by Box Set
“I guess the winner is art,” I said. “I don’t think I can take anything else. I mean, the interesting stuff is reserved for higher grade students.”
“What would you want?” Silas asked. “I mean, if there wasn’t a grade restriction.”
“Hm, maybe a language? Or a writing class? I’m not sure. I wish I’d looked more at the book.” I looked at my paper where, before I had met Kota, Japanese and a few other classes had been scribbled in. I had crossed them out to put in Kota’s suggestions. My paper already looked like a mess. I supposed it didn’t matter. If I ended up in an art class with Gabriel, that wouldn’t be bad.
The line was moving. I was going to be next.
“Don’t worry about it too much,” Silas said, putting a hand on my shoulder. His face tilted to look down at me. “Just fill up with prerequisites. You’ve got time to learn the stuff you want.”
I nodded. It was all I could do. I shared a small smile with him.
“You’re up,” Victor said. He quickly reached for my hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll stand by, out of the way.”
My eyes slid to see if my sister or my father were around and had noticed the guys touching me and Victor holding my hand. No one around seemed to notice.
It took twenty minutes working with a school counselor to line up my classes. I showed her my list and she tried to tell me three AP classes were too many. I insisted it was fine, but she wouldn’t listen. She gave me AP English and AP Geometry. After that, she wrote down gym class, the typing class, without asking me, and the general biology class, and then wrote down American history.
“I think I prefer world history,” I told her.
“World history is an AP class. You can only have two.”
I frowned. This wasn’t the lineup I really wanted. I felt uncomfortable that she changed things and that I couldn’t confirm with Kota.
She asked if I had alternate choices. I suggested art and she said the art class was already full. I tried to look over the catalog but she got annoyed with me quickly. She wrote in choir and wood shop.
“It won’t matter,” she said. “You will probably get in your first choices.” She handed me the paper with her signature on it. “Go get your parents to sign this. Take it to room 103. It’s down the hall and to the left.”
The table was surrounded by other students all grumbling that I was taking too long. My cheeks felt hot. Did she have to be so short with me? I scanned for Victor and Silas. I saw Silas’s tall frame over the other students. He stood across the hall.
I pointed to my paper in the air and then pointed to where I could see my dad. He nodded to me and then pointed to his own eyes: he’d be watching.
I darted my way past the other students. I found my dad standing by the staircase.
“Marie’s done,” he said. “She went to the band room to see where it was.”
I imagined North and Luke were following her. I wonder if she noticed. “I just need you to sign this.” I handed him the paper.
“You already crumpled it,” he said. “Two advanced classes?” he looked at me. “Is that okay with you?”
I shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s all stuff I have to take anyway.” My heart was throbbing. I tried to shake it off. Maybe I was going to get in over my head with too many AP classes. There was nothing to do about it now.
He took a pen from his pocket and scrawled his name at the bottom. “Where do you take this?”
“There’s a classroom down the hall I think.”
“Get to it. Are you going to tour the building?”
I nodded.
“I’m going to wait in the car. I’ve got some phone calls to make. Try to keep it short. Find your sister when you’re done and head out to the car.”
I nodded and watched him go. When was the last time we talked? Before we moved? Even now, when we had time to talk, he walked off to make phone calls. I thought I should be disappointed or sad but I wasn’t. I was empty. Strangers in a strange family.
I weaved my way again through the throng of students congregating and talking about classes. I was trying to find my way back to Silas and Victor so they could walk with me.
At some point, I was pushed as some students were goofing around. I ended up pressed up against a man in a brown, corduroy suit. He turned around to look at me. He wore glasses, had brown hair, a bristle mustache and watery eyes. He wore a light brown pair of slacks and an oddly colored orange plaid tie.
“No need to push,” he said. His name tag was pinned to the breast of his coat. Vice Principal Mr. McCoy.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. I swept my eyes down. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just crowded in here.”
