Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits #1)

Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits #1) Page 9

“A girl.” A girl who’d ignored me all day Monday and had yet to return said jacket.

“A girlfriend or a friend that’s a girl?”

“Neither.”

Mrs. Collins gave me the pity look then busied herself with her purse. “Do you need a coat?”

I hated the pity look. After my parents died, everyone I knew wore that look. Eyes slightly rounded. The ends of their mouths curved up slightly while their lips pulled down. The entire time they fought to look normal, but they only came across as uncomfortable.

“No. I’m getting it back today.”

“Good.” She flipped open my file. “How are your tutoring sessions with Echo?”

“We’re starting today.” Only Echo didn’t know that yet.

“Glorious.” She opened her mouth to ask another asinine question, but I had my own.

“What do you know about my brothers?”

She picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk, keeping time with the second hand on the clock. “Keesha and I had a chat regarding your visit this weekend. What happened to Tyler was an accident.”

What the hell? “You’re a school counselor. What are you doing talking to my social worker? And what are you doing talking to her about Tyler?”

“I already told you. I’m a clinical social worker, and I’m the guinea pig for the pilot program. My job isn’t to handle a part of you, but to handle all of you. That means I have access to your brothers. I’ll be communicating with their foster parents and sometimes I’ll be talking to Jacob and Tyler as well.

“As for where I fit in here at Eastwick, Mrs. Branch handles the typical guidance counselor issues and I handle …” She bobbed her head. “The more enlightening students. School fills your mind with knowledge, but we tend to ignore the emotional. I’m here to see what happens if we pay attention to both.”

Yay for me. Having Keesha up my ass was bad enough. Now I had Sally Sunshine in my business, too. I ran my hand over my face and shifted in my chair.

Mrs. Collins continued, “Keesha also told me that you’re threatening to petition for custody of your brothers after you graduate. If that’s true, Noah, you’ve got some major changes you need to make in your life. Are you willing to make them?”

“Excuse me?” Did she just challenge me to get my shit together so I could get my family back?

She put the pen down and leaned forward. “Are you willing to make the changes necessary to possibly care for your brothers after graduation?”

Fuck, yeah. Hell, yes. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Collins picked her pen back up and wrote in my file. “Then you’re going to have to prove it to me. I know you have no reason to trust me, but this process will go faster and smoother if you can find a way to do it. You need to focus on yourself right now and trust Keesha and me to see to the welfare of your brothers.

“The reality of the situation is this. If you continue to harass Keesha about visitation and if you continue to pump Jacob for information on his foster parents, specifically their last name, then you are making it appear as if you aren’t willing to play by the rules. The visitation you have now is a privilege, Noah. A privilege I want to see you keep. Do we have an understanding?”

The chair jerked beneath me as I pointed at her. “Those are my brothers.”

The lack of information about who had my brothers—their foster parents’ last name, their address, their phone number … the fact that I couldn’t see Jacob and Tyler whenever I wanted … I lost all of those “privileges” the day I hit my first foster father. My throat swelled and my eyes stung. The realization that I was on the verge of tears pissed me off. I stood, unsure what to do … or who to blame. “You have no right. They’re my responsibility.”

Mrs. Collins stared at me straight-faced. “They’re safe. You need to believe me on this. You’re putting your experiences on your brothers. I understand your need to protect them, but right now it isn’t necessary. If you want to see them on a regular basis then you need to learn to work with me, and I’ve explained how you can do that.”

“Go to hell.” I grabbed my books and left her office.

Echo

Mrs. Collins’s plaques had moved by a fraction of an inch, revealing black marks on the wall. For once, I found myself wishing for Ashley’s attendance. The imperfection would have driven her insane.

Just like last week, the blue ribbon sat on Mrs. Collins’s desk and just like last week, the placement of the ribbon changed— each time closer to my seat. It was as if the ribbon contained a force field that enveloped me—a pull I couldn’t explain.

“How are things with your boyfriend?” asked Mrs. Collins. Another Tuesday afternoon, another therapy session.

I drew my eyes away from the ribbon. Thank God Luke had asked me out on a group date for Saturday night. One less lie for me to tell. “Ashley misunderstood. I don’t have a boyfriend, but I am dating somebody.” Kind of. Sort of. If one date was considered dating.

Her eyes brightened. “Wonderful. Is it that basketball player I’ve seen hanging around with you in the hall?”

“Yes.” Great, a stalking therapist. Was that even legal?

“Tell me about him.”

Um … no. “I don’t want to talk about Luke.”

“All right,” she said, totally unruffled. “Let’s talk about Noah. He told me today is your first tutoring session.”

I blinked several times in succession. Crap. Was it? Maybe I should have discussed Luke. I still had Noah’s jacket in my locker since I’d let Lila and Grace convince me I couldn’t simply hand it to him during school. They were still devising a plan to get it back to him. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Would you like some unsolicited advice?”

