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Sarah

"Do you know what Sarah meant

when she said you be my guest

to keep the pace, to save your face.

You'll never make the place.

But do you even run the race?"

- "Sarah," Alex G (2012)

Alejandro

"Alejandro, can I see you in my office? I have a question about something."

Sarah's voice is strong over the sound of the bell, reaching across the classroom to me as she sticks her head in the door. I look up as I gather my books, nodding but keeping it as cool as possible out of habit. People begin leaving the room to get to their next class, waving with a chorus of "bye Ms. Carr"s and "have a good weekend"s as they pass her in the doorway. 

She began her career as a teacher's assistant my freshman year, but she replaced our retiring registrar upon her graduation from college. Even though it's a stressful job in which imperfect transcripts anger powerful parents, working at an elite school has been good to her. It pays decently, and it gave her the power to...soften the impact of my junior year blowout.

I didn't need her help. And I didn't ask for it, either. But, after a habitual three-week stay in McLean Psychiatric to "clear my head," I returned to school with yet another problem on my hands. 

My grades should have stumbled. I should have been behind. Yet everything was flawless—with no record of my missing assignments or tests. I knew who was responsible the second I realized, but it was already too late to confront her about it. So I worked my ass off, tried to make my real grades match the fabricated ones, and resigned myself to spending the rest of my high school career in debt to Sarah Carr.

I walk down the rows of desks all the way to the door with Jordan at my side, trying to hide my dread. When I was a freshman and sophomore, I used to love knowing her as Sarah when she was just Ms. Carr to everyone else. But, now that I'm a senior and my perfect application is already on its way to Stanford, I can't say I'll miss her. 

"What is it?" I say lowly when I reach her, but she doesn't answer me as Jordan passes us. He shoots me a "you okay?" glance with raised eyebrows, and, when I nod, it's obvious he doesn't believe me. He gives me just the slightest widening of otherwise apathetic eyes—some kind of signal.

"Just come with me."

Sarah turns sharply as well, beginning a walk to her office that I'm plenty familiar with. Now that I've turned eighteen, she's been even more demanding of my time in even more ways—something I could live without. Sleeping with a twenty-three year-old authority figure was a novel idea at first, but by now I've gotten bored with it. 

Sure, she gave me a hand up when my defective brain interrupted my progress, but I never asked her to. Now that I'm a senior and a shoo-in for Stanford, I really don't need the stress of sneaking around anymore.

I'm tired of being a secret. Of being something girls can't live with and simultaneously can't live without. I used to be a golden idol, a trophy, but I became damaged goods in the blink of an eye. Everyone tells me that I'm crazy. Dangerous. An unsuitable partner for the upper echelons of society. Only good to be around after dark. 

All of those things might be true, but I don't want them to define me forever. I want to be loved out loud.

Sarah slams the door to her office after checking to make sure that no one saw us come in. Tightening my tie to show her that I have no intention of removing it any time soon, I try not to roll my eyes at her.