He grumbled. “Kids in a hurry to get into school and the moment you’re in, you’re doing anything to get out again.” He backed himself off and then looked me over. His eyes hovered over the blouse I was wearing and then smoothed down over my waist and to my legs. “You also wear skirts that are too short,” he said. “What’s your name?”
My eyes widened. I wanted to glance around for Silas but Mr. McCoy stood right in front of me, his arms crossing. He wasn’t about to let me escape. “I’m Sang.”
“Last name?”
“Sorenson.”
“Hm,” he said. “Hippies with their names. What kind of mother names her kid Song?”
I bit my lip, too afraid to correct him. My heart thundered. School hadn’t started yet and I was already in trouble!
“Your skirt is too short. You’re going to have to go home and change. We can’t allow students to walk around like this.”
My mouth fell open. “I’m almost done,” I suggested. “I’ll just turn this in and I can...”
“I don’t think so.” He reached for the sheet of paper in my hands, ripping it from me. He looked at my list of classes. “Choir and typing. How typical.”
I bowed my head again, my eyes glassing over with tears. Why was he doing this to me?
“I’ll keep this. You tell your parents your clothes aren’t appropriate. Go home and change and then come back.”
“Mr. McCoy,” called a voice. We both turned to where the speaker had called from.
A man approached with sandy blond hair, the gentle curls cut to the middle of his ears. His eyes were a dazzling green and his face was just as kind as his voice. He was a head taller than me with tapered shoulders and a trim body. He had a heart shaped face and appeared young. Maybe 19? It surprised me. I wondered if he was a senior or a recent graduate who stopped by to help with registration day. His wore khaki pants, a white shirt and a green tie, Gucci loafers.
“I was just looking for you, Mr. McCoy.” He turned to me, looking down at my face. He used his forefinger to push away a lock of hair that fell in his eyes. “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?”
“No,” Mr. McCoy said. “She’s going home to change before she’s allowed to register.”
I felt my lip trembling. How humiliating.
The man raised an eyebrow at me, looking me over. “And what appears to be the problem?”
“Her skirt is too short.”
His lips pursed. “I believe the rule book states that a skirt must be as long as a lady’s fingertips when she has her hands pressed to her sides.” He motioned to me with a finger. “Miss, would you put your hands to your sides, please?” His tone was so gentle. I wanted to do anything he suggested.
I snapped straight as a rod. My hands pressed neatly to my thighs. I might have scrunched my elbows a little, but even so, my skirt was at least an inch and a half longer than my longest finger.
“It appears she’s within regulation,” he said.
“I don’t think it is appropriate for her to wear it,” Mr. McCoy said. His teeth were clenched together.
“Maybe not, but that’s not our judgment to make,” the man said. He turned to Mr. McCoy. “Is that her registration?”
“Yes, but...”
“I don’t see why we have to put the counselors through twice the work. T
hey have enough to do today.”
“You know you can’t just walk in and take over how I handle these students, Dr. Green. She’s not one of your boys.” Mr. McCoy barked at him, his fists clenched to his sides.
A doctor? I blinked, disbelieving someone so young had a doctorate.
“I believe we were brought in to assist in any way we can. I think we have enough to worry about with kids who have actually broken the rules than one girl who hasn’t.” He reached for the paper Mr. McCoy was crumpling in his hands and handed it to me. His green eyes washed over my face, soothing and cheerful. He put a gentle hand on my arm. “I’ll show you where to turn that in. You were just heading that way, weren’t you?”
I nodded, trying not to look at Mr. McCoy. My heart thundered in my chest both from being so scared and from Dr. Green’s hand on me. I wondered for a quick moment if the situation could get any worse. Mr. McCoy would probably remember this.
Dr. Green guided me down the hallway. I was worried the boys would wonder where I had gone or if I’d ditched them. I couldn’t simply walk away and look for them.
“I should apologize for Mr. McCoy’s behavior,” Dr. Green said, his hand still gently on the back of my arm. “I think he means well.”