I shrugged and yawned simultaneously, preparing for the just-say-no-to-drugs-sex-and-alcohol lecture. After all, in theory, I was tutoring Noah Hutchins. “Sure.”

“Noah is more than capable of doing the work. He just needs a small push. Don’t let him fool you into thinking otherwise. And you, Echo, are the one person at this school I believe can challenge him academically.”

Allllrighty. That was a totally strange pep talk. “Okay.” I covered my mouth as I yawned again.

“You look tired. How are you sleeping?”

Awesome. I slept a whole two hours last night. My foot began to rock.

“Echo, are you okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine.” If I kept saying it then maybe it would come true. And maybe, someday, I could sleep a full night without horrible dreams—strange dreams, scary dreams, full of constellations, darkness, broken glass and, sometimes, blood.

“Your father mentioned that you don’t take your prescribed sleeping pills even though you still have night terrors.”

Nightly. Scary enough I didn’t want to fall asleep. Frightening enough that if I lost the battle and did sleep, I woke up screaming. My father and Ashley kept the pills in a locked cabinet in their bathroom and only gave them to me if I asked. I’d rather have poked my eye out with a bleach-laced needle than ask Ashley for anything. “I said I’m fine.”

With the word fine, my eyes shot back to the ribbon. What was it about that thing that attracted me to it? I felt like a moth flying toward an electric bug zapper.

“You appear very interested in the ribbon, Echo,” said Mrs. Collins. “You’re more than welcome to hold it if you’d like.”

“No, I’m good,” I replied. But I wasn’t good. My fingers twitched in my lap. For some insane reason, I wanted to hold it. Mrs. Collins said nothing and the silence sort of creeped me out.

My heart stuttered as I finally shifted forward and took the ribbon in my hand.

This wasn’t one of those cheesy blue ribbons. This was the real deal—large and made of silk. I rubbed the fabric between my thumb and forefinger. First in Show: Painting—Kentucky Governor’s Cup.

Someone at my school won the Governor’s Cup. How freaking cool was that? Every high school artist dreamed of winning that competition.

Maybe some lowerclassman had remarkable art talent. Screw my dad—the moment Mrs. Collins released me, I planned on checking out the art room and seeing this talent for myself. To win first place in the Governor’s Cup, you had to be a stinking genius.

As I ran my fingers over the ribbon again, applause echoed in my head. A still frame image of my outstretched arm accepting the ribbon sprang into my mind.

My eyes snapped to Mrs. Collins as my heart thundered in my chest. “This is mine.”

The thundering moved to my head and my chest constricted as another image squeezed out. In my mind’s eye I was accepting not only the ribbon, but a certificate. I didn’t see the name printed there, but I saw the date. It was the date.

Jolts of electricity shot up my arms and straight to my heart. Horrified, I threw the ribbon across the room and bolted from my chair. My knee slammed against the desk, causing needle-sharp pains to shoot behind my kneecap. I fell to the floor and scrambled backward, away from the ribbon, until my back smacked the door.

Mrs. Collins pushed slowly away from her desk, crossed the room to retrieve the ribbon, and held it in her hand. “Yes, it’s yours, Echo.” She spoke like we were sharing a pizza instead of me having a panic attack.

“It’s … It … can’t be. I … never won the Governor’s Cup.” Fog filled a portion of my mind, followed by a bright flash of red. A moment of clarity revealed a younger me filling out a form. “But I entered … my sophomore year. I won the county, then regionals, and moved on to state. And then … then …” Nothing. The black hole swallowed the red and the gray. Only darkness remained.

Mrs. Collins smoothed her black skirt as she sat down in front of me. Maybe no one told her, but sitting on the floor during a therapy session was abnormal. She reined in her Labrador enthusiasm and spoke in a calm, reassuring tone. “You’re in a safe place, Echo, and it is safe to remember.” She stroked the ribbon. “You had a very happy morning that day.”

I cocked my head to the side and squinted at the ribbon. “I … won?”

She nodded. “I’m a huge art fan. I prefer statues over paintings, but I still love paintings. I’d rather go to a gallery than a movie any day of the week.”

This lady was a feather-filled quack. No question about it. Yet in the middle of those annoyingly cheerful plaques hung honest-to-God legitimate degrees. The University of Louisville was a real school and so was Harvard, where she’d apparently continued her studies. I focused on breathing. “I don’t remember winning.”

Mrs. Collins placed the ribbon on the edge of her desk. “That’s because you repressed the entire day, not just the night.”

I stared at the file on her desk. “Will you tell me what happened to me?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid that would be cheating. If you want to remember, then you need to start applying yourself during these sessions. That means you answer my questions honestly. No more lying. No more half lies. Even if your parents are here. In fact, especially if your parents are here.”