“Come in.”
I ease the door open and hesitate at the threshold. My knees are weak. I want to sit down, but not in here. The room is small with a desk and two chairs opposite the counsellor for students and parents to sit in. The woman behind the desk is young. I’ve not spoken to her before and I don’t think she’s been at our school for long. This is probably her first proper job out of university.
“Take a seat,” she tells me.
I do as she says leaving the door partially open. She stands, taking her time walking over to close it, trapping us in the room. She comes back and sits in her chair with the desk separating us. She picks up a pen.
“How are you?” she asks.
Her pen taps her notepad repetitively. I want to reach out and stop the motion, but I don’t. I feel like I should be the one a
