A young, slim, jock-type stood up nervously and asked, "So, like, what would you say to someone who wanted to be a writer? But you didn't know how." He shrugged nonchalantly and sat down immediately. Nate could see that this student had a desire that clashed violently with his all-American, red-blooded male image. That writing was on his mind, but revealing that fact would knock him out of the social calendar. Nate felt a shiver of recognition and it unbalanced him for a second.
"That's difficult for me to answer; I wish I had some kind of magic trick for writing perfectly. Or even well. Ideally, I'd pull out an instruction manual and give you step-by-step instructions on how to write. But I can't do that. And I'm pretty sure that nobody can. I
can
tell you what I struggled with the most when I started. I just didn't think I had anything important to say; I didn't really think that I had a voice worthy of people listening to. It was hard for me to put words onto paper because I didn't think that they deserved the space. But they do—not because I am any different to anyone else, but because I'm a person and I have thoughts and a story and questions. Everybody's life has hundreds of lessons in it; everyone has a perspective that can shed a little light. You are important, so the things you have to say are important. Don't let the fear that you're not good enough stop you from typing away." Nate looked at the jock and saw that he was nodding, watching Nate as if his life depended on it, his eyes revealing the whirling within his mind. He looked like he was drinking in Nate's words and letting them sink into his body. Nate hoped that he had helped, even just a little bit, to encourage the young people in front of him to follow what they loved.
The room burst into applause as the students stood up and cheered.
"That's my dad!" Bailey screamed again. The students laughed and turned towards Bailey, applauding him too. Bailey beamed like it was his birthday and bowed awkwardly.
Nate felt emotional, happy, punch-drunk, and joyous. He stood still on the stage and felt like he had finally made peace with this part of his past. That he could finally bury the ghosts that roamed the school hallways of his mind. He let the catharsis of it wash over him and then bowed sarcastically. The students chatted about the talk as they filed out of the room and back to their everyday high school lives, slipping into secret embraces and dull classrooms. Nate closed his eyes and inhaled the long forgotten smell of wood polish and high school benches.
"You were incredible," Abel said.
Nate's eyes sprung open at the sound of Abel's voice and he managed to catch Bailey as he jumped into the air. Nate was caught off guard by how grateful he was to Abel for being there—he hadn't realized how much Abel's presence would mean to him until he had seen him walking down the auditorium stairs with Bailey. They had spent the whole morning trying to erase history so that it was less messy, and Nate was still confused about everything, but in that moment he was unabashedly happy that he could share this moment with Abel. "Do you think? Really? I feel like I rambled."
"You were good, Dad, people clapped a lot," Bailey added, rubbing his face into Nate's shoulder.
"Really good," Abel agreed.
David smiled and stepped forward. "I don't think we've ever had such a successful speaker."
"Really? Are you sure you're not just saying that because I have years of dirt on you?" Nate asked, shifting Bailey's weight from one hip to another.
"Just take a compliment. Could I speak to you in my office for a second?" Dave asked, pulling at his collar like a nervous comic book character—which made Nate feel nervous.
"Are you telling me to go to the principal's office?"
"I am, and you better do what I say, or you'll get detention."
"Okay. Abel, do you mind watching Bailey for a minute?" Nate asked, putting his son on the ground.
"Of course not. We'll have a good time, won't we, buddy?" Abel said. He lifted Bailey high up in the air so that he laughed and wriggled.
Nate followed David into the office and looked around. "You know, I don't think I ever came in here before."
Dave closed the door behind them. "That's because you were the biggest teacher's pet in the world."
"Not really. I was just better at not getting caught."
"No, you were just better at getting other people in trouble and looking all innocent. Does it feel too formal if I sit behind my desk?" David asked as he hovered above his seat.
"A little. But I think I'll survive." Nate looked around at the pictures of Dave and Jen, one of which stood proudly on the desk and showed them on their wedding day.
"Well, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to have a job here. Working with me."
"What did you really want?" Nate laughed.
