple years, when Ollie graduated, Cohen and I could reconnect. If he was even available then.

The thought of him with someone else, of me missing my chance, made my throat constrict, and I began pulling the tray of wood shavings from the bottom of Ralphie's cage.

Ralphie tilted his head as if questioning me.

"I don't even want to think about it." I let out a sigh and emptied the shavings into my wastebasket, then used unscented baby wipes to wash the tray. "We can't be together. He's a parent. That's all there is to it."

Ralphie cooed sadly.

"I know." I blinked back tears. "But on the bright side, I got a promising lead on an apartment yesterday. The manager said they own another building closer to Emerson and they might have a vacancy if the tenant doesn't continue their lease next month. That means you can finally come home with me at night."

He chirped.

"And I didn't even tell you about the aviary..." That was a subject I could get lost in for hours, no matter how closely it was intertwined with Cohen. I told Ralphie about going to the aviary and all the amazing things I'd seen there as I got my schedule ready for the day.

During first hour, I had a couple of college planning appointments. One with a girl I'd seen with deep circles under her eyes lately. She needed my support, and I needed to be at my best for her.

Coffee was definitely called for.

I walked down the fairly empty hall, waving to my co-workers on the way, and went into the teachers' lounge. I used the sink to wash my hands, and as I reached for a paper towel, someone cleared their throat behind me.

I covered my heart with my hand and turned to see Headmaster Bradford shutting the door. "Oh, you scared me," I said nervously. Although, to be fair, I'd probably be a little scared even if I'd seen him coming.

Not only was Headmaster Bradford my boss, he also came from old money, old academia. He could just as easily recite Shakespeare as end my career at Emerson Academy.

He didn't chuckle at my fright or apologize. Instead, his lips pressed into a line, and his chest rose with a deep breath. "Ms. Melrose, I've gotten several calls from Mrs. Alexander the last few weeks."

I closed my eyes, thinking of Pam and her threats. I'd hoped they were empty, but judging by the look on the headmaster's face, I wasn't so sure. "And?"

"You're aware she and her husband are our largest donors, aside from the Rush family?"

I nodded, wishing I was brave enough to just ask him where he was going with this. Wishing the mere mention of Pam's name didn't make my blood run cold. I needed this job, though. Not only because I loved working with the students, but because any apartment complex would require income to pay my rent.

"It means we're dedicated to keeping our families happy," he said. "And lately, she's been quite unhappy with you."

"Because of Ryde?" I asked. "I only did the mandated college planning session with him and—"

"We're going to waive future meetings," he said.

I raised my eyebrows. "Every student has the meetings. It's a requirement for graduation." In fact, Emerson Academy's excellent record of Ivy League college placement was one of the things that made us a top high school in the country. "Won't it be holding him back to not know what his options really are? The long-term success of child actors—"

"If you're unwilling to fulfill the duties of your role as instructed," Headmaster Bradford said, "we can revisit your contract at the end of the year and see if Emerson Academy is a place you'd like to continue working."

I lowered my gaze and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Great." He opened the door and walked toward the hallway, leaving me alone in the lounge. Except my stomach didn't much feel like coffee anymore.

Slowly, the door to the bathroom in the teachers' lounge opened, and Mr. Davis stepped out.

My cheeks instantly reddened with shame. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" he said, but his eyes told me he knew it all. "But if I did hear anything, just know that I've got your back."

He left the teachers' lounge then too, and I was alone with my empty cup. I filled it, if only out of habit, and walked back to my office. Leaving the door open, I sat behind my desk, waiting for Sierra Cook to come for her appointment, feeling worse than I had before.

Maybe I didn't want to work at this school. Surely Mara wouldn't mind me staying until I could find another job. Or...I could stay with my parents until I built up an employment record at another place. Maybe even a private business until I could find a position at one of the local public schools.

Except then I would have way more students to work with. Which meant I'd have less time with each of them to make any real difference. But I would be away from the school where I'd begun my career, getting a fresh start. And I would be able to pursue a relationship with Cohen...

I shook my head to snap myself out of that line of thought. What was I thinking? I hardly knew Cohen, and I was ready to throw away my career for a chance at what? Happily ever after?

As far as I knew, the possibility of that happening with him or anyone else for that matter was slim to none. No, I needed to focus on my job, on my students, on finding a home for Ralphie and me.

I sighed. I hated that people could throw around their money and toy with someone's life. I'd seen my parents do it before, and now that I was on the receiving end, it made me sick.

The first bell rang, and soon after, the tread of Sierra's loafers signaled her presence.

I set aside my upset from this morning and gave her a smile. "Hi, Sierra, how is your morning?"

She dropped into a chair, sitting back and folding her arms across her chest. "Okay." Although, her face told me she was anything but. There was far too much shadow under her eyes for any girl her age, and her lips pinched down at the corners. Even her hair seemed askew, as though she'd attempted a braid without a mirror.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Her eyes darted toward the door she'd left open, then she looked down as she nodded.

Gentle. "Let's talk about colleges. You're interested in studying art, right?" I reached into my filing cabinet for the information packets I'd gotten from schools with some of the best art programs. "UCLA, of course, has a good program if you'd like to stay closer to home."

She shook her head.

I put that packet aside, then held up the other two. "Yale has a strong reputation for their program. I've also seen excellent artists come from the Art Institute of Chicago. Do either of those locations appeal to you?"

Looking withdrawn, she folded her arms across her chest. "Can I be honest with you, Ms. Melrose?"

"Birdie," I said. "And of course."

"I don't think I want to go to college."

My stomach bottomed out, and I rose to shut the door. If a teacher heard her say that, she would never hear the end of it. Especially since she didn't come from big money or have acting plans after graduation.

"Is that so?" I said, clicking the door shut. "Now that we have some privacy...what are you thinking?"

She let out a sigh. "That I need to get as far away from here as I can."

"Yale is in Connecticut," I answered, taking my seat again.

With so much sadness in her eyes, she said, "Not far enough."

"Honey..." I paused. "Is everything okay at home?"

Her mouth opened as if she wanted to speak, but she didn't, her eyes shining. She couldn't answer me, and a pit grew in my stomach.

"Are you in danger?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle but firm. I needed to know how I could help.

"I'm not," she said simply, but didn't divulge any more.

"Do I need to call the cops? Is there any way I can help?"

She pressed her lips together, taking the packets for Yale and the Art Institute of Chicago from my desk. "I'll apply for these schools."

I reached out, taking the packets. "I'm your guidance counselor. And I'm supposed to help you reach your goals in life. Off the record, is this really what you want to do?"

Slowly, she seemed to relax back into her chair, and she shook her head. "I want to see the world. Outside of my father's control. And I want to see real art. Not just pictures in textbooks. And maybe, someday, I can make art like that too."

My mind worked the pieces together. The dark circles under her eyes. The fact that I'd only ever seen her mother at school functions. "You know... Plenty of students take gap years in Europe. But it would require some money for plane tickets, hostels, food."

"I have it," she said, a desperate excitement coloring her words. For the first time since coming in here, there was a light in her eyes. Hope. "I've saved everything. Birthday money from my grandparents. Everything from my jobs."

She needed this.

And me? I was here to help.