IDOI
The idea for this story was inspired by Mistress of Craziness's iWouldn't Ask Anna That. I thought about the word "advice" and this story was formed. This is my attempt at humor/angst. (Not gonna be very angsty though.)
A counselor is a vital part of any school system. And such a person must be responsible, for the sanity of the students and, to a lesser extent, the teachers rests in their hands. Now this job cannot go to just any degree wielding do-gooder. No, a school counselor must have, in addition to their Psy.D, years of training in psychoanalysis and therapy. They must have experience in dealing with people. And not just regular people, but people with problems. They must be able to accurately find solutions to some of life's toughest questions. Usually, these counselors go into their jobs adequately prepared due to all the practice. Schools are easy. Teenagers might seem unpredictable, but to the trained eye, they all have a built in code. A system that makes them tick. And this system is easy to, for a lack of a better word, hack. That is until the great leaders of Seattle built a school. A school called Ridgeway that would prove quite a tough egg to crack.
Dr. Casey McLandry straightened the yellow #2 pencils on her desk into neat, organized rows. She never used pens. Pens were too leaky, too smeary, and too permanent. So she used pencils. Dr. McLandry opened her black briefcase and took out a legal pad labeled "Samantha Puckett- 11th grade." She placed the pad on her desk, making sure it was parallel to the pencils. One can never be too organized. Many have laughed at her and some have even gone as far to say she had OCD. But after 10 years of counseling, she knew that organization of the body led to organization of the mind.
It was through this reputation as the most organized counselor in Washington that she had obtained this job. A desperate sounding Principal Theodore Franklin had called her, mentioning her reputation, and asking her to contact him ASAP. She quickly found out that Ridgeway also had a reputation. A reputation of being a . . . different sort of school. She had heard of it around the psycho-circle and it was rumored that the previous counselor was currently residing in a padded cell at the Seattle Psychological Institute. But nevertheless, Dr. McLandry was unfazed as she dialed the number and requested a meeting with Principal Franklin.
She glanced at the clock above the door. It had been fifteen minutes since the last class ended and her appointment with "Samantha Puckett" was scheduled for Monday, immediately after school. She sighed. This was not how she wanted to start her first assignment. Punctuality was a big part of organization and it seemed that "Samantha Puckett" had no respect for plans made ahead of time. But that was expected. She flipped open the legal pad. The staff and faculty had written up a document titled "Important Things to Know About Samantha Puckett". At the top of the list: "Rarely shows up on time." Check.
The door burst open and in strolled a small, blonde headed girl. The girl sat down in the provided seat and dropped her feet on the desk, disturbing the carefully arranged pencils. She then proceeded to glare at Dr. McLandry with what many would describe as blue laser beams.
Dr. McLandry cleared her throat. "Are you Samantha Puckett?"
The girl's lasers intensified. She answered with a blunt, "No."
"Then why are you—"
"I'm Sam Puckett. Call me Samantha again and you'll wake up in the middle of an intersection."
"Ok, Sam, please remove your feet from my desk."
Sam, staying true to #2 on the list ("No Respect for Authority"), didn't move an inch.
"I'm going to say this one more time, Sam. Remove your feet from my desk or else I will give you detention."
Sam snorted. "To bad. I'm used to it."
Dr. McLandry decided it was time to up the ante. "Did I mention it was . . . Summer detention?"
Sam glared a little bit longer and then grudgingly lowered her feet to the ground.
"Thank you," Dr. McLandry stopped to readjust her pencils, "Now, Sam, do you know why I'm here?"
"No."
"Well, I am here to help you. The teachers have been voicing complaints about you and your friends. They say there are . . . problems. So naturally, they called a psychologist."
Sam smirked and gestured toward the Psy.D framed on the wall. "So I guess they're just giving those things away nowadays, eh?"
Dr. McLandry looked down at the pad in her hands. "Ah, yes, the teachers did warn me about your brand of offensive humor." She checked off 'Abrasive Comedy'.
