"So my new counselor, Ms. Rodriguez. She said that he needs my SAT scores from this imaginary school." I look at my father, whose eyes are focused on the road.

He replies, "You will have to take them,"

"But everyone already took them last year, and some took it in august. No more tests are being administered." I explain.

"You will have to take it off-campus. I'll talk to Ms. Moore to see what we can do." He says. She is the principal; I'm sure she knows what I can do.

I turn my head and continue to stare back out the window. The rain hits the pavement, slowly collecting in the tiny potholes making small puddles. The forecast didn't call for rain today, yet it's raining cats and dogs.

My dad pulls up right in front of the clinic. "I'll be here when you're finished." He assures me.

"Mhm," I remember what happened last time he was supposed to pick me up.

"So, it's been forever!" Rachel says with a smile plastered on her face. "What's been going on?"

"Nothing much." I shrug my shoulders.

She narrows her eyes at me. "Nothing?" she questions my answer. I shake my head. "Well, Jayda, maybe you don't know this, but I get a report from your parents and your principal every day about you."

I question her statement. "You do?" They didn't tell me this.

"I do," she answers. "Everyone who is in therapy doesn't, in the beginning, always tell their therapist the truth."

Why would we?

"They don't tell me what is really happening in their lives; they don't talk about their real emotions and feelings." she pauses. "Now granted, your parents and principal are not in your head, they can't tell me how you feel, but they can give me insight into your day."

"Insight?" I don't know what she means by that.

"Yes. Like your mood, your activities. What's going on with you on the inside will always affect your behavior on the outside. " she states. "Have you been lying around all day, or have you been up and about? Have you been eating too much or too little? And so forth. Knowing the little things is what helps me get into your head."

"So, my parents have me studying me?"

"No, they have been making sure to notice the signs this time,"

This time, they failed to miss all the signs pointing to me slowly deteriorating last time. "They've been paying attention to you. Isn't that what you've always wanted? For them to pay attention to you? For them to notice?"

I don't answer her question. I'm not going to; how can she sit here and pretend as if she knows me? How could she possibly know what I want from my parents? I never shared that with her. "Well, if they've been studying me, if they have been really paying attention, how come they don't know I've cut since I've been home?" I growl.

"They know," she says acerbically.

My eyes go wide. I wasn't expecting her to say that. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. How could they know?

She continues, "Like I, they noticed you weren't plucking your rubber band."

"Okay?" I shrug my shoulders that still doesn't explain how they found out; it's not like they could've seen the cuts.

"They're paying even more attention to you now than ever, they noticed something was up, and when they came to me about it, I didn't lie to them."

I shout, "How the hell did you know? I never told you I was cutting again."

"The day when I noticed you weren't plucking your rubber band, I asked you what you have been doing. Even though I didn't say it and you didn't say it, we both know you were cutting... and or retaking the pills." God, it's like this lady is in my freaking head. She leans forward and says, "Am I wrong?"

I don't answer her; I just stare at her in defeat. I can't deny it. She'll ask me to pull up my sleeves, and the scars will be there as evidence. "So are my parents going to lock me up again? Is that why they are buying a house in California? Are they going to check me back into A Second Chance and then leave?" Warm tears fall down my face.

She's taken back at my question; she sticks her bottom lip out and says, "I don't know anything about that, but I do know your parents love you." she says. "They do; they would never do that to you."

"How come they didn't say anything to me?" I ask. If they knew I was cutting, why didn't they address it? Do they not care?

"I told them not to. Trust me. They wanted to say something. But I advised them not to."

A therapist told them not to say anything about my cutting? Not to confront me about it? That's a new one!

"I felt that if they revealed to you that they knew you were cutting again and that you were using again, you would feel bad." She's right; I would've been crushed at the fact that I disappointed them, yet again. "You would've felt like a failure, and that could've led you to harm yourself, this time doing something more permanent."