“He’s pretty intimidating,” I said.
He laughed, his voice smooth and light. “I think that, too. But usually intimidating people feel the same way about us. I think a psychologist would say... well, something boring to young students, I’m sure.”
“Something about the worst we see in others is what we actually see in ourselves?”
He smiled, his eyes lighting up. “Well said.”
“I hope it doesn’t mean Mr. McCoy dislikes my skirt because he doesn’t look good in skirts.”
Dr. Green’s head rocked back, his hand going to his forehead and he laughed loud enough to attract attention from other students. “Now every time I see him, I’ll be thinking of him in a skirt.”
I smiled. I would, too.
We stopped outside of room 103. The students had thinned out around us. Dr. Green turned to me at the door. He reached out, surprising me, and touched the collar of my shirt. He buttoned it up to the top and then smoothed down the fabric of the collar. “And so you know,” he said. “If you wear a short skirt, you should keep your top modest. As a lady, it will make you look more elegant.”
His eyes were gentle and he looked up. I knew I was blushing. His smile was so casual and confident. I felt like an idiot near him.
“Shall we go in?” he asked. He held open the door for me.
“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t mean to keep you.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I was headed in this direction anyway.
The room was an inner office. There were orange cloth covered chairs, all occupied, and a long orange counter at the far side of the room. There were two secretaries on the other side of the counter who were busy with students.
“Why don’t you come with me?” Dr. Green said. “I’ll let you cut through this line.”
I swallowed, swinging my gaze around, hoping the other students in the room didn’t hear. It felt wrong to skip the line. Dr. Green went to a door on the other side of the room, then turned and waited for me. I didn’t have much choice, I guess. He was so nice to me. There was no reason for me to turn down his offer.
Silas and Victor will be mad, I thought. There was no way they could follow me now.
Mr. Blackbourne
I followed Dr. Green through a series of small hallways with shaggy orange carpet and painted white bricks. The windowless corridor was dim; only half of the overhead fluorescent lights were turned on. Most of the doors we passed were closed, looking eerily untouched. He stopped at an unmarked door and gave it a gentle knock before opening.
Inside was an inner office with a double set of brown, faux-wood office desks facing each other. Each had a computer and several stacks of papers piled neatly in brown plastic bins. There were a couple of file cabinets in the corners and a cork board nailed to the far wall, with a calendar and some other notes tacked to it. There was a small radio sitting on top of one of the file cabinets. A violin concerto was playing on a low volume.
At the desk against the far wall sat a man who looked similar in age to Dr. Green. His eyes were steel gray, his skin pale like mine. His hair was a soft brown, cut short and brushed back away from his face. He wore black rimmed glasses that were similar in style to Kota’s. His face was angular in a way that he could have been a model. His hands were smooth, perfect. His lips were pursed as he looked up, scowling at us. This was not the type of person I ever wanted to disappoint. His eyes alone bore into me in a way that made me shiver through my core. He was as perfect and cold as a polished diamond.
“Dr. Green,” he said sharply. “You don’t have to knock. This is your office, too, now.”
“Sorry,” Dr. Green said, smiling at him and taking a seat at the second desk. The office chair creaked, biting my ears. “Old habit when I see a shut door. Never want to surprise anyone. Besides, the offices here are so small. If anyone were standing behind the door, I’d hit them.”
The man across the desk frowned and focused on me. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, this is Miss Sang Sorenson,” Dr. Green raised a hand toward me and then gestured toward the man at the desk. “Miss Sang, this is Mr. Blackbourne.”
The name caught in my mind. Could it be the same one Victor had deleted from my phone? “Hello,” I said softly, dipping my head in a polite nod.
Mr. Blackbourne’s sharp eyes scanned over my outfit and then moved up to my face. “That’s wonderful. Now why are you here?”
“I am assisting her with getting registered,” Dr. Green said. He reached for the paper in my hands. “Shall I help you?”