Sam jumped up, her chair scraping against the wood floor with a high-pitched screech. "What? The teachers told you things about me?"
"Hm. I'll also put a check next to 'Gets Angered Easily'."
By now Sam was seething. "What else did they tell you?" She leaned over the desk, attempting to catch a glimpse of the list.
"THEY TOLD YOU THAT I HAVE A NATURAL AFFINITY TOWARDS HAM?"
"Yes, but they failed to mention your talent in reading things upside down."
Sam looked incredulous. Her hands clenched into fists. "They give my information to a complete stranger and you're joking arou— what am I doing talking to you? You're the complete stranger!"
Dr. McLandry clasped her hands together on the desk. "Look, Sam, don't be mad at them. They gave me the information to help you."
Sam narrowed her eyes. "I don't need help. I'm outta here." She made her way to the door.
"Summer detention."
Sam darted back into her seat. "I'll be good."
"Great. I know we can come to be great friends."
Sam scoffed. "Yeah. Right."
Dr. McLandry smiled.
"Let's start with some basic introductions. My name is Casey McLandry. Married. Two children. I've been a psychologist for ten years. And I'm happy to say you are my first client at this school."
"Wow. That makes me feel special."
"Sam, if this is going to work, I need you to talk to me. Start with the basics like your name, family, maybe some friends."
Sam let out a derisive laugh. "I don't need to tell you anything. You have everything about me on that list."
Dr. McLandry shook her head. "I would like to hear about you from your own voice. If it makes you feel any better, I'll tear out the list."
She tore out the first page and filed it under 'Puckett, Sam' in the desk drawer. Straightening up, she looked expectantly at Sam.
Sam let out a breath through her nose. The hard look in her eyes softened a bit before she began.
"I'm Sam Puckett. I live with my mom. I have a sister but she's going to some school on the east coast. I don't know where my dad is. And my best friend is Carly Shay. And on Fridays we do a web show called iCarly."
The doctor finished writing down "web show Friday = iCarly" before remembering the video that Principal Theodore showed her earlier that day. "Ah, yes, iCarly. Quite a funny show in my opinion. Congratulations on your success."
A faint look of pride appeared on Sam's face. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Now what about school?"
Sam's expression went blank. "What about it?"
"You know . . . grades, classes, favorite subjects, that kind of stuff."
Sam let out another deep breath. "I'm taking US History, Algebra II, Chemistry, Spanish II, English Literature, and . . . computer science."
"Computer science? Excuse me if I'm wrong but, I was under the impression, from what I saw on the list, that you were a fan of the culinary arts. Why didn't you take a cooking class?"
Sam growled, suddenly defensive. "I turned in my application late and it was the only elective left, alright?"
Dr. McLandry nodded, but she circled "computer science" on her pad. Sam didn't seem like the type to surrender her interests just because computer science was "the only one left". She continued with the interview.
"So what do you currently have in computer science?"
"C."
"History?"
"C."
"Math?"
"C."
"Chemistry?"
"C."
"Spanish?"
"C."
"Literature? Wait, let me guess . . . C?
Sam smiled. "Nope. B+."
"Good for you. Is Literature your favorite subject?"
"No, favorite subjects are for nerds."
"Of course. Anything else you'd like to tell me about school?"
Sam shook her head.
"Well, okay then. That wasn't too hard was it?"
Sam visibly relaxed and nodded.
"Now that I know you better and you're more comfortable talking to me, we need to get to the crux of the matter. The teachers are frustrated with your attitude. Personally, I see you as an engaging spirit but the school says different. Would you like to tell me why you've been acting out?"
Sam narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. "What do you mean by 'acting out'?"
Dr. McLandry stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet that had been pushed into the corner of the office. Making sure to block Sam's view, she dialed in the combination to the middle drawer and slid it open. She procured a yellow file thicker than most dictionaries, closed the drawer and walked back to the desk. Sam's eyes grew big as the doctor dropped the file on the desk with a resounding thud.