I take a deep breath allowing air to fill my lungs, "Well, now that I know that they know. I won't be able to go home and just pretend like everything is fine. What is stopping me from going home and killing myself right now?" I ask since she seems to know the answer to everything. She couldn't have an answer for this.

"Cutting in no way is a good thing. It's unhealthy and incredibly dangerous. I've had patients who have dealt with self-harm addiction for years. Single people, married people, people with families. Why do you think they cut themselves every day for years and years instead of just ending their life?" she asks.

"They're scared to die." I'm not like them. "I'm not scared to die!" I admit.

"And I fully believe you are not scared to die. But that's not why they haven't killed themselves. They haven't killed themselves because they all have something to live for. No matter how big or small that thing is, they're living for it," she says passionately. "I told your parents that the fact you haven't killed yourself when you have the means to do so is a good thing. You cutting is a good thing right now. That means you're holding onto something; something is keeping you from killing yourself."

"What?" I ask.

She raises her eyebrow and tilts her head and simply says, "That's for you to figure out."

...

"So, how was your session?" My mom asks me from across the wooden dinner table.

"It was good!"

"Do you like her?... We can always find someone else." My dad says.

"No, no, she's fine." I honestly say she's starting to grow on me. She really seems to care about me, and I like that. That's what I liked most about Mr.Dale. He was always kind and honest-hearted. I see why the universe made them siblings.

"We should invite her over for dinner one day!" My mom excitedly suggest.

"No time soon; we have too many things coming up!" my father says.

I take a mouthful of spaghetti. "I have a question,"

"Jayda, it's not polite to talk with your mouth full and take your elbows off the table." My mom scorns me... twice. I roll my eyes and remove my elbows from the table. I never understood how that was improper.

How am I supposed to eat without propping my elbows up?

I swallow my food and speak. "So Saturday at dinner, Dad, you mentioned you called colleges for me. Is that true, or were you just trying to avoid more questions on why I haven't applied to any?"

Both of them look at each other, and then my father looks at me. "Yes, I've called a couple." He looks down and says, "I've enrolled you in a few,"

My eyes blink real fast, and open wide. "I'm sorry, what? I haven't even taken the SAT's!" How is this possible?

"Well, I told you that you would take it soon, and I'm friends with a lot of people, and my friends are friends with a lot of people; it wasn't too hard to get you a spot into a few colleges. They've allowed you a spot in them, but they need the SAT scores soon," he says.

"I'm sorry, so how did I get into these colleges without taking the SAT?" I ask him again. He didn't directly answer my question. I'm in the colleges; they accepted me without seeing my SAT scores.

My mother starts to speak, "Honey, you don't--"

"Don't honey me." I snap at my mother; she's taken back at my words. "Don't you guys dare tell me not to worry about it and to just forget about it!" I shout. "I want to know how I got into college without taking the SAT's" I yell. They both look at each other.

"I gave them something for helping me out, helping you out." My father admits.

I slide my chair back and stand up. "You gave them something? What money, a car?! Isn't that illegal?"

"No, no, once you take the SAT, I'll send it to them, and everything will be fine; the money will go towards your tuition," he explains, trying to justify his decision.

"Okay, and what if I don't score high? What are you going to do?" He doesn't respond; my mother just looks at me. "Exactly, you and I both know you would've paid them more or gave them whatever they wanted just to overlook my scores." I need to calm down; I breathe in and out, trying to get a hold of the air that has left my body.

I leave the table and walk up the stairs to my room. I slam the wooden door behind me and plop on my bed. I can't believe he would do this. Both of them, my father, may have paid them, but my mother knew about it, and she didn't even stop him. What he did is illegal; it wasn't right. I rub my temples clockwork. Ugh! It's always something.

If not at school, then it's at home. I can never catch a break. My phone rings. I pick it up off my pillow to see who it is. It's Katie.

"Hello,"

"Jayda!" She says, frantically breathing heavily.

I lift off the bed. "Katie! Are you okay?"

"You gotta help me!"