“She should be outside with the other students,” warned Mr. Blackbourne. He swung his eyes at me. “Couldn’t you wait in line?”
“She’s perfectly capable of doing so,” Dr. Green said, shaking his computer mouse to warm up the sleeping monitor. “But she had a run in with Mr. McCoy. I didn’t want a good student to be scared away because of him.”
“Hm,” Mr. Blackbourne chuffed.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” I said, casting my eyes to the floor, feeling completely awkward.
Mr. Blackbourne said nothing but turned away from me and went back to what he was doing with the papers in his hands, filling them out.
“What have we here?” Dr. Green looked over the paper in his hand. “Now, I can’t understand this. Why are all these classes crossed out?
“Well,” I said, fiddling with one of the buttons on my blouse. “When I first filled it out, I picked classes that I didn’t realize were reserved for upperclassmen. And then the second set some were crossed out because the counselor said I couldn’t have more than two AP classes.”
Dr. Green made a face, twisting his lips and looking apologetic. “How awful. Does she assume you couldn’t do it?”
I shrugged a little. “She just kept saying I wasn’t allowed.”
“Why have the classes up if you aren’t going to let students in them? I tell you, what’s wrong with this school?” He turned back to me. “What were your original choices?”
I opened the notebook I had, removing the paper where Kota had written my choices for classes. “I couldn’t take Japanese, so I switched to this.”
He tilted his head. “Did you write this?” he asked, pointing at the masculine handwriting.
I shook my head.
“Who did?”
I blushed. Did he expect to know? “Kota. A friend of mine.”
His eyebrows shot up and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr. Blackbourne looking at us.
“Do you know Kota Lee?” Mr. Blackbourne asked.
I wasn’t sure what Kota’s last name was. “Dark brown hair? Glasses?”
Mr. Blackbourne sucked in a breath and his gaze fell on Dr. Green. They exchanged some looks. It was
so familiar, like how Kota and the others silently communicated to one another.
Dr. Green wrote something on the registration paper. “Do you think you could handle this?”
He handed the paper back to me and I glanced at his choices: Japanese, AP Geometry, AP English, AP World History, AP Biology and the required gym class.
My mouth dropped open. “How do I bypass the restriction? And I’m not allowed in Japanese for at least another year.”
Dr. Green leaned in on the desk, propped his head up with his hand, smiling. “But is that what you want?”
I felt my heart flutter. It sounded so challenging. Yet at the same time, I could see myself getting good grades in all of it. “I want to try.”
Mr. Blackbourne looked up from his paperwork and scowled at Dr. Green. “Why are you causing trouble? You don’t know anything about this girl.”
“I have a good feeling.” He held out his hand for the paper and then put it on his desk, signing his name. “Besides, who is going to tell me no?”
I blinked at him. This was really happening?
Mr. Blackbourne glowered, displeased.
Dr. Green started typing and clicking at his computer. I wondered how they seemed to know Kota. This had to be the same Mr. Blackbourne that the boys were trying to keep secret before. Could I ask them about this later? My eyes drifted around the room. A violin melody started up on the radio. My toe tapped to it, trying to remember the name of the song.
Mr. Blackbourne turned to me, bringing a finger to the corner of his glasses and shoving them up his nose. “Do you know this song?”
His question caught me by surprise but I nodded. “It’s the song about the swallow, isn’t it?”
He nodded, an eyebrow going up.
“But it’s the version by Micarelli, isn’t it?”
“How do you know it’s her?”
“Well, she’s got this style. She plays soft. It’s hard to explain, but it’s different than other violinists. I really like it.”
There was a spot on his mouth on the right side that turned up. It was only a millimeter of a difference, but it was all his face required before the sternness disappeared and he seemed pleased. His face was suddenly beautiful. I would almost sell my soul, would do anything, to keep that pleased expression on his face. “Do you like the violin?” he asked.