"Sam, this is your permanent record. As you may notice, it is many times the volume of a normal student's. It is of this immense size due to the trouble you have caused here in Ridgeway's halls for the past 3 years. This is what I mean by 'acting out.'"
"Oh."
Dr. McLandry opened the file and flipped through the papers. "Let us see what you have been up to. Hm, yes, graffiti'd cars, exploded toilets, and it says one time you even released a crate of chickens in the hallways. Oh, and of course, over a hundred detentions for a specific repeat offense: sending one Fredward Benson to the nurse's office. Please, tell me, Sam, tell me why you had to do these things."
Sam shrugged before giving the all too simple answer of, "I dunno. Because I could, I guess."
"Because you could. Let me get this straight. You do things . . . because you can?"
"Well, yeah."
"Interesting. Did you say your sister is going to school on the east coast?"
"Yeah, but what does—"
"Why aren't you there with her?"
Sam grabbed a pencil off the desk and twirled it through her fingers. "Because she got a scholarship. I didn't have the grades."
"Interesting. And you said you had straight C's?"
"And a B+."
"Interesting. Does your mother allow you to . . . do as you wish?"
"Ever since my dad left, she hasn't cared what I did. As long as I didn't kill anyone. That's where she drew the line."
"Interesting. I—"
"Stop that."
Dr. McLandry looked up to find Sam trying to bend the pencil as far as she could. "Stop what?"
Sam glanced up from her task. "You keep saying 'interesting'. Stop it. We're in a school. Nothing's that interesting. Ever."
Dr. McLandry rolled her eyes and continued. "As I was saying before your interruption, I have found the problem."
"What's the diagnosis, Doc?"
"My diagnosis is that you are too afraid of being told that you can't do anything, so you go out of your way to show everyone you can do everything. Hence, practical jokes, impossibly painful wedgies, and bruised Fredwards."
Snap. The pencil in Sam's hands broke in two. A deadly silence fell over the room. She lowered the pencil halves into her lap. And all the while, Dr. McLandry was looking, waiting, for a reaction.
Sam's eyes started to water and Dr. McLandry expected a breakthrough. She leaned forward.
And Sam burst into a loud, raucous laughter. The doctor looked affronted.
"What's so funny?"
Sam answered still clutching her sides. "I-I give you," she glanced at the clock, "th-thirty four minutes and that's the b-best you can come up with?"
Dr. McLandry was surprised. No one had questioned her diagnosis before. And yet here, a client she was supposed to be fixing was hiccupping with laughter. Apparently, she had been played like a harmonica at the Missouri Blues and Jazz Festival.
"You were acting?"
"Yeppers."
"But, Sam, it doesn't make sense. Everything you said . . . it all works out. Your sister got good grades. You didn't. Your mom didn't let you do anything until your father left. I thought you wanted to prove to people that you're strong enough to do whatever you wanted."
Sam's laughter died to snickers. "Wrong, doctor. People are very aware that I can do whatever I want. I don't have to prove anything. And those grades that my sister got? You think I'm bitter over not being able to get good grades? I could care less about school. I'm only going because Carly and Freddie promised me a butt load of ham if I stick it out and end senior year with at least average grades. Your diagnosis is the same as Ms. Murdock's choice in make-up: ludicrous."
Dr. McLandry mulled these thoughts over. She was never wrong about people. She was sure Sam had some type of problem. Maybe there was something else. She thought about teenagers and how they worked. She remembered all the bullying cases she had handled. A-HA!
"I may have been wrong on my first try, but now I think I have you pinned down, Sam Puckett."
Sam smirked. "Go for it, quack."
"I think you commit these irresponsible actions because all you're looking for is some—"
"—attention?"
The psychologist was left speechless. Her mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. Sam's smirk grew bigger.
