Sarah plopped down in a chair across from Peter. Shelby was right. It was time for individual counseling with Peter. And could there be a better time for it? Sarah was in no mood to talk. She was drawn up inside of herself, beating herself up, wallowing in self pity. She didn't want Peter's perspective or 'How does that make you feel' comments. Sarah had been through enough therapy to believe that it was all crap. There was nothing to this Freudian bullshit. She learned a long time ago to just go with the flow and fake improvement. It was easier that way.
But right now, she didn't feel up to it. Putting up a front for everyone took a lot of energy – something she didn't have too much of right now. She was weary of fighting with her parents about coming here, the trip, the admittance procedure, group, and getting to know the other students. She just wanted to be left alone.
Peter, however, had other ideas. "So, Sarah, are you settling in okay?"
She nodded.
"Did Shelby show you around campus?"
Another nod.
"Are you finding your way around okay?"
A third nod.
"Okay, how about you tell me why you've decided to be silent?"
Was he serious? 'Sure Peter, I've known you about ten minutes, but since you asked, how about I tell you my life story. Yah, right.' she thought. "No reason. Just nothing to say."
"Why don't you tell me a little about you or your family?"
"Can't you just read that in my file?"
"I'd rather hear it from you."
Sarah sighed. "I'm 16. This is," she stopped to count, "the fourth high school I've been to this year."
"Why is that?"
"Don't you know? Trouble is my middle name." She laughed. "What kind of parents give there kids a name like 'Achaia'? Do you know what it means?" She didn't wait for Peter to answer. "It means grief or trouble. Fitting isn't it?"
"What do you think?"
"I think this whole therapy thing is crap." She shook her head. "No offense Peter, but I've had like 7 therapists before you. I know the drill. How about I tell you what they all thought of me and you can agree and we can give up this charade?"
Peter sat back in his chair and thought for a minute. She was tough, he'd give her that. "What did your other therapists think of you?"
"If I tell you, can we forget about this whole therapy thing?"
Peter shook his head. "No, but I'd like to hear what you have to say."
Sarah sighed. "Let's see…gifted level IQ, blah, blah, blah, ADHD, ODD, OCD, SI, and any other initials you want to throw at me, blah, blah, blah, parents want nothing to do with her, blah, blah, blah, do you get the picture?"
If Peter didn't know better he would have sworn that she had read her chart. "Do you think it's accurate?"
"Peter, I don't CARE if it's accurate. What do all of those initials have to do with ME? I'm a person, not a freaking alphabet." Sarah was getting angry: angry at herself for talking too much. "Look, just forget about it okay. It doesn't matter what those shrinks thought of me. It doesn't tell you who I am as a person. It's just a bunch of psychobabble."
"Well then who are you?"
"I'm no one. And you?" Sarah's spat the words out bitterly. She was tired of this game.
Peter could sense her hostility. He was torn between easing up on her and pushing her further in hopes of getting some real insight into her character, into what was going on in her mind. He decided to let her go. There would be plenty of time for this in future sessions. "Sarah, you are someone. You're someone who I would like to help, if you'd let me. I'm here for you." He waited for a response, but didn't get one. "Okay," he said quietly, "that's enough for tonight. You've got your first day of classes tomorrow. You should get a good night's sleep."
Sarah stood to leave. She was nearly out the door when she turned around to face Peter. "Peter?"
He looked up from the desk. "Yah?"
"Are we allowed to make phone calls?"
"Not usually."
"Oh. It's just, well, never mind."
"No, Sarah, what is it? Who did you want to talk to?"
She shuffled her feet. She did that a lot when she was nervous. "Well, I was hoping I could talk to my brother. I want to make sure he's okay."
Peter was confused. No where in any of her files did it mention a brother. "Is this a step brother or something?"
"Half brother. We have the same dad, different moms."
"Well, not tonight, but I think I could arrange for you to talk to him once you've settled in."
She smiled. A real smile. "Thanks Peter." And with that said, she closed the door and left.
Peter stared down at his notes. A brother? Why hadn't her files mentioned anything about a half sibling? Was Sarah telling the truth? Her file was pretty thin. It didn't give very much information about her family. In fact, he knew very little about Sarah's past, especially considering she had seen more than half a dozen therapists and had attended several other boarding schools and treatment programs. Why couldn't anyone get to know Sarah? What was she hiding?