Page 8 of Ruthless Rose

Chapter 6

Itake a deep breath as I knock on my guidance counselor’s partially open door. Mrs. Purcell is nice enough, but I really haven’t had much need to come see her at all since transferring to Rosehaven. I’m a good student, so I basically just do my own thing and email her when I have questions or concerns.

“Come on in, Daphne.” She smiles and sits back in her chair, folding her hands over her stomach. “Have a seat.”

I set my book bag in one seat and settle myself into the other before looking across the desk at her.

“So, I assume Headmaster Gilmore told you why I asked you to come see me today?”

I suck my lips into my mouth for a second. “Actually, he didn’t. He just hinted that you had something to discuss with me.”

“Oh. Well. Okay, then. Every year as we approach college application due dates, we go through everyone’s information and transcripts again to make sure we haven’t missed anything. We want to make sure you have the best shot at being accepted to the college of your choice.”

“I don’t understand. My grades are good.”

“Oh, honey, that’s not it. They’re more than good. Exemplary, in fact. But what you don’t have are extracurricular activities. And, granted, you’ve only been here just over a year, but I’m assuming you don’t have plans to up and play something like, say, softball next semester since you didn’t play a sport last year.”

Slowly, I shake my head, worry creeping up my spine like a tiny, awful spider. “I—”

“It’s not that schools won’t look at you—because let’s face it, you’re in the running for valedictorian—but you’ll be a far better candidate when you fill out your applications if you have a couple of extras.”

The pieces snap into place. “That’s what the headmaster was referring to with Micah’s tutoring, I guess.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat, remembering how Micah had very specifically let me know today just how much he doesn’t want—or need—me to tutor him. My heart sinks like a brick into my stomach and my eyes drop to my hands in my lap. “Isn’t it too late to add anything else? I only have a few months before I need to have everything sent in.”

“You’d think so, but no. That’s why I brought you in to talk to me today. Besides the tutoring, there are two more opportunities I’d like to encourage you to consider.” She pauses, and it’s as if she knows this information—my oversight—has hit me hard.

“I guess I’ve always worried so much about my grades, I didn’t think I’d have time for anything else.” Oh my God, I really am stuck tutoring him, no matter how terrible it’s going to go.

She nods. “That’s understandable. The sheer number of advanced placement courses you’ve taken this year is daunting.” She draws in a breath, studying me. “When did you and Micah decide you’d work together? We can see if we can work this around that.”

“Oh. Um. We haven’t actually set that up yet. I’m thinking maybe Tuesdays and Thursdays to start.” My gaze slides to the side, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. That’s if he’ll even get on board with this.

Mrs. Purcell nods. “No problem, but definitely create a schedule that works for the two of you sooner than later. Speaking of Micah, he’s somewhat involved in one of your other options, too.”

My ears get a weird buzzing sound in them, and I shake my head, trying to make it stop. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Micah Robertson—each of our football players has someone special in the background, cheering them on. His spirit girl has come down with mono and won’t be in school for the rest of football season, so we need a replacement ASAP.”

I swallow. “Spirit girl.” It’s not even a question. Just a statement of the craziness this woman has laid at my feet as an offering.

“Yes. You’d be part of the Rosehaven Spirit Squad. We have students, both male and female, signed up to cheer on an athlete from one of our many sports teams. Sometimes students who are dating even choose to support each other. It’s pretty cute.”

“Right.” I take a deep breath, trying to head off my internal meltdown. “What does the spirit squad do, exactly?”

“Oh, it’s easy. We provide you with the team schedule. Then, on game or competition days, the spirit squad member usually puts a sign on his or her athlete’s locker—hall locker, gym locker, or both—maybe makes them a treat, or sends them a note of encouragement. That sort of thing. We even trust you with their locker combinations so you’re able to leave something for them if you want to.”

“So, each person on the spirit squad is assigned a specific player?”

“Yep.” She nods happily, completely oblivious to my impending heart attack.

My throat dry, I whisper, “And you want me to be Micah’s spirit girl.”

“Yep. Think you can manage that? If you’re in, I’ll jot that down and let the teacher who supervises the group know.”

I feel myself falling right off a cliff and into the black abyss that is Micah. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I say, for the second time today.

“Great! Then the other suggestion I had for you is an opportunity to join the homecoming committee. You are so organized and pay such diligent attention to detail. I thought it would be a perfect fit for you. What do you think?”

School dances have always been the absolute last thing on my mind. I’d rather go to a football game, honestly. I blow out a heavy breath. I feel defeated. I’ve worked so hard my entire academic career, and she’s telling me that without freaking homecoming committee on my application, I run the risk of being passed over for someone who enjoys all this stuff. “Yep. Sounds great.”

I smile, my stomach gurgling in displeasure, while beating myself up for ignoring extracurriculars all this time. So dumb. So stupid. I could have at least joined a group I halfway liked if I hadn’t waited so long.

“Wonderful, Daphne. That committee meets with Ms. Jayson on Saturday mornings here at school. I’m pretty sure they’re getting ready to decide the theme at the next meeting.” She grins big at me. “Super exciting stuff.”

Man, this woman goes on and on like she hasn’t just blown up my entire life.

“I’ll tell Alora Berridge to expect you at the next committee meeting.”

Fuck. My. Life. Could this get any worse?

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