"Your predecessor tried to nail me with that one. But I set her straight. You might have heard of her. Dr. Trenton? She's currently residing in padded confinement cell number 13-C. I'm sorry, but the attention I get is just a perk. You want to know the real reason why I do the things I do?"
Dr. McLandry nodded slowly.
Sam spoke with all seriousness. "I do it . . . because it's fun."
"That's-that's it? It's fun?"
Sam yawned and reclined in the chair. "Of course it is. You intellectuals and your fancy shmancy doctorates think everything is complex. You think everything has a deeper meaning. Well, it doesn't. Fun is fun and that's all it can be."
Right now, Dr. McLandry was furiously searching through all her documents. She could not let this blonde demon be the death of her reputation. But there was nothing. No past breakthroughs. No psychological profiles. No nothing. All there were, were just warnings: Sam Puckett was dangerous. But this was impossible. Everything they taught at psychology school said all actions have a meaning. All of them. No. There must be something. Something she had over looked. In the corner of her mind, she could still hear Sam gloating.
"For supposed psychologists, you guys sure are crazy about this stuff. I mean, really? Does everything have to have something behind it? Jeez, why can't you just accept the fact that I'm Sam Puckett. There's nothing more, nothing less. It just is."
Dr. McLandry gasped. The idea came to her in a flash of oh so inspirational inspiration. The clouds above opened up and sunlight streamed through. The chorus to Handel's Messiah poured out of nowhere. She had figured out Sam Puckett. She replaced all the papers that had been strewn about the desk.
"Sam, do you . . . listen to your emotions?"
Predictably, Sam tensed up. Dr. McLandry grinned before remembering that this was a client. And her client needed help.
"Sam?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sam, are you—are you afraid? Of your emotions?"
Sam wordlessly looked down at her hands. And suddenly, to Dr. McLandry, Sam Puckett seemed small again.
"That's it, isn't it?" But when the question came out, it sounded more like a statement.
"That's the reason you do everything for fun. It's because fun is easy and simple. Fun is fun. And emotions are complicated."
Another revelation became clear.
"That's the reason, during our appointment, you barely mentioned Freddie, isn't it."
Sam shook her head. Dr. McLandry sighed.
"I saw some of your iCarly shows. From what I saw, you and Freddie seem to be as good friends as you and Carly. And yet, today, you only mentioned Carly as your best friend. You didn't want to bring emotions into the conversation. Because you were afraid that I was going to find out. Samantha, look at me."
Sam slowly lifted her head.
"It's all right. I'm here for you, Sam. We can work through this together. Step-by-step."
Sam looked at the clock. The doctor followed her gazed. 5:05.
Sam stood up and spoke in a quiet voice. "I think we're done here, Dr. McLandry."
She took five long steps to the door and wrenched it open.
"Sam."
She froze.
"You can't ignore your emotions, Sam. If you ignore your emotions, you ignore yourself."
The door shut with a click.
Dr. McLandry sighed. They had only talked for fifty-five minutes but she felt as though it had been an eternity. And it was only her first day. She glanced at her schedule for tomorrow. In small black letters it said: Freddie Benson-4:00.
She opened her desk drawer and took out the list she had stowed away when they first started. She moved down the list adding checks to all of them. She got to the end. #9: Likes to play with Psychologists. She chuckled. That was why Sam made her put away the list. She wasn't really mad that the teachers gave her information to a stranger. Sam just didn't want Dr. McLandry to know about her little mind game.
She checked it off and moved on to the last thing on the list. It was written in Principal Franklin's handwriting.
#10: Completely invincible.
Dr. McLandry smiled sadly as she crossed it out.
I'm no psychologist so have no idea what the counesling protocol is. I hope I made it believable.
BTW, how was iSaved Your Life? I thought it was enjoyable. Spam paintball was awesome. Creddie was alright. Just thought it was too much kissing. Wish they held hands or something. And I don't want to be "that guy" but did anyone else think it was hot when Bunny Carly patted down Sam? :)
To review or not to review. That is the question. (Hint: choose the first one.)