Believe in Forever

Chapter One

Keanna

Going back to school after Thanksgiving holiday is like marching into jail on Monday morning. We’d had the whole week off school and it was glorious. I spent every moment with Jett or my new parents or both, and I’d finally met my new grandparents. Becca’s dad is the Lawson Police Chief and her mom is really sweet—almost as sweet as Becca. I haven’t met Park’s parents yet but they’re supposed to come down for Christmas. Park said that in the summer he’ll take us to California to hang out with them at their beach house and I couldn’t be more excited. By then, my baby brother or sister will be here so it’ll be even more of an adventure.

Jett and D’andre are having a friendly guy argument about which professional supercross racer is going to win the championship, so I eat my blueberry muffin in silence, preferring to watch the two of them go at it. I still don’t know enough about professional supercross to comment. I do know that those guys are all pretty attractive and the girls who hang out at The Track fawn over them constantly. The most popular guys have social media profiles filled with self-taken sexy photos of themselves, usually shirtless and standing near a dirt bike.

My mind wanders off while Jett begins what I’m sure is a well-thought-out argument for his favorite racer. I think about Jett’s social media profiles and how he hardly ever used them before we met. (I know, because I stalked through them after we did meet.) Now, he still uses them but it’s rare. He’s not big into posting stuff online and when he does, it’s all motocross related.

Honestly, I think it’s attractive that Jett isn’t obsessed with social media. The guys who post pictures of themselves every single day just come off as arrogant and constantly looking to get laid. It’s not very attractive when a guy cares more about taking selfies than being a good boyfriend. Jett doesn’t care about any of that. Just another reason why I’m so lucky.

When the bell rings, I groan. Jett wraps an arm around my shoulders and brings me in for a kiss. You’ll be okay, babe.

I’m not so sure about that, I say, slowly moving to grab my backpack from the floor. Every time I’m in that woman’s office I consider shoving her letter opener through my skull just to end it all.

Babe, I would be so pissed if you offed yourself in the high school counselor’s office, Jett says, laughing as we make our way through the cafeteria. I’d have to kill myself with the same letter opener so we could come back as ghosts and haunt the high school together.

Maya’s floral perfume fills the air as she goes, Aww! That is so romantic!

D’andre gives her a look that is both a little adoring and kind of like he’s freaked out.

Once a week I have to skip my first period class to join Mrs. Albright in her office for a mandatory counseling session. After she’d first cornered me when school started and kept me hostage in her office for four hours, I haven’t been able to get out of this crap. I’ve tried everything I can think of—pretending to be fine, pretending to be not fine but then making a breakthrough and getting better, lying about seeking out a real therapist to see outside of school—nothing worked. If anything, I think she has some kind of creepy fascination with my life story and she thinks that maybe she can be the one to turn me around like some kind of after school special feel-good movie. Gag me.

Two teachers watch everyone as they walk through the main hallway, so Jett just stops by the office and gives me this look. It’s the grumpy, unfair look we have when we can’t show any public displays of affection because an adult is watching. It’s annoying and it only happens at the freaking school. Our own parents are cool with displays of affection. Hell, both sets of our parents are always all over each other anyway.

We should be homeschooled, I whisper as I grab onto the front of his shirt and peer up into his dark blue eyes.

He grins. It’s almost the end of the first semester—you could probably just graduate early.

My brows pull together. Is that a thing?

He nods. A lot of pregnant high school girls do it. Like they can graduate early in December and not have to come back after the Christmas break.

Lucky them, I mutter. The two teachers have honed in their focus on us, so we need to break apart soon before they come over here and tell us themselves.

Well, I’ll see you during lunch, I say, releasing my hold on his shirt.

Have fun being a desolate youth in need of intervention, he says, winking. Then he pulls me in for a quick hug before we go our separate ways. High school is so freaking overrated.

Mrs. Albright’s office has transformed into a Christmas-themed oasis since I was in here last week. There are gaudy Christmas statues in front of her desk, Stockings hung on the window and even a fake cardboard fireplace on the wall. Her wax melter now has a distinct Christmas smell in it, but I can’t quite place the scent. Some kind of pine mixed with a food spice.

Good morning, Keanna, she says as I enter. Mrs. Albright’s cheeks are too pink from a heavy hand of blush this morning. Usually her makeup isn’t so overdone.

You look nice, I lie. I smile and take my usual seat in front of her desk.

Thank you, Keanna. That is quite nice of you to say. She takes a sip of her coffee and then laces her fingers together around the paper cup. Now, what would you like to talk about today?

It actually hadn’t crossed my mind a few minutes ago with Jett, but now I have a brilliant idea.

I’d like to talk about graduating early, I say, leaning back in my fake leather chair.

Mrs. Albright’s eyes widen for a second and then she returns to that classic smile. It’s the same kind of smile that the bad guy in a movie has, just before you realize you can’t trust them.

