Page 49 of Good Girls Lie
Ash meets her eyes.
“Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Dean.”
“Oh? Then how about you tell me why you skipped class and went for a stroll in the arboretum instead of seeing Dr. Medea for your tutorial?”
Her face crumples. The story comes out in jagged waves. “They know. They know who my father is. How my parents died. They know I’m using a false name. I didn’t tell anybody, I swear it. But they found out. Vanessa found out. And she outed me in front of everyone. I was upset. I ran. Becca—”
She cuts herself off and Ford gently encourages her.
“Becca what?”
“She just, came and talked to me. Told me not to worry about it. She was...kind.”
“Good. Becca Curtis is a leader in this school and a good ally for you.”
“I don’t want allies. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home. And I don’t have a home to go to. I miss... I miss my mother.” Her voice breaks and Ford can see she’s fighting back the sobs.
Ford moves around the desk so they can sit face-to-face.
“Oh, Ash. Poor little duck. The world is asking too much of you. No teenage girl should have to go through losing her parents the way you did. I understand how hard this is, I truly do. But your teachers have reported you’re doing well in your studies. I notice a number of the girls copying your style. You have friends here. You’ve been fitting in.”
“It’s not exactly the same, Dean. No offense, but I’d trade it all to get my mum back.”
“I’m sure you would. I certainly don’t blame you. I’m sure you’re missing your piano training. The structure you must have had at home. I’m interviewing a new teacher tomorrow. Perhaps you’d like to meet her, as well?”
“No. I am finished with piano. It was something my parents wanted, not me.”
“Talent isn’t something to squander, Ash.”
“I’m not squandering it. I’m just more interested in computers now.”
Ford senses the anger rising but Ash shocks her when she continues.
“I saw it happen, you know. Have you ever seen anyone die? Watched as the light disappears from their eyes?” Ash’s voice has taken on an eerie quality, and Ford feels goose bumps run across her flesh. “I couldn’t look away from that spark dimming, growing distant until it was gone entirely. I dream about it every night, my mother’s face as the life drained away, her eyes going blank.”
“We need to talk about getting you some counseling, Ash.” Ford’s voice is soft, comforting. She needs to take better care of her young charge. She should have known this would be too much. She’s been pushing her too hard.
But the tears stop abruptly. Ash sits up ramrod straight, wipes a hand over her face.
“No, we don’t.”
“You’ve suffered a trauma. It’s incumbent upon me to get you some help so you aren’t scarred by this forever. You can learn some coping mechanisms so you don’t relive the moment over and over. It sounds to me like you have PTSD—”
“I said no. I won’t do it. I’m fine. I was frustrated by Vanessa’s attack this morning, caught off guard, but I am fine. I can handle this.”
The note of steel in her voice is alarming, but more so the absence of all feelings. She’s turned off her emotions quicker than flipping a light switch.
They sit in silence while Ford assesses her young student. She can’t force her. But she can keep a closer eye on her.
“All right. No counseling.”
“Thank you.”
“That said, as difficult a moment as this is for you, Ash, I can’t have you disrupting the school. Cutting will not be tolerated. You’ve got five points now. Instead of Saturday school, I want you here, in my office, every day at 4:00 p.m. for after-school detention. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Dean Westhaven.” The soft voice is back.
