by Tori Stubbs
On Monday, Avalonia Joia stormed into my office, shut the door behind herself, and sat in the chair across from my desk, all without saying a word. She crossed her arms and sighed. Her hair was long and golden, her eyes were opalescent and her skin was as clear as day. She had never been called to my office before, but that didn't mean I didn't know exactly who she was when I saw the name on the principal's note. Everyone knew who she was.
"Hi, you must be Avalonia," I faked a smile. "My name is Ms. Kaley, and I'm the guidance counselor. My job is to talk to students, see how they are doing--"
"I know what you do," Avalonia snapped. She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just don't need the speech. I get it. I don't need to be here."
I mustered a sympathetic smile. "Well, do you know why you are here?"
She looked at the door and sighed. "Because the principal is making me?"
"Well, yes," I agreed. "But only because she thinks something is bothering you. She said you have been acting out during your classes."
Avalonia stared at me, her eyes shimmering from green to blue to pink. Green, blue, pink, green, blue, pink. She smacked her lips together, but didn't say a word.
"Can you tell me why that is?" I folded my hands across my lap.
"Because it doesn't matter what I do." She sighed. She moved all of her hair onto one side of her face with a swift movement of her hand.
"Of course it matters," I told her. I sighed internally.
She shook her head. "No, it doesn't."