divorce, that sort of thing, but there’s no one to tell me how they’re feeling but them. And I have to let the adolescent try to explain what pushed them into the behavior that caused all the trouble. It’s amazing how well it seems to be working. So—to that end—give me the basic facts, address incidents or behaviors if you think it’s pertinent. And then tell me about you. About your feelings, not hers. You and I will talk. Then Courtney will give me her feelings.”
“I bet she won’t,” he said.
“I’m relentless,” he said, and then smiled. “Besides, adolescents really can’t identify too many feelings. They’re not being stubborn. It’s an acquired skill. They’re working on growing up. It’s one of those things they have to develop.”
“Okay, then. My wife died,” he said, starting over. “A little over two years ago. At first my stepdaughter … I think of her as a daughter. Courtney seemed to grieve painfully for a while, which was quickly followed by weird, antisocial behavior. She’s kind of Goth now with the kind of friends that lie and steal and lure her out after hours. I just caught her last night with an older guy in the house stealing my DVDs while she was in the bathroom. They were drinking beer. She’s fourteen but looks nine.”
“Nine?”
“Not nine, maybe, but so small. She’s so little to act so old. One of the first things you’re going to notice about Courtney is that she’s extremely bright. High IQ. She was always in accelerated programs at school, but now she’s close to failing. She’s intellectually advanced and emotionally …” Lief lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Immature? I don’t know … Wounded?”
“How does this make you feel, Mr. Holbrook?”
“Call me Lief, please. It makes me feel like an idiot. A failure. Like I’m going to lose her to some disaster like drugs or grand theft auto or suicide.”
“Do you think suicide is an issue? I’ll take that information from you gladly—I should know.”
“It’s hard to say,” he answered with a shrug. “I found some websites that she’d looked at that deal with suicide and I almost lost it—I asked her if she was thinking about suicide. She said, ‘Everyone thinks about it, but I’m not going to do it.’ How do you know if something like that’s curiosity or an imminent danger?”
“We watch,” he said. “I’ll be certain to direct our dialogue to give me more information.”
“The girl barely eats. I don’t think she’s anorexic—she eats enough, I think. But she’s gotten so thin and she’s never hungry. I’m a farm boy—that bothers me more than you can imagine. Some people think I know inside stuff about her age group, about troubled teens, because I wrote a couple of screenplays about young people in crisis, but I wasn’t writing about them—I was writing about me! And my crisis was a long, long time ago and had to do with a dead horse, not a dead mother.”
Jerry sat up straighter. “What movies?” he asked.
“Deerstalker. Moonwalker. A couple of other things …”
“My God, you’re that Lief Holbrook…. You won an Oscar and an Emmy.” He almost burst with excitement. “Yes, I can see how there’d be preconceived notions. Those were brilliant scripts. I have both of those movies.”
Lief looked down briefly. “Thank you,” he said.
Jerry leaned toward him. “And tell me, Lief. Your wife died and your stepdaughter is giving you fits. Besides frustration with her behavior and appearance, how are you getting along? How do you feel?”
Lief let his eyes bore right into that silly-looking counselor’s pale blue eyes. “Lonely. Sometimes pretty miserable. Like a complete failure where Courtney is concerned. And terrified of never getting her back.”
“I understand completely. Let’s set up your appointments now, then we’ll have another forty minutes or so to chat before you have to go.”
“Our appointments?”
“I’ll do what I can for Courtney, of course. It’s really my specialty even if it’s not yours. But brother—you could use a friend who understands right now, too. If it’s not too bold, I think you should give me a try. I actually studied this stuff.”
“You any good?” Lief asked.
“I am,” he said, smiling almost shyly.
Four
Courtney didn’t see Bad Ass Hopper until almost last period at school. She’d carried his backpack around all day long, anticipating the moment. She was prepared to lug it around for the next day or week or month if he didn’t show up at school.
By the look on his face when she cornered him at his locker, he actually thought about running. “Don’t bother,” she said. “Here’s your backpack. My dad took out the DVDs you were going to rip off from us. Never come around me or my house again.” She turned to go, then turned back. “You should be called S.A. instead of B.A. For Stupid Ass.” She looked him over contemptuously. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You’re lucky I could talk him out of calling the cops. Infant.”
She was halfway down the hall before he found his voice, his nervous voice. “Yeah? Well, better than a devil-worshiping elf!”
It only made her smile; he certainly lacked imagination.
Her last class of the day was psychology, of all things. She thought the teacher looked at her funny, like she was someone who could certainly use a little psych. It happened Courtney found the class interesting, but she never let on.
She took her seat at the rear left, as far away from others as possible. This time Amber Hawkins chose the seat next to her. Damn those classroom tables that sat two.
“Hi Courtney,” she said almost shyly.
“Hi.”
“I heard you give it to B.A.”
“Lucky you.”
Amber giggled. “You’re a real booger, aren’t you?”
“Booger?!”
Amber giggled again.
Courtney knew that Amber wasn’t one of the real popular girls, but she fit in here far better than Courtney did. She was a farm girl or something. She wasn’t a cheerleader or on a dance squad, dressed plain and kind of out of style, didn’t wear makeup, didn’t seem to lunge after the boys as the popular girls did.
“We’re in algebra together,” Amber informed her.
“We are?” Courtney knew they were, but she decided to play it as though she’d never noticed.
“I was wondering—do you get it? I mean, get it? Algebra? Because I’m lost. Worse than lost. I think I’m dead.”
Courtney sighed. “Really, it’s not that hard.”
“Are you getting good grades?” she asked.
