A Year Being the Cheerleader

13.

Tuesday
Dear Olivia,

Yesterday wasn't bad. I went over to Nate's house for the first in what feels like years, but is actually a couple months. I mean, there was never a reason to go over there and he always find his way over my place. I don't know why he likes my house so much for his house is so large and pretty. Mine is just a regular five bedroom house that was built to be occupied by a family. Nothing special. But his is...wow! Literally. Just going back made me gape and according to Nate, he saw my jaw touch the floor. I kind of agree with him since my chin hurts a little. The worse thing yet, I felt cheap in my black dress entering it. Well coming from my background, who wouldn't? Even the maids uniform looked more expensive than my dress. I know that sounds like an exaggeration, but it is a serious thing. It's probably true, mom must have paid just a hundred bucks for the simple black dress. Okay, writing the cost on the paper it actually looks expensive. What I would give to see a hundred percent on my English paper when I get it back from Mr. Longmore. Here I am getting ahead of myself, I haven't even handed in the essay yet. As expected, dinner with Nate was good. He was his same humorous guy. We didn't eat in the dining room. We actually sat in his living room watching old episodes of Impastor and it felt kind of nice, but there was something there that wasn't there before. Oh well, today is school, so I have to get ready. See you later.

AMBER

I walk inside the Dicken's Café feeling more insecure than ever. And I have been insecure almost all my life so it's pretty bad. The first thing I notice is that the place is crowded with old people. Isn't surprising since I got the directions to this place from an old person-my mother. She was the one who asked me if I was coming straight home after school.

"Hey, over here," I turn around to see Mr. Longmore waving me over to a table at the corner of the room.

I nod, not trying to give him a smile that will obviously look fake. The walk over to his table is even more nerve racking. The worse thing than to be watched by teenagers is to be watched by old people.

"I have a cup of coffee for you," he said handing me a cup of steaming hot coffee as I slid into the booth across from him.

"How did you know I like my coffee black?" I ask looking up at him, not even tasting the coffee.

He shrugs. "A little birdy told me. You haven't changed that much."

"Which little birdy is that?" I ask so I can plot to kill it. "And what do you mean by I haven't changed? You don't know me."

"A good magician never tells his secret," he winks and I almost gawk audibly. "And I know you enough to know you don't ever tell me thank you or greet me."

"Well, that's true," I shrug finally convinced the coffee isn't poison and taste it. "Hey, this isn't bad and you aren't a good magician so you can tell me who this little birdy is."

He laughs. "You really are not an easy child. I guess you have a point about the magician thing, but I still am not telling you."

I groan. "Just tell me what you have to say so I can leave." My mom wants me to go home early this evening for some important 'thing'. The last time she said that, I got a head injury, but I will still take my risks. I didn't have to go to homecoming that week.

"In a hurry, huh?" He asks raising an eyebrow at me. "Anyways, I want to talk to you about your report."

He gives me a file and I take it eyeing him skeptically.

"What's this?" I ask dumbly as I open the file.

"You have it right there, don't you?" He puts his elbows on the table and sips from his coffee in hand.

I open it to see a full report on my mental behavior. What the hell?

"Why do you have this?" I ask him. "And why are you even showing me this?"

"I think you need psychological help," he tells me and he places his hand over mine which I quickly withdraw.

"What the hell do you want?" I ask him seeing someone pass me with a disgusted look on his face from my way of talking. See what I mean by old people. It isn't even the f word!

"I want you to see a therapist," he says reaching for my hand again.

"Tried it and it never worked out," I respond ready to flee. "Don't ever want to do it again."

"I mean intensive psychological help and I can help," he says looking into my eyes. "Come over my house tomorrow evening, please?"

"No," I say before getting up and running through the door as fast as my feet can go.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please vote and tell me what you think. More to come :-)

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