Finding Me Read Free Page B

you going to do when it actually snows? You aren’t going to be able to fit more layers on. You need to start eating more.”
    I brush off his comment and remove my sweatshirt. I can tell that I’ve lost some weight because my clothes are looser, but I haven’t had much of an appetite, and my budget’s a bit tight since I live alone on a meager income, refusing to accept help from my mom for anything besides school. I primarily eat cereal from one of my four bowls while sitting on my bed—an air mattress that serves not only as where I sleep but also as my couch and dining room.
    “Come on, impress me,” I goad, walking toward the lab tables.

“We are more treacherous through weakness than through calculation.”
    –François de la Rochefoucauld
     
    I go around to the back porch and ring the doorbell as I’ve been instructed. My heart is thundering in my chest with a combination of fear and resentment for having to be here. It takes a few moments before I see a small, slender woman approaching me through the window in the door. She smiles warmly at me, but I notice something hesitant on her face that she wipes clear as she opens the door.
    “You must be Harper.” Her voice is soft, but assertive. The way her makeup is so perfectly applied instantly reminds me of my mother, though her hair is a rich dark brown instead of my mother’s bright blond. It’s difficult for me to guess her age, but I assume she’s in her forties, maybe early fifties. She takes a step closer to me and offers her hand, and with it the undeniable stench of pot rolls off her. She’s trying to mask it with the gum her jaw vigorously chews, and the perfume I can tell she recently applied, but it definitely doesn’t conceal the smell.
    I stare at her for a moment, not certain what to do. Am I really obligated to see someone that might be high? Then again, if I had to sit around all day and listen to other people’s problems, I may have the desire for something to help me tolerate it too .
    “I’m Kitty,” she says as I place my hand in hers. “Please come in.”
    I immediately feel the need to remove my jacket when the heat blasts me like a hot Californian sidewalk in August. We travel down a short hallway to a door that is already open and waiting for us. Inside, the scent of pot becomes noticeably less in contrast to the odor of paint. Light blue walls surround us, emanating fresh fumes. A large overstuffed sofa sits across from a dark cherry wood desk. The wall behind the desk is lined with filing cabinets that match the desk in color, and I’m sure they’re filled with secrets and fears from others like myself. Several plants dot the room, sitting on the industrial, light gray carpets.
    “How are you today, Harper?” she asks, waving a hand at the couch.
    As I approach it, I notice a tissue box topping the small end table on the far side, causing my unease to grow.
    “I’m good, thanks,” I reply quickly, but my movements are slow as I take a seat on the couch. I discreetly work to avoid eye contact as she pulls her chair to the front of her desk and sits so there’s nothing but a few feet of highly charged molecules of tension between us.
    “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, Harper?”
    I raise my eyebrows and clutch my coat to my lap, running my fingers along the seam of my pocket. I’m here out of pure obligation. My Molecular Biology professor, Dr. Kahndri, had approached me for the third time, asking in a concerned tone if everything was alright with me. When I tried to brush her off, insisting I was perfectly fine, just not sleeping well, she stopped and blocked me from leaving the room and told me if I didn’t see someone to discuss things, she was going to go to my student advisor with her concerns and recommend that I use the counselors through the school. Neither option was appealing, but the second even less. So I agreed to meet her friend, Dr. Clarke … or Kitty, the name by which she apparently