Allergy Season
Isabel Sutter
N
“
ow, Elizabeth, I want you to sit back, all the way back, and take
some tissues. Take some more. You might need them later.”
The girl’s body stiffened under the counselor’s mild condescension.
A lump formed in her throat in reaction to what she herself had last
said. The lump itself was a mystery. She didn’t feel sad about what had
been said. So why the lump?
“I heard that change in your voice a minute ago. Let’s talk about
that.” The counselor suggested.
Rolling her shoulders back, Elizabeth gazed down at her folded
hands, at the stress balls and fidget toys on the coffee table, at the tops
of her Keds.
“Did we, hmm . . . did we just touch on a nerve?” The counselor
prodded.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t know.”
Elizabeth’s cheeks burnt crimson. All eyes were on her. Though it
was only one set of eyes, the attention was humiliating. We both know I
don’t belong here, she thought. If you’re looking for a reason for me to come
back, you’re not going to find one.
Sweeping her long, auburn hair over one shoulder, she let out a
quiet sigh. She tugged at her tee shirt. She smoothed her pleated skirt.
She contemplated how quickly she could crash through that window
and leap onto the picnic table on the patio a few yards below. From
there, she’d make a break for the spot behind the library, sheltered by
the hedges. Quite literally, a hedge of protection.
Why was she even here? Amy had insisted. This is how much she
loved Amy. She would tell Amy she’d tried.
“Let’s find out how we can mend this.” The counselor smiled.
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