Anything but Normal by Melody Carlson Page B

behind.
    “Thanks.” Sophie pulled on her sweatshirt and looped the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
    “Mr. Young asked me to escort you.”
    “Escort me?” Sophie frowned.
    “Yeah. I made it sound like you were sick. I didn’t think you’d want me to mention PMS, you know?”
    Sophie nodded. “Oh yeah, thanks.”
    “So I’ll just walk you there, okay?”
    So Justina Coughlin escorted Sophie to the counseling center. She felt like she was about six years old when Justina knocked on Mrs. Phelps’s door and introduced Sophie. “She’s having really bad PMS,” Justina said in an undertone. “I told her you could help.”
    Mrs. Phelps smiled and waved Sophie in.
    “Thanks,” Sophie said crisply to Justina, as if she could handle it from here. Once Justina was gone, Sophie closed the door and sat down in the chair across from Mrs. Phelps, letting out a big sigh.
    “Having a hard day?” Mrs. Phelps asked.
    “Make that a hard life.”
    Mrs. Phelps removed her reading glasses and peered curiously at Sophie. “Want to talk about it?”
    Now Sophie regretted her previous statement.
    “I know that hormones can play havoc with our emotions sometimes.” Mrs. Phelps pushed a strand of auburn hair behind an ear and sighed. “Trust me, I know .”
    Sophie nodded. “Yeah, I kind of lost it in journalism.”
    Her brows lifted slightly. “Did you let someone have it?”
    “Not exactly. I kind of fell apart and started to cry.”
    “Oh, that can be even worse than losing your temper.”
    “Pretty humiliating.”
    “What made you fall apart?” Mrs. Phelps leaned back in her chair. “I mean, besides PMS.”
    “I’m not really sure. Mr. Young was being nice. He’d just asked me to be chief editor of the paper.”
    “Congratulations.”
    Sophie bit her lip.
    “Or not . . .”
    “I’m just not sure I should do it.”
    “Why not?”
    Sophie shrugged but didn’t answer.
    “You shouldn’t allow your current emotional state to frighten you out of doing something you really want to do.” She smiled.
    “I make it a firm rule not to make any major life decisions when I’m in the midst of PMS. It’s kind of like getting your hair cut when you’re having a bad hair day—it can turn out to be a big mistake. You just need to be patient and wait until the emotions pass.”
    “What if they don’t pass?”
    “Oh, they always pass . . . eventually.”
    Sophie didn’t say anything, just looked down at her hands and frowned.
    “Sophie?”
    “Huh?” Sophie looked up to see that Mrs. Phelps looked slightly concerned. With her chin in her hand, she studied Sophie carefully, almost like she was taking some kind of inventory. Or perhaps she could see right through her.
    “Is this something else, something besides PMS?”
    Sophie shook her head. “No . . . not at all.”
    “Are you sure?”
    Sophie looked back down again.
    “You can talk to me.”
    “I know.”
    “Anything you say to me will be confidential.”
    Sophie looked back up.
    “You can trust me.”
    You can trust me. Sophie’s face grew hot as she remembered the last time she’d heard those four words . . . from Dylan. You can trust me. Yeah, right.
    “It will help to talk,” Mrs. Phelps continued. “I’m a good listener.”
    “Thanks.” Sophie reached for her bag. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She stood and took a deep breath. “I feel better now.”
    Mrs. Phelps nodded with a sad expression. Or maybe it was disappointment.
    “Do I need to get an excuse or something? I mean, for missing class just now.”
    She wrote something down on a pad. “Yes, I’ll take care of it.”
    “Thanks.”
    “And if you change your mind and need to—”
    “I know—you’re a good listener.” The problem, she almost said, was that she was not ready to talk about it—to God or anyone.

9
    “Are you sick?” Carrie Anne asked in an impatient tone.
    “Hello to you too.” Sophie was tempted to hang up. Seriously, what kind of a greeting was