Only Everything by Kieran Scott Page B

potential real patient with a real problem, instead of the girls who went to him every day sobbing over a breakup.
    I would never forgive him for that.
    The school library was silent and still. I walked past the larger study tables, their chairs tightly tucked in, and headed for the windows where the smaller, two-person tables were set up. I almost tripped when I saw Zadie in the corner. She had a laptop open in front of her, the logo for the school’s literary magazine—the Muse —plain across the top of the page she was typing into. I sat down at the table farthest from her, and she gave me a quick, uncertain wave.
    Hi, I mouthed.
    She smiled, pushed her glasses up, and went back to her typing.
    “Can I help you with anything?”
    I nearly jumped out of my chair, startled by the full-voice question. Mr. Carlson, one of the school librarians, hovered behind me.He wore his hair in about a million braids that he tied back with a standard tan rubber band, and his blue cotton tie was loosened around his neck. There were a bunch of earring holes in his ears, but no earrings, which had led to the rumor that he’d once been in a hard rock/reggae band but burned out young, landing himself a high school job instead.
    “No. I’m fine,” I said.
    He didn’t move, but kept his dark eyes fixed on me. My palms started to sweat.
    “Is it—I mean—am I not supposed to be here?” I asked.
    “Depends on what you were planning on doing,” he said.
    I tugged my history text out of my backpack. “Um, studying?”
    Mr. Carlson blanched slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. We’ve . . . last year we had a lot of issues with students using the library for other . . . inappropriate—”
    My face burned, and I wasn’t sure if it was for him or for me. What did he think I was going to do? Smoke a joint? Meet a guy to hook up? What?
    “Dad! God!” Zadie hissed.
    We both stared at her. She widened her eyes, and Mr. Carlson backed away.
    “I apologize,” he said formally. “Go about your business.”
    He shot Zadie a look and quickly walked back to the front desk. It took a good two minutes for me to feel comfortable again. I eyed Zadie as I reached for my poetry notebook. So she was Mr. Carlson’s daughter? Interesting.
    “Katrina! There you are!”
    Ms. Day had appeared as if from nowhere. Was everyone at this school trying to give me a heart attack?
    “Dr. Krantz said she saw you come in here. I’m so relieved.”She was out of breath, her hand over her heart. “Would you mind coming with me?”
    “Um . . . sure.”
    I was already shaking as I shoved my stuff back into my bag. I caught Zadie watching me and pretending she wasn’t. I knew what she was thinking. What did that girl do? I was thinking the same thing. Was I in trouble? For what? It was only the first day of school. I couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong yet, could I?
    Keeping my head down as I passed Mr. Carlson’s judging eyes, I followed Ms. Day along the dark-gray carpet and out into the hall. She led me past students straggling at their lockers and teachers chatting over schedules, into the English department’s office. It was a cramped space with two cluttered, badly lit square rooms. Sitting in the second room behind a huge desk was Mrs. Roberge. She was in charge of the English department and taught honors classes, and she was totally intimidating. Her shoulders were wide and square, and she wore her brown hair clipped close to her head like a helmet, with two points coming forward over her ears. Two streaks of dark-pink blush marked her cheekbones, and she had on enough eyeliner to keep Lana happy for a year. I stood in front of her and waited for her to speak, wrapping the fringe on my scarf around my index finger. Then she shifted, and I noticed that on her desk was my paper.
    “Katrina Ramos . . . ,” Mrs. Roberge said, eyeing me suspiciously. She lifted my paper, pinching opposite corners with her fingers so I could see it. “You