Are you feeling this way because you’ve spent several months here already and it’s a little jarring for you, spending so much time at one school when you’re used to moving around a lot?

Ugh, enough with the psychoanalyzing.

Nope, I say, putting on a cheery smile as bright as the plastic Santa on her desk. I’m just a little sick of high school and all the pathetic crap that comes with it, and I recently heard that seniors can graduate half a year early if they have enough credits.

Well yes, but usually those students have a plan. She waves her wrist around as she talks. Like college classes in the fall, or some kind of problem at home that requires them, like maybe a sick or dying parent . . . Now comes the pitying stare. Keanna, honey, do you have a problem at home?

This poor woman. She is so desperate for me to be screwed up that she’s practically begging for me to admit something deep and dark. She’d probably crap herself if I actually had something good to tell her.

I shrug. Nope. I’m just ready to get out of here and start my life.

Her eyes narrow. I think we should discuss how you’re feeling now that you’ve spent almost four months here at Lawson High.

I think we should look up how many credits I have and if I qualify to graduate early.

She stares at me for a beat and when I don’t relent, she sighs. "We could do that, but you still have so much more to experience this year. You don’t want to miss out on all of that."

Like what? Being the weirdo who has to skip class to talk to the counselor? I snort. Trust me, I’ve been made fun of enough in my life that these little sessions only remind me even more of my screwed up past. They don’t help it at all.

She actually looks offended at this. Therapy works the best when you allow it to help you, Keanna.

Yeah, probably, I say, glancing over at her SpongeBob themed nativity scene. But it probably works the best when the person seeks out therapy themselves and it’s not forced on them. Anyhow, let’s see my credits, shall we?

I realize I’m getting increasingly more sarcastic as I keep talking, but I don’t care. Jett accidentally implanted this idea in my brain and I won’t stop pursuing it until I know if it’s a viable option for me or not. Sure, I’m still in sophomore biology class, but I might have enough credits. I point toward Mrs. Albright’s computer. Can you check my graduation credentials?

Her lips press into a thin line and she continues to stare at me, either deep in thought, or maybe she’s just trying to convince me to change my mind.

I put my hands on the armrests of my chair and go to stand up. If you can’t help me, I’m sure another counselor will.

That won’t be necessary, she says, heaving a sigh. If you insist, she says, leaving off whatever else she was going to say. She turns to her computer and types some stuff, and it could be my imagination but it feels like she’s taking much longer than necessary to get the job done.

Finally, she says, There are three types of graduation at Lawson High. The regular, recommended, and distinguished plan. You need twenty-four credits for the regular graduation, which is not recommended. The recommended plan needs twenty-eight credits and the distinguished needs thirty-two.

I wiggle my eyebrows. So how many do I have?

Twenty-two and a half.

My chest falls. So I don’t have enough.

Not at this very moment, no.

Something in the way she says it makes me wrinkle my nose. Then it hits me. Jett had said those girls graduate in December after the semester is over. How many credits will I have in December?

She flinches and obviously she was hoping I wouldn’t ask that question. I can’t answer that accurately, she says.

Why not?

Her shoulders lift the slightest bit. Because I have no idea what your current grades are, or if you’ll be passing any of your classes at the end of this semester.

So all I have to do is pass all my classes and then I’ll have enough credits to graduate?

She looks away and her lips press into a thin line. I suppose.

Warmth floods into me as the reality of being able to graduate early hits me. That’s only three and a half weeks away. This could totally happen. I could be out of here and be done with these stupid therapy sessions, the glares in the hallways from pathetic jealous girls—all of it.

How do I graduate early? I ask, trying to contain my excitement, which is hard because all I want to do is jump around and praise SpongeBob Jesus for making this become a reality.

You would need a parent to apply for early graduation if you are a minor—

I’m not, I say eagerly. I turned eighteen a few days ago.

I glance down at my wrist, at the beautiful gold bracelet that Jett had given me for the occasion.

Well then you’d just need to apply.

How do I do that?

She shakes her head. In my professional opinion, you are not of the maturity level to graduate early, Keanna. I am recommending that you stay in school and see it through to your real graduation date in May.

Can she do this? Surely she can’t do this.

You know what? Thanks for all your help, I say, standing up and shouldering my backpack. If you won’t assist me in graduating early, I’ll just have my mother come up here and do it herself.

Mrs. Albright’s eyes widen and her lips press together but she doesn’t say anything. I walk into the hallway and then turn back to her. This will be our last session, I say, flashing her a smile. "Now that I’m eighteen, I won’t be forced into counseling that I don’t need.

I keep my head high while I walk through the hall and out into the office that leads me to the main hallway. I have no idea if I can actually call off the sessions myself, but I did and I’m going to pretend that it worked. After all, I’m officially done with this school. To Mrs. Albright’s chagrin, I know I’m passing all of my classes and I will have no trouble acing the final exams in a couple of weeks. I’ll have enough credits to graduate and