"To offer you a job as the guidance counselor here. It's a crappy wage, you'll need to take some courses while you work, and it's not exactly the most stimulating thing in the world, but you'll have time to write and we have a really good daycare for the children of staff members. I think you'd be really good; you obviously have a rapport with the kids." David crossed and uncrossed his legs.
"I can promise you that was the absolute last thing I was expecting you to say. And it's very kind of you. But I have no right counseling anybody. I can't even give myself guidance. In case you couldn't tell, I'm very lost at the moment. I don't really know how to get found. I'm not the guy you're looking for." Nate swallowed, trying to destroy the knot at the bottom of his throat.
"Don't sell yourself short. What happened to you? You used to be the bravest person I knew. Never once did you treat people badly, no matter how awful they were to you. You don't get that many chances in life to help people. To really give people a little bit of hope or just someone to talk to. I'm offering you that, because I know that you're the kindest person. And the right person for this." Dave stood up and perched on the edge of his desk.
"I don't know," Nate whispered.
"I do."
"Are you sure?"
"Certain."
Something about Dave's certainty made Nate feel different, like the opportunity of starting a new chapter was possible, like he was being offered a pen to write himself into existence. He had come back to the very place that he had most wanted to run away from, and it was giving him the chance to begin again. Nate pulled a hand through his hair and inhaled. "Okay, when do I start?"
Dave grinned. "Next week, Tuesday. I'm so glad you agreed. I already made the announcement in the school newsletter," he added, jokingly.
Nate hugged him tightly and left the office. Abel and Bailey were in the hallway looking at an old photograph of Abel from when he was a student. In the photo, Abel stood youthful and proud, holding up one of the hundreds of awards he had won for sports. They turned around when they saw Nate's reflection in the glass and looked at him, concerned.
"Is everything okay? You were in there a while." Unease was written all over Abel's handsome face.
"I just got a job," Nate said with a smile. All three of them jumped up and down in excitement, not even noticing the students who watched them curiously, caught up in their own little whirlwind of unexpected joy. Bailey clapped with excitement and shouted congratulations, his voice ricocheting throughout the hall.
Learning to Help Others by Helping Yourself
Nate straightened the piece of paper on his desk for what felt like the hundredth time and fixed his tie. Seconds passed like hours, elongating themselves as Nate stared at the big clock on his new office's wall. His first appointment was at ten-thirty, and he had been wandering around the school since eight trying to remember the things he had read in his course book and running through the words of wisdom Dave had provided during their phone conversation the night before. Nate's phone buzzed, pulling him from his staring competition with the clock face. He looked down and opened the text message.
It was a selfie of Abel and Bailey in their boating outfits with "good luck on your first appointment from Bay and A" in capital letters underneath it and a row of thumbs up emojis. Nate looked at the picture for a long beat, unable to stop himself from smiling at Bailey and Abel's goofy grins and Bailey's oversized raincoat. He knew that the emojis were Bailey's idea; ever since Emma had shown him them on her phone, he had insisted that people use them as often as possible. Nate typed "thank you, have a great morning!" quickly and then threw his cell into the briefcase he had stolen from his father.
The office door opened slowly and a tall, sporty-looking teenager strolled in nonchalantly, looking all over the room and clearly avoiding Nate's eye line. Nate recognized him straight away as the student who had asked him the final question about writing at his lecture—the one that he had felt some kind of affinity with.
"Jake? Jake Simpson?" Nate asked, standing up and putting his hand out for a handshake, but moving it back to his side awkwardly when Jake didn't reciprocate the gesture.
"I don't want to be here. It's not my choice," Jake said flatly, still looking down at the floor.
"Okay. So maybe we should talk about why you're here," Nate offered.
"I don't know," Jake replied coldly.
"So you are telling me that you have absolutely no idea why you walked into my office today? Are you an apparition with no choice where you end up? Did you sleepwalk here? If so, you did a good job of matching your clothes for someone who was asleep. Congratulations—I can barely dress myself after coffee and a run," Nate said, trying to lighten the mood.
