Forty-Seven: RowynThe counselor pulled me into her office that Thursday. I really wished she'd waited until after the dinner with my dad, but there I was, sitting on a turquoise seat cushion, waiting to see what the damage was. Was there some sort of rule that administration had to have these chairs? They were the same everywhere.
I'd been avoiding checking my grades online for a reason. She was printing out something from her laptop as I waited. I knew junior year was important as far as getting into colleges was concerned, and I meant to do better, or do some community service or something. Just, the year was going by too quickly and too slowly at the same time, and I couldn't get anything done. Mrs. Abrams was in her fifties, I assumed, a pleasantly plump woman who made a point to smil
