"Ellis is failing every class?" Mrs. Jeffries repeats the words that just came out of Ms. Müller's mouth. Her brow is pulled forward, and her jaw is slack. When the counselor nods, Mr. Jeffries, sitting beside his wife, rubs his chin and glances at me.

I stare forward at the clock hanging high on the wall. Waiting, thinking that this meeting is a waste of my time.

Mrs. Jeffries sits forward in her chair and tries not to appear disappointed as she speaks to Ms. Müller across the desk. "Is there any way we could help her get her GPA up at all? Isn't there some kind of academic support system at this school?"

Ms. Müller clicks the purple pen in her hand, thinking. "There is only formal academic support outside of class for student with an IEP."

"Doesn't Ellis's situation count as an IEP?" Mrs. Jeffries asks hopefully.

I roll my eyes.

Ms. Müller smiles sympathetically. "No, I'm afraid not." She pulls out a piece of paper and scribbles numbers down. Without looking up, she says, "What I can do is connect her with a tutor." The woman glances up at me. "Is that alright, Ellis?"

I shrug.

Ms. Müller purses her lips, then slides the paper over to me with a manicured hand. She taps it with the tip of her pen. My eyes flicker down to the note.

574-581-0466

I look back up at Ms. Müller. "Who is it?"

"There's this student excelling in every class and all of his academic clubs. He's also an exceptional basketball player," she says, sitting back in her office chair. "His name is Keegan Rivera. I don't know if you have any classes with him or not."

I run his name over in my head a couple times. It sounds vaguely familiar, as if I have heard someone say his name in the halls before. I probably have.

When I don't say anything and just pick at the frayed hole in my jeans over my knee, Ms. Müller says as she addresses both of my foster parents, "Keegan's a great kid, really. I think that he'd easily help Ellis get caught up in her classes."

Mr. and Mrs. Jeffries exchange a look. Then, Mrs. Jeffries turns to Ms. Müller. "When would the tutoring sessions take place? And where?"

"Since Keegan is actively involved with the school and the community, he is mainly available in the mornings before school starts. He tutored another classmate last year a half hour in my office before school would start and it worked out, so how does that sound?" Ms. Müller's question is directed at me, but the middle-aged couple beside me answer for me.

"That works for us," Mrs. Jeffries says, taking her husband's hand in hers and squeezing it. "Thank you for helping us while we're in this situation. Lord knows we could use all the help we can get." She laughs and glances at her husband expectedly. He lets out a breathy chuckle as well.

My eyes flicker up to the clock again. Time is moving too slow.

"It's my pleasure," she says. Ms. Müller smiles politely as she sits up straight and puts her pen in the polka-dotted coffee mug that holds the rest of her pens and pencils. She folds her hands together on the desk and looks directly at me. "How do Monday's, Wednesday's, and Friday's sound for these tutoring sessions?"

I blow a piece of my thin blonde hair out of my face. I don't respond, but Ms. Müller is still looking at me with her bright eyes and her hands folded and Mr. and Mrs. Jeffries are waiting for me to say something that will give them hope that they didn't get a dud foster kid. Even if I say that it sounds good, they'd be slightly happier because it'd sound like I'm actually starting to care about my grades. Which I'm not.

So I just turn to the couple sitting in the uncomfortable chairs next to me and raise an eyebrow at them.

Mrs. Jeffries purses her chapstick-covered lips. "That'll work."

▂▂▂▂▂▂

Let's just be clear on one thing: school is not my top priority. It's not any of my priorities at all. The only thing I actually care about is my CD collection and getting out of the system that took me away from my only family.

So, when I see Keegan Rivera in the hallway between third and fourth period, I realize that he must care about a lot. I'm just exiting the girl's bathroom when I hear his name being called. I look up and see a boy wearing a letterman jacket give a high-five to another boy wearing a letterman with the last name Rivera on the back. His skin is olive and his black, curly hair is like a mop on his head. But he still looks well put together, like his ruggedness is intentional. His smile is wide and bright as he laughs at something the other boy says.

The two then separate and part ways. As Keegan walks by, his eyes momentarily meet mine. I expect him to just look over me like everyone else does, but he surprises me.

He smiles.

It's only a brief smile that he probably gives to everyone he accidentally makes eye contact with in the halls, but it still catches me off guard.

As soon as he flashes his smile, it's gone, and he's turning the corner out of my sight. I let my eyes linger in the space where he just was as everyone walks by and his friend leaves to go chat with his other friends.

A shoulder roughly runs into me, snapping my eyes to the student. If I was holding books they would've fallen onto the floor. Luckily I don't care about my grades, so my arms are empty.

The student that accidentally shoulder-checked me continues on side-by-side with her friend as if she didn't even realize she ran into me.

I tug on the hem of my sleeves and cross my arms bitterly. I trudge to class.