The Arrangement 6 (4 page)

CHAPTER
6

The next morning I’m sitting in the center of the classroom in Psych. I’m in a chair and another student, one I don’t really know, is sitting across from me with a pen and paper in her lap.
Our instructions are to practice the practical application of the techniques we learned during the semester.

I slouch back in my chair. Butterflies swirl in my stomach. I hate being in front of everyone. The other fifty or so students lean forward and get ready to watch. We’ll be practicing basic counseling responses for the next three days. Case one, Avery Stanz. Good thing no one knows how screwed up I really am. I
’m wondering if this girl will be able to pull down my walls and get at what makes me tick. I doubt it. I fold my arms across my chest. I’m the poster child for uncooperative participant.

The professor, Dr. Pratz, is standing in front of us. He’s
a tall slender man who’s nearly bald save some white hair around his temples. He’s wearing a Polo shirt and a pair of kakis. The soles of his shoes are worn through and the man is wearing different colored socks. Sometimes I wonder if he does stuff like that to see if we notice, because those of us going into this field need to notice and figure out what it means.

Dr. Pratz is addressing the c
lass, explaining the order of the practicum. “Avery and Emma will have five minutes to talk. Emma’s job is to guide the conversation to help Avery recognize her feelings on whatever subjects come up. During this exercise if either of you uncover a landmine, then the conversation will end. The purpose of this assignment is to help your client identify their emotions. That’s it.” He turns to us. “You have five minutes. Go!” He presses a button on the side of his watch and sits down on an empty seat in the front row.

Emma is nervous.
She has light brown hair that she tucked behind her ears. She has on jeans and a pink sweater with pearl earrings. I don’t think we’d get along by the looks of her. Emma looks like someone who has an easy life. I can see it in her eyes.

Emma
’s sitting at the edge of her chair. She shifts in the seat and looks up at me, flashing an anxious smile. “So, Avery, tell me how you’re doing today.”

“I’m fine.”

“Avery,” Dr. Pratz interrupts, scolding me, “you need to be at least semi-cooperative for this assignment, Miss Stanz. A real patient would be more cooperative.”

“Not a teenager,” I counter.

“You’re not a teenager. Speak in full sentences please. And yes, I will interrupt if either of you needs it.” He presses the button on his watch again. “Resume.”

I straighten in my chair a little. “I’m doing okay today.
”

Emma looks at Dr. Pratz, but he doesn’t interject again. “It sounds like you’re a little tense. Is something bothering you?”

I shake my head and pick at my fingernails. “Nothing really. Just the normal end of semester stress and trying to juggle my time.”

“Oh, do you usually have trouble with that?”

“No.” I don’t want to talk in front of all these people, but I’m being graded. I add, “It’s just lately my time seems to get away from me. Add that to the end of semester assignments and I’m swamped. It’s nothing major. Summer will come and then I’ll have too much time. Time’s like that, right? We either have too much or too little. It’s never spot-on.” I smile at her.

Emma nods. “What are the major things that consume your time?”

“Work and school.”

“I understand that can be difficult. Where do you work?”

Crap
. I straighten a little bit more and lie. “At a steakhouse.”

“Stop,” Dr. Pratz interrupts and steps between us. He turns to Emma. “Do you feel like you’re making progress?”

Emma squirms in her seat. “Yes, I think so.”

“Avery, since we only have
a few minutes here, throw her a bone. Resume.” He steps back and the clock is ticking again.

Throw her a bone? How the hell do I do that? I try to think of something that she can run with that won’t make everyone get a glimpse into my mind. I chose something that seems harmless.
“My friends are stressing me out. One is really stressing me out. He keeps saying he’ll change, but he doesn’t.” How’s that for a bone? I won’t say it’s Sean, but that should give her enough to work with for a few moments.

Dr. Pratz nods at me, pleased. Good.

Emma presses her lips together. Her forehead is creased with worry. “Ah, so it sounds like you don’t think that people can change?”

“People don’t change.”

“So you completely disregard change theory? You don’t believe a person can change when they set their mind to it?”

“No, and change theory is just that—a theory. People don’t change. Name one person who truly changed
.” Emma opens her mouth, but says nothing. I prod her. “Come on. Anyone.”

“Stop.” Dr. Pratz says. He stand
s and steps between us. He says to Emma, “She commandeered the conversation. It’s your job to control it. Steer it back so that the questions follow the path you want to take or God knows where you’ll end up. Resume.”

Emma swallows hard. “Why does
this friend need to change?”

Because he’s twisted and wants to make me cower in fear before he has sex with me
. “To get over his past.”

