Page 72 of Finding Fate

Isabel stepped hesitantly inside, glancing around. There were colorful pictures on the walls, and several potted plants covered various surfaces of the room. Family photos were arranged neatly with a plethora of books on a shelf along the back wall. Ms. Lane sat behind an old, wooden desk covered in files and decorative knickknacks. A laptop sat at the corner where the counselor focused studiously on the screen.

“I love your rug,” Isabel said to start the conversation, appreciating the rich shades of reds and purples.

“Thank you, Miss Dearly. I rather like it a lot myself. I’m glad that you’re here. Would you please take a seat?”

She didn’t miss how even though the words were inviting, Ms. Lane’s expression didn’t seem quite as pleasant, not hostile or anything, but not as pleased to be meeting with her as she wanted her words to sound.

Isabel took the two short steps over to the red padded chair and took a seat, setting her bag and purse on the floor next to her. She waited for Ms. Lane to speak.

Eventually, the counselor broke her gaze from the laptop to focus on Isabel. “So how are you today, Miss Dearly?”

“I’m fine,” Isabel replied, feeling somewhat guarded.

“Good,” Ms. Lane smiled. “I wanted to speak to you today because I’m concerned about some information I received. Now, I called your mom, and she agreed it was a good idea for you to come in.”

Isabel waited. Her stomach tensed with nerves. There was only one thing that could have gotten her called into the counselor’s office to have a conversation that started like this.

Perhaps she and Jet hadn’t been as subtle as they had thought this morning? Or maybe her clothes weren’t hiding things as well as she thought? And she couldn’t think of anything else her mom would want her to speak to a counselor about.

“Do you know what I’m talking about, Isabel?” Ms. Lane asked when she didn’t respond.

She nodded. “I’m pretty sure I know.”

“Would you like to share anything with me about it?”

She sighed inwardly. “No, I don’t want to tell you about it, but I don’t really have a choice. We’re still going to talk about it anyway.” “What would you like to know?” she asked instead.

Ms. Lane smiled then, knowing Isabel was going to cooperate. “How about you tell me how far along you are.”

“Just over nineteen weeks.”

“Which puts your due date around when?”

“The middle of March. Around the 12th.”

Ms. Lane nodded and made a note in a journal in front of her.

“Do you know who the father is?”

Isabel gave her a shocked and hurt-filled look. “Of course I know who the father is! I’m not a slut or anything!” she thought defensively. “Why is that relevant?” she asked, her tone curt at the offense.

Ms. Lane ignored her attitude. “It may be helpful later on. The more I know about your situation, the more we can talk about what you’re going through in our later sessions.”

“Our later sessions?”

“Yes, I’d like to meet with you once a week. We can talk about how you’re doing, if anything’s bothering you, your future plans, or anything else you might need help with. This is a lot for someone your age to go through, and your mom thought it would be good for you to have this extra support.”

Isabel nodded to let the woman know she was following the conversation, but she was fuming inside. Did she have no choice in this? Ms. Lane and her mom just automatically assumed she needed extra help? True, things were going to get harder for her, but she was doing fine so far.

“I’m not trying to upset you, Isabel, but I’d really like to know. Do you know who the father is?”

She looked at her reluctantly. It was so insulting the way she asked if she knew who he was rather than just asking her for a name. “My boyfriend.”

The insistent counselor gave her an expectant look, and Isabel sighed, “Tucker Patterson.”

She heard a sharp intake of breath from Ms. Lane before she bent over the journal to make another note. “Of course people, including the teachers, apparently, will be upset that the school’s basketball star has a baby on the way. How will it affect his game?” Isabel thought sarcastically as she rolled her eyes.

The factual questions ensued for several more minutes, each answer being noted in that journal. Isabel was beginning to feel like she was in some sort of psych session with the constant note taking on her every word.

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