“Sheesh. Fine. Our first game is Saturday. We practice every day after school from three to four o’clock, except for on game days and Fridays. Can you make it today?”
I nod, hardly believing that practice is only an hour long. That’s not enough time to run a few miles, do drills, and scrimmage.
“I’ll be there. I can’t wait.”
“Good,” the coach says with a smile.
I find myself smiling back.
? ? ?
Technically, with the amount of drugs St. Andrew’s found in my possession, I could’ve been required to finish high school in juvie.
Last Monday, my parents took me to juvenile court to face the music. While my offense was not severe enough for cops to arrest me and send me to detention, I was still required to appear in the judge’s private office to face charges.
“Taylor Lukens, come forward,” the judge in dark robes said. It was like approaching Professor Dumbledore for breaking school rules at Hogwarts. Honestly, that would have seemed more normal than going before a judge for possession of drugs.
Mom and Dad stood to my right, while Dad’s lawyer stood to our left. I felt so flushed with shame, I could barely lift my head to face the judge. Mom gently held my elbow.
“Want to tell me what happened?” the judge asked.
Dad’s lawyer gave me a pointed stare. He said if I told the truth, the judge would be more lenient. But I couldn’t tell the truth truth, or Ben’s future would be over along with mine. On top of that, Dad would be even more pissed that I attempted to use his position to bail out a friend.
I could imagine his reaction: “You lied for your boyfriend and expected me to clean it up? And when the going got rough, you snitched on him to save yourself? That is the opposite of modeling integrity.”
So I told the same “truth” I had told Mom, Dad, and their lawyer: “The pills were mine, Your Honor.”
“Why did you have so many? Were you selling them?”
“No, Your Honor. I had them to help me study.”
They believed my lie. Before I went to court, I had to take a drug test. Sure enough, they found Adderall in my system, and it had never been prescribed to me. On occasion, I took it to stay awake to study. So did my friends. Ben knew someone on campus who sold Adderall and would buy pills for me when I asked. There were about thirty pills and a tiny bit of weed in the backpack, but our lawyer argued I had no intention of selling.
I had no priors and had never been in trouble before, so the judge said I could attend public school, but I have to meet with the school counselor on a daily basis, which I start today.
During my free period, I head to the counseling office. I plan to use the time to my advantage. I’m hopeful the counselor can help me figure out the right approach for my college essay.
“I’m Taylor Lukens,” I tell the receptionist, and she quickly ushers me into Miss Brady’s office. The counselor is an attractive woman in her twenties, wearing a pearl necklace and earrings, and she seems to have an affinity for cat artwork and inspirational posters. I take a seat in a lime-green armchair that must be from the seventies and stare at a poster of a snowcapped mountain that says Inspire.
“So, tell me about yourself.”
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I should go buy another pair after soccer practice this afternoon. That would give me something to do so I don’t have to go home and be lonely. I love the idea of having plans—even if they are with myself.
“Taylor?”
“Yeah?”
“I asked you to tell me about yourself.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m a senior. I have a 4.2 GPA. I’m sure you already have my transcript and test scores.”
She glances down at the opened folder in front of her. “That’s wonderful. But what about you? What do you like?”
I squeeze my knees. “I like soccer…and dogs.”
She smiles, even though I’m cringing at how immature I sound.
“Do you have a dog?” she asks.
“I want one, but my mom said no. The house dog at my old school, Oscar, spent more time with me than anybody else.”
“You must miss him.”
I clear my throat and stare at my lap. Then I nod.
Then silence.
“I hate to put you on the spot, Taylor, but in order for you to avoid court-mandated rehab and for us to continue our sessions, I have to ask if you’ve been using Adderall or any other substance.”
I stare straight at her and speak with a strong, steady voice. “No, I have not.”
“Do you have any Adderall in your possession?”
“I do not.” I never had more than three or four pills at a time. I still don’t know why Ben had thirty pills. Part of me doesn’t want to know why…
The counselor clicks her pen. “Why were you taking it?”
I decide to be upfront. There’s no need to lie more than I already am. “To stay awake and study.”
“You must feel a lot of pressure.”
With a father who grew up middle class and went on to become a United States senator, doing great things is expected in my family. My sister was president of the Tennessee chapter of the National Honor Society. His freshman year of college, Oliver wrote an opinion column for the university paper, the Daily Princetonian. Because success comes so naturally to them, sometimes I think I put more pressure on myself than anybody else does.
“I want to go to a good college like my brother and sister,” I finally reply.
She clicks her pen on. “Where are you planning to apply?”
“I had been planning on applying early decision to Yale in November…” My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Everything we talk about is confidential, right?”
The counselor twirls her pen between her fingers. “I have to report to the judge who handled your case, but otherwise, this is just between us. I won’t share anything you say with other students or teachers.”
“Okay…” I take a deep breath. “I’ve been working toward Yale for years… After what happened, will they still take me? I’m scared.”
She jots down a note on the pad in front of her. “There are always options. We can work together to find the one that’s best for you.”
Is she trying to manage my expectations? Does she think Yale is off the table? The judge assured me my record would be sealed.
“I’m not giving up,” I tell her.
She nods, continuing to write. “Do you know what you want to study?”
“I hope to major in business with a minor in politics.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Like your father?”
It’s not a surprise she’s bringing him up. He’s been a senator for eighteen years. That’s longer than I’ve been alive. But I’m not some clone of his like Miss Brady probably thinks. I have my own thoughts and ideas. A more liberal point of view.