“
Did something traumatic happen to him?” I nod. “I understand. So tell me, how do you think a person gets over something traumatic from their past?” I falter. The smug look on my face drops. She sees it and dives in. “Did something happen to you? Do you feel like you can’t change? Do you feel trapped?”

My heart is pounding and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. I try not to show it, but it’s like everyone can sense she found something. I stare at her like I wa
nt to pound her head in when we’re in the parking lot later. I try to keep my voice light and my face expressionless, but it’s impossible. I’m too bitter, too resentful because of what happened. “Yes.”

“Did it change you?”

I nod. We learned that if a person decides that they want to change, that they can. Something has to change inside their mind before the change is complete. But that’s not what happened to me. I didn’t decide to become this way. I woke up one day and the change was forced on me. I glance at Dr. Pratz, hoping he’ll stop her, but he doesn’t. Emma asks, “Is that why you think people can’t change, because you can’t change back?”

Something twitches and it’s like she touched a match to my mind. The entire class is utterly still, watching me.
I stare at her. Changing by choice is not possible. If it was, I wouldn’t be like this.

“People don’t change.” I manage. My throat is too tight, my voice is too strained.

“Do you want to change your life? Is it possible that you’re the one who has the problems accepting change and not your friend?”

I stiffen. I forget
that I’m in front of a classroom filled with people for a second. My emotions are too raw. “No, it’s because some changes just don’t happen. Some changes can’t happen. Some people are too stuck, too broken. They can’t be fixed, so it doesn’t matter what you ask or how you frame it because the end result is always—”

Dr. Pratz
cuts me off, “Time.” I realize that Emma got to me. I’m not even sure how she did it, but she did. Allowing people to pick at mental sore spots is insane. None of those places have healed. I feel stupid.

Dr. Pratz continues,
“Emma, very good, but you should never go through someone’s mind randomly pressing buttons to see what happens. When you encounter a sore spot like the one you just found, it could be anything from a day-old ego bruise, to a decades-old abuse scar. If you press a button that’s still raw, it turns into a landmine. You’ll lose control of the session and your client.

“That’s enough for today. Class dismissed.” Dr. Pratz turns to Emma and me, “Please grab your things and follow me back to the counseling center.”

Emma protests, “I have a class after this.”

“Then go, I’ll show you another time. Avery, come with me.” Dr. Pratz is out the door before I have my books. I chase after him. He’s
so damn tall that it takes forever to catch up. When I fall in step with him, he looks over at me. “I can see it, you know.”

I already know what he means. He knows I’m messed up. There’s no guessing for guys like him. It’s communicated without saying a word. “I know.”

“Do you want help?”

I stare straight ahead and clutch my books to my chest. “No one can help me.”

“Mmmm. A word of caution then—ghosts will haunt us unless we confront them. Until then, they have a way of invading every aspect of our lives and ripping it apart at the seams.”

“Like a
poltergeist.”

“Exactly.” We approach a door and he pulls it open, allowing me to walk inside first. It’s the school’s counseling center.

This is where I want to do my graduate work. If I continue to work for Black, I can start this summer. I’m excited and nervous to be here. I want to help people, but I need so much help myself. It really makes me wonder if I can do it. For a while, I thought all that pain would make me better at this job, but now I’m not so sure. Sometimes pain just hurts.

Dr. Pratz walks to the front desk, grabs his messages, and I follow him back to his office.
“Sit.”

I’m not sure what he wants, but I take a seat. “Avery, I know you want to be admitted to the grad school next year. It’s a very
rigorous program and I honestly have concerns about you being able to carry the course load.”

This is news to me. Panic sparks to life in the pit of my stomach.
“I can do it. I know I can. I maintained my GPA for undergrad. I had a bump, but I recovered.”

He presses his palms together and looks at me for a moment. His dark eyes show nothing but concern, but it still makes my stomach dip. “
You’re right. Earlier this year, your grades were lacking. They improved, but I feel like you have some issues distracting you from your course work. Is it something you want to talk about?” I shake my head and give him an awkward smile. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here. I want to see you excel, Avery.”

“I’ve found a way to begin grad school this summer. I can take a lighter course load, but attend year round, if you think that I
should. Dr. Pratz, I really need this. I’ve worked so hard to get here. I promise that I’ll give it my undivided attention.”

“Aver
y, I like the idea of you spreading out your course load over the summer. Maybe that would allow you to lighten your work schedule. Your graduate scholarship is still being determined. The next few months are important. Attending this summer might be a very good option for you. One of the things you need to learn is to set reasonable expectations for yourself. If you constantly stretch yourself thinner and thinner, you’ll snap.”

“Yes sir.”

We chat for a few more moments, and by the time I leave his office, I realize that my future plans may be beyond my reach. I need to ask Miss Black for fewer appointments and more money.