"You're being stupid. Isn't there a file somewhere with everything I've ever done in it? The last man who had your job wrote a lot of notes, and he seemed like the kind of guy who liked filing. I can't imagine him giving up the opportunity to monitor me." Jake's voice seemed purposely dulled of any kind of emotion; he looked bored. He'd clearly been through this process before and hated it. He was the picture of the John Hughesian disaffected youth, all sweeping hair and blank expression.
"First of all, even my, very young son doesn't use the word stupid anymore because I've told him that it sounds ridiculous. Second, there
is
a file about you. And I
do
have access to it. If you want me to read it, then of course I will. I haven't yet because I read all the time and my eyes are
seriously tired
," Nate replied in an attempt to establish himself as a nonthreatening entity. He remembered being a teenager clearly enough to know that he wouldn't get anywhere by being authoritarian. He watched Jake's eyes lock on the yellow folder on his desk, the one with
Simpson, Jake
scribbled on it. "Also, I happen to believe that people are often better at telling their own stories. Call me crazy, but I'm interested in hearing what you think and how you feel and what your perspective is on everything." Jake stretched his legs out under the desk, unraveling some of the nervous energy that had clung to his muscles. He felt more comfortable now, despite Jake's reluctance to open up.
"So basically, you want me to do all of the work and you're just gonna sit there," Jake replied sarcastically. Nate noticed a slight half-smile glimmer on Jake's face.
"Well, I might eat some snacks while you're talking."
"Hard job, huh?"
"
Exhausting
."
"So what do you want to know?" Jake asked, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.
"What do you want me to know?" Nate cringed at how annoying he sounded, like a bad caricature of a therapist on a sitcom.
"Nothing."
"Okay. Well, then, we could just sit here in silence. Which actually sounds pretty good to me. My son is
very
chatty so I don't think I have experienced silence since he was born."
"That sounds even more boring than what I used to do with the old guy."
"You have two choices," Nate added, shrugging his shoulders animatedly.
"Fine." Jake huffed. "I've been sent here because the teachers don't think I'm doing as well as I should be and they all think that I'm too aggressive. I think it started when I wrote an essay comparing the teachers to different historical dictators. I think the only reason they put up with me is because I'm the only player worth a damn on the football team."
"Was it good?"
"What?"
"Was the essay good? Well written?" Nate asked, picking up on a hint of excitement in Jake's voice when he mentioned writing—even if what he had written had only been a silly act of teenage rebellion.
"I thought so." Jake squinted, obviously trying to work Nate out.
"Well, that's a plus. If there is one thing I like, it's good writing. I remember you asking about writing at the lecture. I guess the question that I should ask is... what are you angry about?"
"You know, everybody makes such a fuss about it, but in the grand scheme of things, I'm hardly leading a revolution. It's just typical high school stuff. Or at least typical person-with-half-a-brain-high-school-stuff. Most people wander around aimlessly, not questioning anything. And most of the time I'm exactly what everybody wants me to be. I get good grades, I'm athletic, I tried smoking once and it just made me want to heave. I even look after my baby sister when I'm asked to. It's just that occasionally I have an opinion. And then people act like I've dropped a bomb. It's this place—everyone is supposed to act the same and I can't do that all of the time. They're all just sheep." Jake looked more comfortable in his seat as he spoke. His gestured got freer and wilder as he talked about his life, his defenses and nonchalant attitude disappearing.
"I get it. You're a slightly less annoying Holden Caulfield. You're surrounded by phonies and all that," Nate added cheekily.
"I didn't get that book. I don't know why people think it's such a classic. I didn't understand why somebody would write a whole novel about someone so annoying."
"You mean to tell me that you, a literary-minded teenage boy, didn't see himself in that book? It didn't reflect anything that you have thought or felt?"
"I didn't say that…" Jake replied quietly, shifting his gaze down to the carpet.