I'm Sort of Okay with This

Two: Ian

I had no idea what I was doing in the guidance counselor's office, but I was sure the outcome wouldn't be good.

I sat in the chair outside of the office and cracked my knuckles in my lap. I'd taken to doing that when I was nervous. My heart pounded like a foot stomping on the ground. I needed to puke my guts out all over the office carpet.

Baseball practice was in twenty minutes. If I was late, Coach Peebles and Dad would take turns running me over with their cars. The last time I was late, Coach had made me run laps. I wished Mr. Larson would hurry up and call me in already.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands ticked slower than usual. Finally, the door to Mr. Larson's office swung open and he stepped out with his eyes on me. He was a middle-aged man, short and with thin hair.

"Ian Kennedy?" he asked.

"Yeah," I spat. "That's me. I'm him."

"Come on in."

I stepped into his office. He sat behind a large desk and told me to have a seat on one of the chairs in front of the desk. I had a flashback to being sent to the principal's office in fourth grade for skipping class, and a shiver shot down my back.

I prayed the school wouldn't call my father. At the back of my head, I could already hear his voice, lecturing me about dedication and applying myself.

"Do you have any idea why I summoned you here today?"

He stared at me through the thick rims of his glasses. I squirmed in my seat. My leg bounced up and down.

"Not really," I replied.

"Well, it appears that you're projecting to fail English."

"What?" I croaked, swallowing.

"Yes, I've looked at your grades and it says you're at a sixty percent in English."

"Oh," I said. "I thought I had a C minus."

"Unfortunately not," Mr. Larson said.

A rush of anxiety paralyzed me.

"I'm assuming you know that if you fail any classes, you can no longer participate in any extracurriculars. That means baseball."

"Yeah," I breathed. "I know."

My father was going to kill me. He was going to beat me to death with a blunt object. I was beyond fucked.

"What should I do," I said.

"Well, first of all, you should talk to your teacher. And I'd like to suggest that you attend the peer tutoring services in the library on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It shouldn't interfere with baseball practice. I think it would help you improve your grade."

I nodded. "I'll try it."

"Good. Good luck, Ian."

"Thanks," I said, getting up. I grabbed my backpack and slipped out of the room.

I wanted to scream. I hated the loss of control, the thought that my grades were unstable. I didn't have time to stress though, since I had practice.

I jogged out of the counselors' office and headed for the locker room by the gymnasium. Rafe, James, Caleb, and Connor all waited for me by the door.

"You're late, Kennedy," Rafe stated. He crossed his arms over his chest.

I frowned. "Sorry. I was just talking to Cheyenne," I said. I didn't think they would be too happy if they knew I was talking to my guidance counselor. I didn't want them to think I had an emotional issue. I also didn't want them to know about my grades. It was pretty embarrassing, since I seemed to be the only one of my friends who struggled in English. Reading gave me headaches and made my eyes hurt.