CHAPTER
7

The weather has turned frigid. Big thick flakes are falling from the sky as I trek across campus. When I finally get back to the room, Amber is cursing, getting ready for her night class. She tugs a sweater over her head and glares at me. “I hate the snow.”

“Then move to Florida.” Amber scowls and hurries out the door.

I sit on my bed for a moment. When I was younger snow made me so excited, so happy. As soon as there was enough snow covering the ground, I
do the same thing every single time—built a snowman. I wonder if it’s crazy, if I should do things like that anymore. I walk across the room to the window and look outside. It’s still snowing. A smile slowly spreads across my face. Screw it. I don’t care if people think I’m crazy. I’m going.

Taking my book bag, I dump out the contents on my bed before heading over to my dresser. I grab what I need and make my way down to m
y car. I still can’t believe Sean repaired it for me. I grin at the old girl and pat the hood like she’s a horse. “I would have missed you.”

I slip
inside and turn the key. The car starts right up. The interior is new and shiny even though it’s decades old. I run my fingers along the dashboard, wondering if Sean changed anything else. It looks new. I slide the control across and turn on the heater. I keep my hand on the lever, expecting to get blasted with white smoke, but it never comes. He fixed the heater. I smile to myself. I’m not wearing a jacket. It’s like Sean knew that and had the heater repaired. Normally, all the heat would have gone out the window, but it doesn’t. My window is up. I lean forward and roll it down.

Ah! It moves! Oh my God! The window works! This is my car, but he brought it back to life. It doesn’t stall anymore. I don’t have to drive with two feet. It runs, like a real car. I sit there grinning a
s snowflakes cover the windshield. I’m almost afraid to try it, but I have to. I flick the wipers and they turn on. The wiper blades swoosh up and then down. Then they do it again.

“He fixed everything.” I glance at the passenger seat and figure the seatbelt works too.

I take a deep breath. I can’t stop smiling. I know exactly what I’m going to do. I pull out of the lot and head to the parkway. I drive east as the snow comes down harder and harder. By the time I get there, there’s a blanket of white covering the ground. It’s pristine and perfect.

I
turn into the old cemetery. Snow lines the top of the headstones. I drive down the lane to my parents’ plot and shut the engine. I grab my bag and get out. There are a couple of inches of snow on the ground. It isn’t much, but it’s enough. I make a snowball and start rolling it around. It gets bigger and bigger before I roll it over to my parents’ grave.

I talk to them as I do it. I tell them about everything that’s going on, about how my life is getting away from me. I love a man who doesn’t love me back. I’m a call girl. I finally manage to talk about that. “I don’t like it. It’s not what I thought it would be. I don’t think I’m the kind of girl who sleeps around, so it feels really weird. Besides, I hate all the lying. It feels like I’m lying to everyone lately.”

I roll around another snowball as I talk, then bring it over and stack it on the other one. I make a third snowball and roll it around, and then put it on top of the other two when it’s the size of a pumpkin. My snowman is vertically challenged. I pack more snow on his belly and smooth it out. When I’m done, I stand in front of him. The snowman is a little shorter than me. I grab a scarf and the buttons from my bag. I press two hot pink sparkly buttons into his eyes and wrap a pink scarf around his neck. So he’s a transvestite snowman. I like pink. I continue to talk to my parents as I finish decorating my snowman and the flow of words finally dries up.

When I’m done,
I straighten, suck in the cold air, and look at their headstone. Memories flicker across my mind. My mom loved the first snowfall. My dad had told me the story of how they meet so many times that I’ll never forget. They were both teenagers and had gone out sledding. Their sleds collided and it was fate. When I was a kid, they’d take me to Cardiac Hill at Sunken Meadow. They’d retell that same story every time. Winter was always filled with warm memories.

I smile to myself. I feel okay
right now. I feel like I can bounce back and get on with things. I have to talk to Miss Black later. I wish to God my parents were still alive. I wish I didn’t have to live this way, but wishing never made anything come true. It’s time to stop feeling sorry for myself. I can do this. I have to. I will.

I glance up and look past the enormous tree. My gaze lands on Amanda Ferro’s grave. There are footprints in front of i
t. Sean must have been here. I look around for him, but he’s gone. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m walking toward the grave. I stop in front of it and look down at the blanket of white. I don’t know what comes over me, but I make a snowball in my hand. I roll it around and pack the snow together until there’s a snowman next to her headstone.

Sean
would have had a family. They would have gone Christmas shopping. His wife would have been making pot roast and wintery foods that fill the house with delicious scents. Instead, she’s here with their only child, and Sean is alone.

I’m alone.

I turn away and walk back to my car. I drive off before Sean can materialize. I wonder how long he watched me or if he noticed me at all.