Mrs. Mueller wore her glasses low on her nose. Her practical gaze swept over me, unflinching.

“You look terrible,” she said. She put aside a folder and took out a pad and pen. “What happened?”

“Overslept,” I said, staring at the ugly carpeting that was in all of the school offices.

I had seen a lot of offices recently. They were all pretty much the same. One window, a large desk, two spare chairs, a bookshelf, and a plant. Plus, that ugly zigzag-patterned carpet. The fibers looked like they were made of straw. I winced at the thought of how it would feel against my bare feet.

“I see,” Mrs. Mueller said. She waited for me to look at her.

I finally made eye contact.

“Have you been having trouble sleeping?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. It was my favorite excuse.

I let my eyes wander to the degrees on the wall. Framed degrees were another thing in most of the offices I’d seen since my sister’s disappearance. I wondered why people chose to display those, but I guess I knew why.

They were like achievement badges, telling everyone who saw them, “I’m qualified to do this thing!” Mrs. Mueller’s degree qualified her to meet with me every morning and ask nosy personal questions.

“Lori, why do you think you’re sleeping poorly?” Mrs. Mueller asked.

“Dad’s out all night,” I told her, giving in. If I didn’t give her something, she might keep me there through homeroom.

“Isn’t that normal?” Mrs. Mueller frowned. “Your father has shows most nights, doesn’t he?”

“I guess,” I said, my voice uninterested.

“Then why is it bothering you?” she asked.

I shrugged. “He isn’t home a lot. He sleeps most of the time he is. And mom isn’t much better,” I said.

“And that upsets you?” Mrs. Mueller asked.

“I didn’t really notice before,” I said, honestly. “It doesn’t really matter, anyway.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“I’m avoiding them,” I said.

I inspected my hands carefully and bit my thumbnail. I stared down at my jeans. There was a stain on the knee I hadn’t noticed before.

I cursed to myself. Ugh, I should do laundry. Sheets are dirty, too. This day is going to blow, I thought.

“You’re avoiding your parents?” Mrs. Mueller turned the statement into a question.

I groaned. Great, now we’re going in a fun direction. Let’s talk about my deep feelings of abandonment, I thought. Forget school performance, the whole damn reason you wanted to see me in the first place.

“I don’t want to talk to them,” I told her. I hoped my honesty would help the conversation, which was spiraling out of my control. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Yes, your friends said that.” Mrs. Mueller said. She flipped back a page or two in her notes. “They were concerned.”

“I thought that this whole deal was to keep me ‘on track’ so my grades don’t slip,” I said, making aggressive eye contact now.

I felt myself get angry when she mentioned my friends. No one respects my privacy anymore.

“Yes, I’m here to make sure you’re staying at the top of the class where you belong. But I’m also here for your emotional well-being,” Mrs. Mueller said.

“I’m turning in all of my work, I go to classes, and my grades are fine,” I said.

“Yes, but your teachers say you’ve stopped participating," she said. "You don’t talk in class and you seem disinterested. I spoke to Mr. Park—”

“Please, tell me, what does everyone else have to say about me?” I asked sarcastically. I sat forward in the chair. “I want to know. Please tell me how I’m being irrational. I want to hear it. Tell me I’m screwing up. I want to hear about what I could be doing better. How would you deal with it? Give me your perfect solution, please, because I am fresh out of ways to tell people I just want to be left alone.”

There was a moment of silence in the room.

“Why do you want to be left alone, Lori?” Mrs. Mueller asked, her tone unchanged by my outburst.

“Because I don’t want to talk about it,” I told her, my voice flat. “I don’t want to talk about Lucy, or her disappearance, or where she might be, or what might have happened to her. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why is that?” Mrs. Mueller asked me. She leaned forward a little.

“Because I know what happened to her,” I told her. I folded my hands and interlocked my fingers. “Either she ran away, or someone kidnapped her, or she got hit by a car. It doesn’t matter.” I looked up at Mrs. Mueller. “The result is the same. It doesn’t matter if she’s dead or not. Lucy’s gone.”