My new counselor has all of her attention focused on me, and commands my attention in return. I can’t help but study her immaculate appearance. She’s tall and graceful, like a ballerina, and wears a sharply tailored skirt suit in a soft, warm gray that matches her high heels. A petal-pink blouse ruffles out around her lapels. Although her image says poised and elegant, I get the feeling that beneath the surface she is a woman of extraordinary strength.
She seems like she could run a billion-dollar company in her spare time. She would never let anyone plow over her and march off without a word. I’m an eco-geek who can’t even walk into my new school without getting trampled by another student.
I stand, feeling awkward and underdressed in my recycled jeans, organic green tee, and hot-pink Chuck Taylors. Not only because of the counselor, but also because of confident girl and the few students who’ve trickled in through the office while I’ve been waiting. They look like they walked out of a department-store window display.
Too late to change now. Besides, it’s not like I have high levels of fashion hiding in my closet. Mostly more of the same.
“I’m Grace,” I say, extending my hand.
I expect her to shake it, formal and businesslike, but instead she holds it gently and presses her other palm over mine. Her smile positively sparkles. She gives me a squeeze as she says, “I’m Ms. West. I recommended you for the scholarship here at Alpha. You shone above all the other applicants. Your computer skills were especially impressive.”
“I—” I swallow over the strange feeling of tightness—of pride, maybe—in my throat. A good feeling. “Thank you.”
“After reviewing your admissions exam and your previous school records, I have prepared a preliminary class schedule for you,” she explains as she motions me into her office.
I rub my hands against my jeans as I follow her inside.
Other than the small acrylic sign on her desk that says STEPHANIE WEST, GUIDANCE COUNSELOR, the sleek gray surface is virtually empty. In fact, the office is pretty much empty. Only the desk, chairs, a pair of tall file cabinets, and, on the wall behind her desk, a massive framed photo of a beautiful white sand beach and a turquoise sea. No clutter, no color other than the water in the picture. It’s very calming. Which is, I suppose, a good quality in a counselor’s office.
Ms. West lowers herself gracefully into the big black leather office chair, indicating that I should take a seat in one of the armchairs facing her desk. I choose the one on the right, swinging my backpack to the floor as I sit.
“Considering your plans to attend a top-tier college,” she says, handing me a sheet of paper, “I thought you might be interested in adding a second foreign language.”
“Do you think that’s necessary?” I ask. “Will it help my admissions chances?”
“It certainly doesn’t hurt.” She looks me in the eye as she speaks. “But I think your transcript is strong already.”
“Then I think I’ll stick with Spanish.” I appreciate her honest answer.
“All right,” she says. “What about a physical education class? We offer a broad selection, including virtually all sports, as well as kickboxing and Tae Kwon Do.”
My records must not have been too enlightening, because she clearly doesn’t get me at all. Give me a laptop or a smartphone, and I’m an all-star, but athletics is a bit beyond my skill set. I’m not a superklutz or anything, I’m merely lacking in the finer points of hand-eye coordination beyond basic keyboard functions.
When I shake my head again, she pulls out a folder from her desk drawer and opens it, turning to a sheet of green paper near the back.
“Alpha is dedicated to providing our students with a well-rounded education in a variety of disciplines, not focused exclusively on rigorous academics.” She smiles as she scans the paper. “The elective opportunities are truly astounding. I’m sure you will find something to your liking.”
The green sheet she hands me must have almost fifty classes listed.
The choices are a little overwhelming. At Orangevale High we had your standard math, language arts, sciences, history, foreign languages (Spanish or French), and one elective. Our elective choices were limited to art, choir, band, or study hall. It’s hard to wrap my public-school brain around the array of private-school electives. “I don’t know. I guess, maybe—”
“You don’t have to decide right now,” she interrupts. “Orientation and convocation will take up most of today. Why don’t you take the list home and decide tonight? You can come by before school and let me know what courses you’ve chosen.”
“Great,” I say as I slip the paper into my backpack.
We spend the next few minutes going over the schedule for today, my core class schedule for tomorrow, graduation and extracurricular requirements, and things like dress code and attendance policies. Mom, Dad, and I already filled out a mountain of paperwork over the summer—hasn’t this school heard of electronic forms?—but there are still a few for me to sign.
I wonder if my brother, Thane, is going through the same thing at his school.
“Are you ready for your first day at Alpha?” Ms. West asks with an enthusiastic smile.
I take a deep breath. Am I ready? New home, new city, new school, new friends. Hopefully. New life. New me.
I feel equal parts fear and anticipation. But one look in Ms. West’s sharp eyes and I feel a jolt of confidence. I feel strong and invincible. How can I let myself be afraid of change, when it’s what I want? The chance to become the strong, confident young woman I’ve always dreamed of being.