A/N: This is a revision to a story I was working on years and years ago. I'm hoping to rewrite the whole thing and finish it this time. ^_^
Carson Laine stared angrily into the mirror in front of her. All she'd managed to accomplish in ten minutes of scrubbing was to turn the red tomato sauce stain a sickly orange color. Today had not been the best one to wear a white shirt. These "harmless" pranks were getting worse. Last week, half of her notebooks had disappeared and mysteriously turned up soaking wet in the first floor girls' room. Up until then, she'd suspected Chris Jole of the homecoming court of the tomfoolery. But now, it was apparent that he either had nothing to do with it or had a female accomplice. Either way, another one of Carson's blouses had been ruined.
The bell rang, signaling for her fifth period American Lit class to begin. She sighed, giving up on the offensive stain and throwing her sweatshirt on. If she hadn't been in the bathroom scrubbing spaghetti sauce from her blouse, she might not have been rushing, and might have seen the yellow "wet floor" sign in the middle of the hallway. As it was, she did not and she slipped and fell. Muttering curses under her breath, she stood up and ran down the hall and up two flights of stairs.
She appeared, out of breath and doubled over in front of Mr. Shipp's class, her black curls cascading over her shoulders and into her face.
"Nice of you to join us, Miss Laine," Mr. Shipp commented without looking up from his lecture notes. "However, Mrs. Greene just called for you and wants to see you in her office. Now."
She sighed and turned back to the hallway. It wasn't so much that she was annoyed at seeing the guidance counselor; in fact, Carson had never actually visited her guidance counselor and therefore held no ill feelings towards her. However, as she walked back down the stairs, she made a mental list of anything that could have gotten her into trouble. She was coming up blank. She managed to stay just below the radar at this school; the only people who noticed her were her peers who had been making her life miserable for years. Teachers and administration at the school rarely knew her name.
She let herself into the main office.
"Can I help you?" a rather round lady with rectangular glasses perched on her button nose asked. The name plate in front of her read Deana Sharburough.
"Um, Mrs. Greene wanted to see me?" Carson responded in her mousey voice. She rarely spoke, and when she did, it was at a low mumble.
"Are you Carson Laine?" the woman asked. Carson nodded sheepishly. "Oh just go right in." The woman smiled as she sent Carson off.
The woman who greeted Carson when she walked in was nothing like her secretary. Where Ms. Sharburough was round and plump, this woman was thin with sharp features. Her graying hair was pulled into a tight, intimidating bun, which pulled her face back and made her look even sharper.
"Have a seat, Carson," Mrs. Greene said, her voice every bit as sharp as her appearance. Carson obeyed immediately. She swallowed the urge to ask if she was in trouble. Somehow, that seemed very childish.
"You're not in trouble," Mrs. Greene continued, as though she had read her mind. "And don't worry; you won't be penalized for being late to Mr. Shipp's class." Carson breathed a sigh of relief. While she was not often late, it was nice to know that she hadn't been called out because she was in trouble. It did, however, pique her curiosity as to the real reason she was there.
"I'd like to discuss with you your rather reclusive nature."
That was completely left field.
"Reclusive?" Carson asked.
"I've been observing you for quite some time, Carson," Mrs. Greene continued. "And I've noticed that you spend an awful lot of time by yourself."
"You've been observing me?"
Mrs. Greene continued as if Carson hadn't spoken. "You never eat with any of the other students. You never even talk to the other students. And I see what happens with Chris Jole."
Carson ignored that last part about Chris. The fact that her guidance counselor had been watching this go on and hadn't bothered to do anything about it made her a little mad. She supposed she couldn't count on people, especially adults, to fight her battles for her.
"I get good grades," she protested. "Isn't that enough?"
"I'm afraid not," Mrs. Greene replied. Carson sank lower in her seat. Off in the distance, she could hear the bell ring. "I'll write you a note," Mrs. Greene said, catching Carson eyeing the door. "Just promise to think about what I said." Carson nodded and stood up to leave.
"So what'd you do?" came a voice from behind. Carson turned to see John Allerdyce from her American Lit class.
"Oh, nothing," she replied. "They just called me out to inform me that I have a social problem."
"Never stopped me," John replied. And then, he was gone.
John was the type of guy that girls usually swooned over. He was the poster boy for the "bad boy" type. He was tall and lean with spiked blonde hair and smoldering eyes that reminded Carson of the juvenile delinquents she often read novels about. She wouldn't be surprised to find a switchblade on his person at any given moment.
The rest of the day passed without incident. And as Carson left to head home, it began to rain. Swearing under her breath, she made a makeshift cover out of a notebook and ran home. She hated the rain.
"Shoes off, please," her mother called as a dripping Carson walked through the door. Carson slid her feet out of the soggy Converses and dropped her bag in the living room as she always did. She ran upstairs in stocking feet and changed out of her wet clothes. In her closet, she pulled out a large cardboard box with her dad's old flannels. Her mother had wanted to throw them away, but Carson wanted to keep anything that reminded her of her father. She changed into one of the flannels and a pair of thick sweatpants before going back downstairs.
"How was your day?" her mother asked.
"Fine," Carson replied, grabbing an apple out of the cupboard. As most of her lunch had ended up on her white blouse, she was hungry. She bit into it before grabbing a novel out of her bag and running back upstairs. Her mother did not need to know about her meeting with the guidance counselor.
"Carson?" her mother called after her. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine, mom," Carson replied, still running up the stairs.
"You'd tell me if something was wrong…right?" her mother asked hesitantly.
Carson sighed and turned back to her mother.
"Yeah, mom," Carson replied. "I'd tell you."
Her mother smiled and Carson went back to the stairs.