Her stare drifted to the side as if she hadn’t thought to before a giddy, little smile crossed her face.
“Gross. Gross. Whatever you’re thinking, gross.”
She gave me a dry look. “You’re one to talk.”
“And four,” I began, ignoring that because she was absolutely right, “I am totally down for Amber Fest and spending the night.”
“Oh, Miss Riley.”
The four of us stopped, and I turned, looking back at where the slightly frenzied voice had come from. My expression shifting into something more adult appropriate—and totally fake—when I saw the guidance counselor coming our way.
“Good morning, Mrs. Warin. How are you today?”
“Oh, I’m really good. You know, it’s Friday,” she said, voice softening as she closed in on us, travel mug in her grasp and large purse falling from her shoulder. Her eyes darted from me to Beau and then back again. “I was wondering if I could speak with you?”
That fake smile became a lot more fixed as I tried to figure out why the guidance counselor would want to speak to me for the first time in all the years that I’d been at the school, but I just nodded. “Sure. After school?”
“I was thinking now, actually.” When I just stood there, she hurried to add, “I’ll give you a pass to first period if we chat too long. I know y’all are busy, and you have the pep rally for tonight’s game.” She lifted her hands in forced excitement. “Go Eagles.”
“Yay,” Madi said from beside me, almost as unenthusiastically as Mrs. Warin had, and a breath of a laugh punched from my chest.
“Uh, yeah. Yes,” I said, head bobbing all kinds of awkwardly. “Of course. I’d love to talk.” I tried to avoid the curious look from my best friend but couldn’t escape Beau’s when I turned in his hold to grab my bag that he always insisted on carrying.
Fierce.
Passionate.
Silently letting me know he was there for me and would be there when it was done. Whatever it was.
He trailed the tips of his fingers over my forearm, then stepped back. But even as he walked backward with Hunter and Madison—who were speaking quietly and stealing glances my way—he didn’t look away from me, holding me in all that captivating intensity.
“You ready?”
I looked to Mrs. Warin, fixing that smile back on my face as I turned to follow her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Sorry to catch you in the halls so early, and today,” she said as she quickly maneuvered to the cluster of offices at the front of the school. “As I said, I know you have the pep rally.” She waved her mug in the air. “I don’t keep up with sports much, but I see the signs around school. Undefeated, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am, and this is the final game before playoffs.”
She nodded, trying to look enthusiastic. “Exciting. And how’s Beau handling the pressure? That must be hard on him, I imagine. On all the players,” she added as an afterthought.
I missed a step at the unexpected question. “Um, he, uh—” I shook away the confusion and warning bells that rose up because it was ridiculous to get suspicious of her line of questioning.
She was a guidance counselor. She was supposed to be invested in our lives.
“He’s great, actually. He loves playing. It helps him with . . . it just helps him,” I finished quickly.
She sucked in a deep breath when we reached her door, then gave me a comical look. “That’s about the extent of my sports questions. I’m probably the only Texan who really doesn’t care for football.” She lifted her travel mug over her mouth and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I assured her.
She pretended to sag in relief as she opened the door and ushered me in. “Thank goodness. Have a seat, get comfy.”
I placed my bag down and sat on the little couch she had in her office as she hurried around, setting things down and turning things on, murmuring to herself and to me as she did.
Asking how the school year was starting off, if I was excited for my final year, and what colleges I was applying to.
But with the way she’d stop and ask before scurrying around again while I answered, I had a feeling none of those questions were why I was there. Questions I would think would be why I was there. And it had those warning bells ringing in the back of my head again.
“Okay,” she said with an exhale when she finally sat, her seat pulled around her desk so she was near me. “Well, I’ve looked at your transcripts, Savannah, and I have to say . . . you’re a fantastic student. Your GPA has remained solid and, honestly, terrific. Your SAT and ACT results were also pretty wonderful. I think we should talk about you considering something more along the lines of a private university than what you mentioned. However, that can maybe wait for another meeting.”
I didn’t tell her I wasn’t interested in those things. That I already knew what I was going to college for, and I was firm on going somewhere close by so I could continue living in Amber to save as much as possible for the plantation house.
I just sat there, waiting for the real reason why I’d been brought in there. My stomach getting all tangled up with nerves and my heart beating like crazy as if I’d done something wrong.
She offered me a kind smile as she leaned forward, elbows on her legs and hands clasped together. “I was kind of hoping we could just talk, Savannah.”
“About?” I asked when she didn’t elaborate, voice thick with worry.
“Just talk. I just wanted to see how you’re doing with school, cheer, life . . .”
“Oh,” I said awkwardly and shifted on the couch as I tried to orient my thoughts while wondering if she was pulling all the students for chats like this. “Well, I’m . . . I’m good. I’m really good. I also dance outside of school, so I’m busy.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah,” I said, a breath of a laugh bubbling up my throat. “But I like being busy. I like moving. If I don’t have anything to do, I bake.”
“Do you feel restless if you aren’t moving?” she asked, a crease forming between her eyebrows.
“No.” I lifted a shoulder, trying to think of anything I might feel when I’m not moving. “No, I just really like being busy. I mean, I read. But only in bed because it’s the only time that I’m still.”
“You don’t think there’s a reason for you wanting to be busy?”
“Like . . .” My eyes darted around the office as those warning bells sounded again, louder than before. “Like what?”
“Nothing,” she said, waving a hand through the air before clasping them again. “I was just curious. So, what do you like to bake? I’m a terrible baker. Then again, I’m a terrible cook. I can stir the heck out of some boxed potatoes though.”
A startled laugh burst from me before I relented and told her about my favorite desserts, which led to me explaining all about the bed and breakfast Beau and I wanted to have one day.
By the time I finished, she was leaning back in her chair, travel mug in hand and excitement dancing in her eyes. “That’s some dream, Savannah. And I’ll tell you, Amber could sure use something like that.”